Chapter Sixteen
D elia shivered. Renwood’s gothic parish church was chilly, and that lovely heat from the radiators hung uselessly underneath the vaulted ceiling.
Small posies of white flowers were attached to the side of each pew and filled the air with a hint of jasmine. There must have been a wedding earlier that day.
She picked a row near the front, glided into the pew, then pulled Gabriel in beside her.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She nodded, and he draped his arm around her shoulders.
“Much better.” She lifted her head and smiled. In all honesty, she wanted to slip underneath his jacket and paste her body against his.
Such a lovely thing to do, so thoughtful of him to take her to a concert to distract her from her still-empty uterus.
Her gaze swept over the altar. Several instruments were assembled behind the music stands: drums, tambourines, a bass violin, long-necked ancient string instruments, guitars, a harp, and a grand piano.
Spotlights illuminated the apse, plunging the rest of the church into comparative darkness.
“Thank you for this.” She snuggled closer to him.
“You’re more than welcome.” He fished his phone from his pocket and switched it off.
“Ah, good thinking.” She opened her handbag, took out her mobile, then put it on silent. But before she dropped it back, she activated the camera and tugged at him. “Let’s document this moment.” She took their photo and was happy with the result.
He glanced at her screen. “Send that to me, would you?”
She pressed a few buttons. “On its way.”
“Thanks.” He breathed a kiss on her cheek, and a pleasurable shiver went through her.
Given the intense nature of her job, she didn’t go to concerts all that much. This was a treat. Baroque music calmed her, and she loved it, even if Sandra made fun of her old-lady-taste in music.
She shifted in her seat. “Oh, I haven’t told you. Guess who’s great mates with your bank manager Brady-Greene?”
“I haven’t a clue.” He frowned in apprehension.
She drew a dramatic breath and dropped her voice to a whisper. “None other than my boss, John Winter.”
Gabriel hid his face in his hands. “Good Lord,” he groaned, then lowered his hands. “Did he give you a grilling?”
“He did indeed.” A laugh escaped her. Poor Gabriel. His face was the picture of contrition.
“I’m sorry, Delia. All this because of me. Is the cat out of the bag now? Do I need to ring Brady-Greene and grovel?”
She drew herself up straight. “No need because I saved the day.”
“How on earth?”
She put a hand on his forearm and bent her head to his, their foreheads almost touching.
“I had to think on my feet, I can tell you. I mumbled something about our registry office wedding having to be a secret because we don’t want to risk diverting attention from the main event.
Since our church wedding at the newly restored Renwood estate would be the perfect showcase for your business. ”
“You’re simply brilliant.”
She bowed her head in mock-acknowledgment. “The situation was so uncomfortable, I blushed like a gentle maiden when he asked why we got married at the registry office in the first place.”
“And? What did you reply?”
“I told him we couldn’t wait to be husband and wife, and he bought it.” She clapped her hands and looked at Gabriel triumphantly. “But let’s not get complacent, you really need to come up with a convincing divorce story.”
He turned away and remained silent, probably mulling over how to end their predicament. But that was up to him now. She had played her part. Her attention was absorbed by a flurry of activity in the apse.
A group of musicians emerged from the vestry, and a hush fell over the audience in anticipation. The musicians settled, took up their instruments, and after some initial tuning, unleashed a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of sound. Monteverdi, early baroque, what bliss.
Delia closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. Gone were all thoughts of disappointment, of the pressure to perform. She was there with Gabriel, bathed in exquisite soundwaves. Song after song, the musicians shared their artistry with them.
After several instrumental pieces, a male and female singer stepped to the front. Their voices, the music, the gestures, pulled her into the passion of Monteverdi’s words, even though she didn’t understand their meaning.
She put her lips to Gabriel’s ear and whispered, “I love this. Doesn’t it make you wish you’d be able to speak Italian?”
He inclined his head toward her. “I speak Italian,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Oh, eff off.” She regarded him with both eyebrows raised.
A woman behind them hissed, and Delia giggled softly.
“Such charm. ” He shook with suppressed laughter.
She nudged him with her elbow. “So, translate for me, then.”
His face took on a look of intense concentration, and he began, his voice soft in her ear, “Haughty and ruthless...the winged god Cupid...forces us to love with missiles...of pain. And so filled with passion by his—ah—treacherous act...the vision of your loveliness...drives me...insane.”
Their gazes locked while the singer repeated the last line. Time slowed, and her lungs struggled for air. Her heart pumped blood through arteries, causing her lips to pulse with longing.
“Wow.” She crossed her hands over her sternum. “Consider me impressed.”