Chapter 25
‘One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight.’
Afew weeks later, it was our wedding day.
The daffodils were blooming amongst the gravestones as Dad led me along the church path.
The sun was obscured by a bank of menacing grey clouds that hung low in the sky.
A crisp wind was whipping my long, ivory train, which Alice and my cousin were trying to hold steady like some billowing sail on a stormy sea.
We paused in the draughty stone entrance to arrange ourselves. I felt Dad’s hand squeeze mine. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ he said.
The whirlwind romance had led to this point, to the church where my parents and grandparents had married. The local organist began to bash out ‘Here Comes the Bride’.
‘I am.’
We started our solemn procession up the aisle. On either side pews were filled with hatted, suited friends and family. Most of them belonged to me in some way by either blood, company, school or friendship. They were all turned to me, smiling, checking out my dress.
The Fullers filled only two rows up at the front – the family, a couple of UK business contacts and a pair of titled aristocrats who Bunny and Chase had met on a cruise a few years back.
Bunny’s gloved hand flew to her mouth as we paraded by. ‘God, red at a wedding?’ I heard her say.
Alice and I had kept the bridesmaids dresses a secret from her. We’d agreed the reveal was best served up on the aisle.
Chase and his brother, Brady, were waiting, dressed in morning suits, up at the altar. Chase looked composed, tall and handsome. Dad handed me over with a slightly bemused expression on his face.
He and Mum had only met Chase for the first time a couple of days before.
Chase had done his full-on charm offensive, saying he’d look after me and that they were welcome to come and visit any time.
They hadn’t met many Americans before and I could tell Dad was a bit wary of the positive, assumptive, confidence that Chase exuded.
Mum on the other hand was swept along on a Dynasty cloud.
It was a lengthy ceremony, mostly due to ‘Ave Maria’. Mum had helped me track down a lady in our village who professed to singing opera in her spare time. The performance was loud, with top notes that Bunny likened later on to a pig being murdered.
We were wedded. I became ‘Mrs Chase Fuller Jr’ A horse and carriage took us back to my parents’ house where a marquee was straining on its pegs on the lawn against a storm that came sweeping in across the moors.
As the rain lashed we were cocooned in the white polyester silk draped interior. A hired harpist was playing a baroque set as guests came in and passed along the receiving line.
After five minutes Bunny had had enough. ‘God, let’s keep this moving people!’ she shouted, down the line, as guests lingered and chatted.
I heard a few mutterings of ‘typical Americans’ and the line retained its glacial movement.
Bunny feigned fatigue before the speeches got underway and departed, taking her husband and friends with her. Chase shrugged it off, but I couldn’t help noticing the empty table and thinking I’d never dream of being so rude.
The speeches done, the disco roared into life. We finally staggered out at two in the morning, confetti-flecked and exhausted, after Alice, shrieking with triumph, had caught my bouquet.
Our wedding night was less cinematic.
Back in the honeymoon suite, I was standing at the dressing table, carefully unclipping the diamond drop earrings Bunny had loaned me, when Chase came up behind me.
I thought he was leaning in for a kiss, something soft, loving, but instead he hitched up my dress, tugged down the brand-new lace knickers, and dispatched the moment with brisk efficiency, like a man ticking off the final item on a long to-do list before bed.
I caught his eye in the mirror just as he straightened his shirt. He grinned. ‘Welcome to the Fuller family,’ he said, zipping up.
He’d come. I hadn’t. I put it down to nerves, jet lag, too much champagne, and consoled myself with the thought that we had a whole round-the-world honeymoon ahead. Plenty of time to work on the choreography.
We departed the next day after discovering Brady asleep in the next-door room, naked in bed with my old friend Nadia. He’d flown solo from the States, leaving his wife to wrangle their kids while he ‘supported’ his brother at the altar.
Bunny discovered them too, raised her eyes heavenward and said, ‘None of this gets back home.’ Then marched off to corral Chase Sr into a taxi, as if nothing had happened. This was evidently the Fuller way: scandal managed by Bunny.
Our first stop was Thailand. Phuket. Five stars, white sand, endless blue. A far cry from the mosquito-ridden hut on stilts where Chase and I had met only a few months before. The memory felt sepia-toned already – me in a sarong, him in swim shorts, both of us sunburned and giddy with newness.
We arrived at the resort in the early afternoon, limp with heat and fatigue.
The suite had polished wooden floors, a plunge pool, and a gauzy four-poster bed that looked like it belonged in a Condé Nast shoot.
I dropped my bag, already picturing us stretched out by the water, the clink of ice in a gin and tonic beside me.
‘I’m headed out for a drink,’ said Chase, changing into shorts and a T-shirt.
‘Perfect. Could you order me a G&T please? I’ll be down at the pool in a minute,’ I said, unzipping my suitcase in search of my bikini.
‘I mean I’m going into town,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘Town?’ I looked up. But he was already out of the door.
I stood for a moment, the bikini dangling from one hand.
Then I got changed, threw on sunglasses, and went to the pool.
I claimed two loungers and slid into the water.
It was as warm as bathwater, the kind that holds you effortlessly.
I floated on my back, staring up at azure-blue sky.
I was officially Mrs Chase Fuller Jr. I had found my Darcy.
Or at least, a version of him in Ray-Bans.
When I got out, I ordered my G&T and toasted to being young and married. I dozed off, letting condensation from the glass drip onto my paperback, to form a soggy ring.
By the time I woke up, the pool was deserted and the sun was edging towards the horizon. Chase’s lounger was still empty. His towel untouched.
Back in our suite, the room was exactly as we’d left it. The bed unslept in, his suitcase still zipped. It was seven o’clock.
I showered, slipped into a cotton robe, and ordered a club sandwich from room service. The knot in my stomach was growing tighter by the minute. Where the hell was he? When the knock finally came, I jumped.
A young woman in a blue sarong stood in the hallway, balancing a tray with my sandwich and a single pink orchid in a vase. I thanked her, tipped too much, and sat on the bed staring at the plate. I wasn’t hungry anymore.
I was halfway to picking up the phone to call the hotel manager, to ask if anyone had seen a tall American man in town, when the door swung open.
‘Hey, honey, I’m home!’ Chase breezed in, grinning, holding a bottle of brown liquid in one hand and a bucket of ice in the other.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been so worried,’ I said, a brittle mix of love and fury welling up fast.
‘Catching up with some old buddies. Down the road. One of the bars. This,’ he held up the bottle like a trophy, ‘is a wedding present from the owner. Thai whisky!’
It was half gone.
He padded over to the minibar, pulled out two tumblers, and sloshed a generous amount into each over ice. He handed me one with a flourish.
‘A toast to my beautiful bride!’
I clinked his glass, took a small sip, and let the warmth spread down into my chest.
Not quite the first day I’d imagined. But we were only just getting started.