Chapter 10
TEN
‘Well, of course, I’m delighted that there’s another opportunity for the Campbell jewels to be worn,’ Elizabeth Campbell said loftily as she held court in the drawing room of Balhennie Castle the next morning.
The room had been arranged – presumably by one of Elizabeth’s ever-present security team – in such a way that Elizabeth and Heather sat at the front in two of the grand upholstered chairs with a small cherry wood table between them.
In front of them were two rows of chairs, where various journalists and photographers sat, along with Catriona, Blossom, Primrose and Bluebell, and Clara and Estella.
The security team sat at the back, still dressed in black suits and, incongruously, black wraparound sunglasses.
Heather surreptitiously looked at her phone, but reading the string of unanswered texts she’d sent Matty was too painful to bear. She’d begun by being polite and loving, but as the silence continued, her texts had – understandably, she thought – got more frantic.
Hey xx I love you. What’s going on?
Matty, everyone’s asking where you are. How much longer do you think your work will take?
Matty. Please call me.
The wedding is in eleven days. If you’ve changed your mind, please just say.
She put her phone down and patted the diamonds around her neck self-consciously.
She didn’t like being the focus of attention like this, and she certainly didn’t like the fact that Elizabeth had arranged a press conference without asking her or anyone else.
The first anyone knew that morning that it was happening was one of the journalists pulling up on the drive to the castle.
Uncle James had politely let them in, but Heather had seen his look of unease growing as more and more of them arrived.
Heather and Catriona had been summoned by card again from the Inn; their sisters had rooms at the castle for the wedding.
In fact, Heather wondered if the man Elizabeth had met in the car the other day was a journalist. Now that they were all filing in, she could see that Elizabeth clearly had her favourites, and people that Heather guessed she might have known for a long time.
But nobody arriving looked as though he could have been the man in the car, although Heather couldn’t be sure – he had been wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses, after all.
However, most of the journalists were women, and of the male journalists that were in attendance, two were quite elderly and one looked much too young.
‘And will the wedding be here?’ one of the journalists asked. Heather had her phone on silent, but she could see notifications from the sisters’ group chat had started pinging furiously.
‘Yes. We’ve been very busy for months, planning everything,’ Elizabeth went on. Heather caught her mother’s eye at this outright lie; Catriona blinked and shot Heather a look of semi-comedic outrage, her mouth opening in a deliberately large O.
You have not planned anything, Heather argued with Elizabeth in her own head. You’ve just arrived and started throwing your weight around. Mum, Evelinda and I have done everything.
Somehow, the act of catching Elizabeth in such an obvious lie gave Heather a feeling of conviction and strength.
She’d spent the last couple of days second-guessing herself; wondering if she’d misjudged things, judging herself for being possibly unreasonable.
But there was no misjudging what was happening now.
Elizabeth was talking absolute rubbish.
‘How many people are coming?’ another journalist asked.
‘About two hundred. Quite a small affair.’ Elizabeth sniffed. ‘Still, Balhennie isn’t as spacious as Glenorchy. But we know that it’s tradition for the bride to host the wedding at her family home. We look forward to a festive Christmas wedding. I thought that would be rather charming.’
‘Bloody cheek!’ Primrose muttered from the rows of seating. Catriona’s eyebrows shot up so far that they were almost in her hairline; Heather rolled her eyes. Elizabeth was making it sound like the Christmas wedding was her idea. In fact, it had been Catriona’s.
‘And what’s the history of the jewels again, Lady Campbell?’ someone else asked. Heather wondered if Elizabeth had primed the journalists to ask certain questions.
‘Oh, I’m glad you asked, Tatty.’ Elizabeth preened.
‘I’ve shared this story before, of course, when my other sons got married, but I’ll share it again.
The jewels were given to the Campbell family by Queen Victoria’s fourth daughter, Princess Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, who died in 1939.
’ She paused, wetting her lips, clearly enjoying the story.
Heather wondered what Elizabeth loved more: the fact that a princess had once gifted her family jewellery, or having an excuse to hold a press conference and make the wedding all about her.
She instantly judged herself for the unkind thought, but it wasn’t that far from the truth.
This was Heather and Matty’s wedding, not Elizabeth’s.
Heather was trying to be accommodating. She was trying to be gracious – after all, who else got to wear such a lovely necklace on her wedding day?
But she hadn’t asked for the press conference, and she hadn’t asked for Lady Elizabeth Campbell and her domineering ways, and she certainly hadn’t asked for her fiancé to disappear in the middle of all of it.
Despite her natural predilection to be nice, Heather was cross.
‘Well, the necklace and earrings were originally a wedding gift in 1871 to Louise from her husband the Marquess of Cottingley, who later became the Duke of Argyll. The necklace contains a hundred and ninety diamonds connected by thirteen pearls. Here, dear, hold up your chin so people can see.’ Elizabeth put her fingertips under Heather’s chin and tilted it upwards; Heather felt like a poseable doll. The necklace hung heavy on her neck.
She could feel herself blushing. Nobody had asked her a question; she was just expected to sit there and be looked at. It was like being a doll: a pretty little thing that wasn’t required to speak.
This is ridiculous, Heather thought, now mightily annoyed. I am not that person. I might be gentle, but I’m not an idiot.
She remembered Aunt Chrissie’s somewhat cuckoo advice about imagining herself as a huge, powerful angel.
Worth a try, she thought, and closed her eyes. She imagined herself standing up, unfurling some huge, rainbow-coloured wings and brandishing a massive sword.
I command you to stop being so awful, Lady Elizabeth Campbell, she intoned in her own head. In the name of Me, Heather Balhennie, First of Her Name of the Angelic Hosts.
Oddly, it did actually make her feel more centred and powerful.
She opened her eyes.
‘Actually, I’d like to thank my mother, Catriona, for all her help organising the wedding,’ she interrupted, smoothly.
‘It was her idea to hold the wedding on Christmas Day. We’re so pleased to host the Campbell family at Balhennie; it’s lovely to have their contributions, late in the day.
Of course, my uncle James, the laird, has a remarkable collection of ancient weaponry in the ballroom, and our ancestral jewels are held privately,’ she added.
‘However, I’m sure we can let you see them, if you were interested.
There’s a lovely ornamental dagger which is much older than these jewels, for instance. ’
Heather smiled sweetly at Elizabeth Campbell until her future mother-in-law raised an eyebrow and looked away. Heather met Catriona’s eye again; her mother smirked. Primrose gave her a thumbs-up.
‘Obviously, we’ll pose for some formal pictures afterwards.
’ Elizabeth cleared her throat, continuing as if Heather hadn’t said anything.
‘You can see the locket. This is a pearl surrounded by thirty diamonds, and then we have the pear-shaped pendant, set with diamonds, emeralds and sapphires underneath. I, myself, wore this at my wedding.’
‘And how do you feel about becoming a Campbell, Heather?’ a journalist from a society ladies’ magazine asked. Now they know I have a tongue, at least, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again.
‘Oh. I’ll be very pleased to marry Matty,’ she replied, tartly. ‘However, we haven’t decided if I’ll become a Campbell or not. I may remain a Balhennie.’ She cast a look under her eyelashes at Elizabeth. Balhennie, two; Campbell, nil.
Elizabeth Campbell glared at her.
‘I’m sure that Miss Balhennie is just having a joke with you all,’ she said icily. Heather gave the journalists her angelic smile and pretended to be very interested in the carpet.
At this point, she wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of becoming a Campbell and having to spend time with Elizabeth, but she couldn’t exactly say that.
At the least, she could irritate Elizabeth Campbell by pretending that she wasn’t promising to take Matty’s name.
In fact, they hadn’t even discussed it: Heather was by nature traditional, so she’d assumed that she would become a Campbell when she got married.
But now, as the romance of the wedding faded drastically, Heather wondered why she should take the name of a man who seemed determined to abandon her. She had always relied on her instincts, and at the moment, her instincts were telling her that none of this made her happy.
The journalists looked surprised at Heather’s answer, but moved on to asking Elizabeth about who was coming to the wedding, what she and the bride would be wearing, and other questions about the Campbell family that Heather guessed were all part of the media circus around them.
Would they be holidaying in Monaco again this year?
Would they be donating to such-and-such foundation?
What did Elizabeth think about the wedding of Lord and Lady Blah-de-blah?