Masters And Lovers 1-4

Chapter 16

In the church, we wait, the congregation gathered. A baby wails. Paper rustles. The susurration of

many people speaking whispers under the vaulted stone roof. Footsteps echo, and Ben’s voice carries

as he guides the last of the guests to their pews.

Beth certainly made a good job of the flowers.

She has quite a talent for it….

Wonder if she intends to apply it to the spa centre?

Or if she’s mentioned it to Michael?

But I suppress the smile. My closest friend has enough to keep him occupied today.

Michael fidgets as I finger the ring….

…. the second ring….

…. Which lies in my pocket, this one in white gold.

Is he still upset about yesterday?

Or is it just normal Groom’s nerves?

“Calm down,” I murmur.

He’s facing forward, but his eyes slip sidelong to mine. “You don’t think she might….”

“No…. Now relax.”

“You’ve got the ring?”

“Yes, I’ve got the ring.” I give him a shoulder-slap. “You should have had that drink.”

“Mmmm. Perhaps I should.”

As we wait, my mind rambles back to the time, what? Thirty years ago? The last time I did this, but on

that occasion, I was the groom.

And yet, my first marriage was a farce. At the time I never understood how much so. The bitterness of it

….

Georgie…

I’d have liked you to be here today….

How old are you now?

Older than Charlotte….

Perhaps not a good idea then….

Enough already!

Pull yourself together, man….

This time, it will be different.

From the rear comes some sound, some movement.

The minister looks beyond us. “She’s here.”

The congregation, as one man, turns to look rearward, and the organ breathes into life; Pachelbel’s

Canon, one of Charlotte’s favourites. One of mine too. I don’t think Michael cared about the music.

Everything he cares about sits in my pocket.

Nonetheless, he also semi-turns to follow the music that ripples along the aisle… To look… Then, he

pauses, visibly restraining himself as he remembers the groom is not supposed to look back.

His face….

Joy?

Wonderment?

Disbelief?

That we finally made it to this point…?

But there is nothing to restrain me. I turn to see.

And there, accompanied by Richard, who agreed to stand in for her murdered father, to give her away,

is Charlotte.

Oh, my God….

I expected her to be beautiful.

I hoped she would wear white.

But I wasn’t prepared for the reality….

She looks astonishing….

Yes, the dress is white: full-length and of a simple design. Under the veil she wears her hair long and

loose, laced with….

…. pearls?

Weighted by the pearls, it sways with her movement as she paces slowly down the aisle, one hand

resting on Richard’s arm, the other holding a small bouquet.

The veil is of some fine filmy stuff, very sheer. Even with the slight movement of Charlotte’s slow

progression through the church, it flutters and shimmers about her face.

And through the veil, despite the distance between us, I meet her eyes, vivid emeralds, even through

its haze.

Oh, my Jade….

…. I wanted this for you….

As she draws closer, I see the flowers; violets. Small, unassuming and so…. right….

Michael nudges my elbow, trying to see past me.

“She looks… breath-taking….” I whisper.

It will not be me exchanging vows with her today.

And I have only one vow for her….

You will always be my Virgin.

But I have a job to do. Raising the brightest smile I know how, I murmur to Michael. My closest friend.

My friend of years. The man I trust most in the world. “I don’t think you’re going to be disappointed.”

And as she finally moves into his view, as Charlotte and Michael see each other, his lips part and his

eyes widen. And she bursts into a sunbeam smile.

Richard leans close in, whispering something to her, then taking her hand, offers it to Michael. Bride

and Groom stand side by side.

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here….”

*****

…. “The ring, please.” says the Minister.

I slip the small thing, so tiny a thing, to carry such meaning, from my pocket, wondering how the

Minister will react. Perhaps he doesn’t notice as Michael places the white-gold circle on her finger, to

nestle by its red-gold companion already there.

A part of me dwells on the time when I too, so long ago, placed a ring on a woman’s finger….

Then, I realise Charlotte is watching me….

…. So, I grin and wink.

*****

“…. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Michael lifts the veil, tossing it back over Charlotte’s copper-red tresses to free her face….

Her beautiful face….

He stoops to kiss her, softly, on the lips.

And it comes crashing down on me…

…. The reality of what I am doing…

What I have done.

What have I done?

I’ve given her away…

I have given the Love of my Life to another man.

Whatever I say, however I wrap it in clever words, however I try to justify it to myself, or to them, on the

register, it will not be my name next to hers.

My gut clenches and pain stabs at my temples. Stomach roiling, I regret the breakfast I was so glad of

a few hours ago.

All I can do is try to mask the emotion, to keep it from my face.

Michael breaks from the kiss, his face bright, hers radiant, but as her gaze passes to mine, her smile

fades and her lips part.

Then she, like me, blanks her expression, turning to her husband.

Her husband….

Outside the church, we stand by the door, the congregation trailing past, a gaggle of cousins and aunts

and uncles from Michael’s family, all grinning and mouthing congratulations as endless hands are

shaken, endless cheeks kissed….

I have no idea who any of them are except for Michael’s parents, standing in line next to Ben on one

side, a beaming Michael and his new bride on the other. They seem pleasant enough people, in a ‘Yes

dear. No dear.’ kind of way. I wonder what they make of having produced two such different offspring.

Jerking back from my introspection, I find that my hand and mouth have been operating on automatic

pilot, apparently making appropriate remarks without the intervention of my brain. But like a driver

suddenly realising the car in front is far too close, something in my subconscious is jumping up and

down, waving a red flag, screaming for my attention.

Marie…

She stands before me, part of the line of people trailing past, definitely lingering, offering me one of her

mindless smiles. “Hello again, James.”

And with horror, it dawns that I am expected to kiss her.

Perhaps I can get away with shaking her hand…

Taking hold of as little of Marie as good manners permit, I try to shake, let go… “Hello, Marie. Thank

you for coming….”

Fuck off, Marie….

…. But she’s not releasing my hand, instead, pressing my fingers with hers, increasing the pressure,

pulling me towards her.

Oh, get it over with….

I lean in, keeping my body as far from actual contact as I can and give her the briefest of pecks on the

cheek. But as I start to pull away, she whispers, “Perhaps I’ll see you later, James?

*****