Thirty-three
Three months later
Nestled into the rolling Devon hillside, the small church stood resolute against the winter. A thin blanket of snow covered the ground, making everything seem hushed and still. Bare trees reached skeletal branches toward the grey sky, their dark silhouettes contrasting with the pale surroundings.
The church doors stood open showing the flickering candles warming the stone walls inside, casting shadows that danced in the stillness.
The wooden pews, worn and weathered, were full of people, colourful outfits jostling for space.
At each pew end, someone had tied bunches of variegated holly, their bright red berries like little beacons of encouragement.
The opening notes of Handel’s Arrival of the Queen of Sheba shattered the stillness .
In unison, the congregation swivelled, a sea of hats and cheerful faces beaming at her.
She spotted Trish first, wearing a purple fascinator with a vivid pink ostrich feather, reminding Fiona of the pen that Ru gave Rose.
This feather was so long that Fiona suspected it was tickling the nose of the man sitting behind Trish.
In the pew in front, their faces scrubbed clean, stood Becky and Timmy – two little fizzing meteors of joy, who kept popping out into the aisle to wave at Fiona.
In the same row sat Rose, beaming with pride as if she was the mother of the bride.
Rose had responded to her wedding invitation with such an emotionally raw letter of acceptance that Fiona had teared up when reading it.
How many times would she need to tell Rose that she was forgiven before the woman finally believed her?
Fiona suspected Rose’s lingering guilt stemmed partly from her initial suspicion George was the culprit; in her desperation to protect her husband, when evidence emerged linking Fiona to the wine thefts Rose had latched onto the alternative suspect.
Fiona understood, but Rose’s mistake still seemed to haunt her.
George sat beside his wife, then Josh, and next to him – in fact, extremely close to him – was Kim, in a clinging green dress that, Fiona noticed with a smile, was totally unsuitable for the cold weather.
The Smuggler’s Inn was closed for the day; the wedding reception would be held there after the service – at no charge.
It was George’s present to the couple, by way of apology.
That, and his regular attendance at a gambling awareness clinic.
The clinic was Ivy’s recommendation. Ivy knew all about George’s gambling habits and had been urging him to seek professional help – that was the confidence she had vowed not to betray.
Fiona was pleased she hadn’t pressed her aunt to divulge her secret.
The wedding celebration would be a traditional breakfast, anchored by kedgeree made with haddock from the local smokehouse and eggs from the rescued battery hens at the farm on the edge of the village.
Fiona had chosen South African wines for the occasion – a quiet tribute to her new in-laws.
Ru had suggested that she wait until after the speeches to taste the wine.
He wouldn’t be making a speech himself. ‘I want to hear what you have to say,’ he’d told her with a smile.
It seemed fitting that their honeymoon would take them first to South Africa, then on to Melbourne, as if retracing the story of their union.
On their return, the new London restaurant would be launching, with Ruben as the head chef, Fiona as the sommelier.
She no longer cared that she wasn’t an official partner in the business.
She was a partner in Ru’s eyes, and that was what mattered.
At her side, still looking a little jet-lagged, Fiona’s father waited, his smile tender as he offered her his arm. She glanced up, seeing his eyes slightly misty behind his glasses, then down to the front pew at her mother, whose face glowed with pride.
Fiona took a deep breath and stepped forward, her father beside her.
Ru had been right – the best way to cast off her memories of his first proposal was to say her vows now, before their friends and family.
Not to elope and hide away, but to allow those who truly loved her to share this special day.
She felt a happy calm settle over her, knowing this was exactly where she was meant to be.
As they moved down the aisle, she caught sight of Ru’s parents. The statuesque woman and her even taller husband radiated warmth. Fiona smiled. She already felt a fondness for them and looked forward to growing closer.
At the far end of the aisle, a golden stole glowing around her like a beacon, stood Ivy. And just ahead, looking unbelievably attractive in a traditional morning coat, a spring of holly in his buttonhole, was the man Fiona would soon call her husband.