Chapter 17
Dear Mrs Cotter
You don’t know me, but my husband and I attended the wedding in April of Ian and Lorraine Butler, who had their reception in your beautiful home. Ian was married to my late sister Anne, and I had met Lorraine too on a few occasions, and they kindly invited me and my husband to their wedding.
May I offer my condolences to you at this stage? Lorraine told us of your bereavement, and I thought it terribly good of you to help them out under the circumstances – but because you did, it’s given me the courage to write to you now with a very cheeky request.
Our daughter Ursula is engaged to a lovely man, Paul.
They met in Dubai, where they both work, and they’d like to get married in Ireland.
They were hoping around the end of this month, or early July, but they’ve had no luck finding a venue, probably because they left it a bit too late to go looking.
They don’t want a big fuss, just something low-key.
When Ursula said they’d probably end up just booking a restaurant for a meal instead, I thought immediately of your lovely house, which I felt would make it a bit more special for them. I offered to ask you, so here I am.
They’re not having a crowd, just eighteen guests in total, twenty including themselves.
They would, of course, be very happy to pay whatever you charge, and they’d be fine with the way the house is too.
We could organise the reception in much the same way that Ian and Lorraine did – Lorraine said her niece would be happy to help – and you would have absolutely nothing to do.
Would you be open to that at all? Their situation is delicate, and I’m trying to help them out.
It’s hard to explain in a letter, but if you were willing to consider my request I’d be very happy to meet you wherever suited, and give you the full story.
I live about an hour from Chance House, on the other side of the town.
I’ll put my phone number at the end, and if you could let me know yes or no, that would be great. Thanks a million for reading this, and every good wish for your future happiness, whether we meet or not.
Yours very sincerely
Tessa Blake
Lydia skimmed it, then went back and read it properly. She copied the phone number on to the envelope before throwing the letter into the bin. She’d send a text later and tell the woman she was sorry she couldn’t help.
She couldn’t believe another couple were looking at Chance House for their wedding. What was it about the house that seemed to make it a magnet for engaged couples? Hadn’t this woman seen how little it offered?
She wondered what the delicate situation could be.
But wasn’t it weird that the couple had no date set at this stage? Around the end of the month or early July, the letter had said, and now it was halfway through June. Talk about last minute. What about the eighteen guests? Didn’t they need a date for their diaries?
It wasn’t that Lydia would have a problem letting another couple have their reception at Chance House: having done it once, and having found it not to be as traumatic as she’d envisaged, she didn’t think she’d object to offering the dining room again, if the couple truly needed help.
But this was different. This pair hadn’t been let down at short notice by a venue they’d booked; they just seemed incredibly disorganised. If they couldn’t be bothered, why should Lydia? Let them go to a restaurant.
And yet . . . this woman, this Tessa, came across as a nice person. Polite, sincere, wishing Lydia well whether she helped them or not. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to meet her, see what she had to say for herself, decide if there was a genuine case of need.
She sent a text: Tessa, it’s Lydia Cotter here. I just got your letter. I’m not sure I’ll be in a position to help you, but if you want to drop by the house we could have a chat about it. Does tomorrow afternoon suit, around four?
A few minutes later, her phone beeped. Lydia, thank you so much for your prompt reply. I’d be delighted to come and meet you. I’ll see you tomorrow – Tessa
It was just a meeting. She wasn’t committing to anything.
Next day Tessa arrived five minutes early, an old red Mini pulling up in the driveway as Lydia was polishing the brasses of the front door.
She looked around the age of Lydia’s mother, shoulder-length light brown hair shot with white, pinned back with little gold clips.
She wore a flowery dress beneath a navy jacket, a string of pearls around her neck.
She approached Lydia with a tremulous smile.
‘Hello. Lydia, I presume.’
‘Yes,’ Lydia replied, peeling off rubber gloves to offer her hand, ‘and you must be Tessa.’
‘I am. I’m delighted to meet you. The house looks wonderful – the painting hadn’t been done when we were here.’
‘No, it’s just finished. Please come inside – I’ll put the kettle on.’
In the apartment she took Tessa’s jacket and hung it in the hall. The sleeves of the dress stopped at her elbows. It was the kind of dress you could wear to a wedding.
Tea was made, biscuits produced. Tessa admired the granite worktop, the floor tiles, the colour of the walls. She commented on the fine day, and asked if the cat on the windowsill was Lydia’s – and finally, she got around to the wedding.
‘It’s Ursula’s first, but not Paul’s – he was married before, and his wife died.’ She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the biscuits. ‘He’s from Uganda. He and Ursula work in the same hospital in Dubai. He’s a doctor, she’s a receptionist.’ She glanced at Lydia. ‘He’s a really nice man.’
‘So you said in your letter.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, blinking rapidly. ‘I just – it’s . . .’ She lapsed into silence, lips pressed together. Anxious. Wrapping hands around her cup.
‘You mentioned,’ Lydia prompted, ‘that there was a delicate situation.’
‘I did.’ Pause. ‘It’s my husband, you see. He’s . . . well, he’s difficult.’ She darted another look at Lydia. ‘Domineering.’
Yes. Living with a man who told her what to do would explain the jittery manner.
‘And Ursula doesn’t really see eye to eye with him. Neither of the children do really.’
‘I see.’ Might he have been the cause of Ursula going to live abroad? Lydia told herself to stop jumping to conclusions.
‘He’s great friends with our parish priest,’ Tessa went on, ‘and he wanted Ursula and Paul to get married in our church – Paul’s Catholic too – and have a big reception in the local hotel, but Ursula doesn’t particularly like the priest, he’s a bit old school, and to be honest, she wasn’t that keen on her father telling her what to do.
Besides, neither of them wants a big flashy wedding – my husband was going to invite half the parish – so the whole thing has been . . . tricky.’
She trailed off. Her voice was too brittle. She hadn’t touched her tea, hadn’t gone near the biscuits.
‘They’ve been searching for a venue for the last few months.
They thought it would be easy to find somewhere – they’d originally planned to have fifty guests.
They wanted a group of friends to come from Dubai, but they didn’t realise how far in advance you need to book here, and I’m afraid neither did I.
I hadn’t been to a wedding in years before Ian and Lorraine’s.
So now they’ve decided to do a family-only thing here, and have a party back in Dubai for the others.
‘I know this is very last minute, I should have contacted you sooner – it did occur to me on the day I was here that it might suit Ursula and Paul, but I didn’t know if you’d consider letting another couple into your home. I know you were just helping out Ian and Lorraine.’
She looked on the verge of tears. ‘Have some tea,’ Lydia said.
Tessa picked up her cup obediently. She sipped and put it down again.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have involved you, Lydia.
You have enough to cope with – you don’t need our problems too.
’ She made to stand up. ‘I’ll leave you alone, if you’ll just get me my jacket.
Thanks for listening. We’ll sort something out. ’
‘Hang on. Wait.’
She was doing this, wasn’t she? She was getting into this awkward family situation, and she was going to involve Father Phil too.
She was doing it to help Tessa, who’d fixed her hair and dressed up to meet Lydia, and who looked completely wrung out.
Caught between a husband who sounded horrible – toadying up to the local priest, regarded as a pillar of the community, no doubt – and a presumably beloved daughter, doing what she could to make the day a happy one. Lydia could help, so she would.
‘I’ll talk to our priest here. He might agree to marry them, if he has a date free. I can’t guarantee anything,’ she said.
Tessa’s face lit up all the same. ‘Oh, that would be wonderful! And they could have the reception here?’
‘They could.’
It would all depend, she thought, on whether Father Phil was happy to marry a couple he’d never met at terribly short notice. Then again, she and Damien hadn’t given him a lot of notice – but he’d known Damien, so that was different.
‘Try not to get your hopes up,’ she said – but Tessa’s hopes, she could see, were already sky high. Her eyes shone; a small flush had entered her cheeks.
‘It would be marvellous if he said yes.’
‘I’ll talk to him today,’ Lydia promised.
As soon as Tessa had left, she cycled into the village and found him at home.
‘I’d like to run something by you,’ she said, and filled him in. ‘They’re both Catholic?’
‘They are.’
‘And free to marry?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘All sounds in order then. Give them my number and we’ll make arrangements. There’ll be some paperwork to sort out.’
‘Really? It’s possible?’
Father Phil smiled. ‘Everything’s possible if you believe in it. If two people need my blessing to get married, and if there’s nothing standing in their way, I’m happy to give it.’
‘Thank you so much. They’ll be thrilled. It sounded like they were losing hope.’
‘Shame the bride’s father isn’t giving his blessing, though.’
Lydia had felt obliged to let him have all the facts.
‘I know.’ She couldn’t imagine having to tiptoe around the man you were living with.
Had it been going on for years? Were her children estranged from him, or all but?
How horrible for Tessa if they were, because that surely had to impact on her contact with them.
Father Phil sat back and interlaced his fingers. ‘So this is to be the third wedding celebration in Chance House.’
‘It is.’
‘Strange how things happen, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I have you to thank for making this one happen.’
‘You’ve been kind enough to offer them your house, so let’s call it a collaboration. Tell them to get in touch as soon as they can, so we can get the ball rolling and fix on a date.’
And Tessa, when Lydia rang her, was ecstatic. ‘Oh Lydia, I can’t thank you enough – I’ll pass his number on this minute to Ursula.’
The third wedding reception at Chance House, when hers and Damien’s had been the only one supposed to take place there – and if they hadn’t brought their date forward, they’d never have got married.
As Father Phil had said, strange how things happened.