Score!

Lucy, who’d hardly had a second to change into a dark brown suit and black bowler, or to apply any of her make-up skills on herself, prayed that Tabitha wouldn’t be sick.

‘That’s Percy the Parson,’ hissed Meredith, as a red-faced cleric with straggly grey hair moved forward to welcome the bride. ‘He’s got such a plain wife, they’re known as One Man and His Dog.’

Lucy fought the giggles.

‘And the bridegroom is to die for,’ sighed Meredith, as Isa moved beside Tabitha. ‘Such a moody, vindictive little shit, pure Heathcliff, in fact, but bags I be Catherine Earnshaw.’

‘Should have had a haircut. Fellow’s hair’s longer than Tabitha’s,’ said Eddie loudly.

There was an awkward moment when Percy the Parson asked if anyone knew of any impediment or just cause why the couple shouldn’t be joined in matrimony and Little Cosmo called out, ‘I do,’ with a maniacal cackle and had his ears boxed by his mother.

‘To have and to hold from this day forward,’ intoned Isa.

‘Chap sounds like something out of Brookside,’ muttered a disapproving Eddie, taking a swig from his hip flask.

‘I, Tabitha Maud Lavinia, take thee, Isaac Jake,’ said Tab in the flat, clipped drawl that reminded almost everyone present of Rupert.

‘Love, cherish and obey,’ she went on, looking mockingly at Isa from under her mascaraed lashes.

‘Oh dear.’ Taggie blew her nose on a piece of loo paper. She certainly hadn’t obeyed Rupert today.

‘With my body I thee worship…’ As she lurched over to kiss Isa on the jawbone, Tab nearly fell over. ‘And with all my rather depleted worldly goods, I thee endow, although I am going to keep The Engineer,’ she added, as an afterthought.

‘Tabitha!’ hissed an appalled Helen. What would the Lovells think?

Fortunately everyone was distracted by the ringing of Little Cosmo’s mobile. Tab got the giggles.

Even more fortunately, Percy dispensed with a sermon. He’d been kept waiting quite long enough, and when he’d asked Helen and Rannaldini for touching memories of the bride, Helen couldn’t think of any and Rannaldini’s had been quite unrepeatable.

As everyone knelt to pray it could be seen that the bridegroom was wearing sapphire cufflinks as big and blue as his wife’s eyes.

Followed by a smirking Rannaldini, a tight-lipped Helen, an ashen Jake and Tory, Tab and Isa went off to sign the register.

Tristan turned to Lucy. ‘That is best make-up repair job I ever see. You wouldn’t know she’d shedded a tear.’ No Frenchwoman would be seen dead in that black bowler, decided Tristan, but Lucy had a nice face, not pretty, but kind and generous. With her dark curls, freckles, bright eyes and athletic body, she reminded him of a heroine in one of those Mallory Towers books his girl cousins were always devouring in the holidays.

Lucy, who’d spent her life studying faces, thought Tristan’s was marvellous. She longed to paint out the dark shadows, bring forward the deep-set eyes and add a bit of tawny blusher to the sallow cheeks. There was also deceptive strength in the jaw. And when he smiled he had wonderful even white teeth.

She jumped as Meredith, who was now standing on the pew to have a better view, whispered that the Lovells looked as though they were signing a death warrant. ‘Probably will be if Rupert rolls up.’

‘Who’s that beautiful woman in the crimson suit?’ asked Tristan.

‘Taggie Campbell-Black.’ Lucy was appalled to feel a stab of jealousy.

Married to that white-hot fury, thought Tristan in dismay. He hoped Rupert didn’t beat her up.

Hermione had now mounted the pulpit, her gold halo hat glinting in the candlelight, and opened her music and her big brown eyes.

‘Panis Angelicus’ rang out on the arctic air.

Tristan gave a shudder of pleasure.

‘Could you make her look eighteen?’ he muttered to Lucy.

‘She doesn’t look much older, she’s so lovely.’

‘A maestro a day helps you work, rest and play,’ giggled Meredith.

Hermione would have eked out ‘Panis Angelicus’ for ever, if a mobile hadn’t rung again.

‘Hi, Joel. Who won the four thirty at Doncaster?’ demanded Little Cosmo, and Hermione had to scuttle down from the pulpit to cuff him again.

Hermione was followed by Baby, who strolled up to the chancel steps, turned, with his hands in his pockets, and looked straight at Isa and Tabitha, who were waiting to return for the blessing.

‘Where’er you walk,’ sang Baby, and the chapel went still because he had one of those extraordinary voices whose music goes straight to the listener’s heart, and, as he sang, his face lost all its mockery and decadence, leaving only sweetness and beauty. Isa Lovell’s face was totally expressionless, but his eyes were as dark as an open grave at midnight.

God in heaven, thought Tristan, he’s got to replace Fat Franco and play Carlos. Glancing round he found Rannaldini smiling straight across at him, making a thumbs-up sign, as the congregation launched into ‘Jerusalem’.

Isa, his saturnine face lit up, a cigarette concealed in his left hand, was whispering to Tabitha as they came down the aisle.

Oh, please let it be OK, prayed Lucy.

Helen followed, in great embarrassment, on Jake Lovell’s arm. His limp was so bad that their progress was painfully slow.

Eddie tugged Taggie’s sleeve.

‘Wasn’t that the fellow Helen ran off with at the Los Angeles Olympics?’ he demanded loudly. ‘D’yer mean to say the bounder’s done it again?’

10

After that the Marx Brothers seemed to take over. The guests were firmly shepherded upstairs for champagne cocktails in Helen’s Blue Living Room, and the bride and groom disappeared for their first legal bonk.

Seeing Lucy gazing in wonder at a Sickert of a pretty dancer, Tristan joined her and in no time had learned she was twenty-eight, had worked, like him, on a number of big films and owned a lurcher called James.

‘Nice scent,’ he said, scooping up several asparagus rolls.

‘It’s called Bluebell. It reminds me of home.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘The Lake District.’

‘Ought to be called Daffodils, then. “I wandered lonely as a cloud.” How did you meet Tabitha?’

‘At a Compassion in World Farming rally. We were trying to stop a lorry taking baby calves abroad. When the driver and his mate got out of their lorry because we were blocking the road, Tabitha jumped in, backed up the lorry and drove it away. They arrested her just before the motorway.’

‘What was she going to do with them?’ Tristan noticed Lucy refusing chicken vol-au-vents.

‘Let them loose in her father’s fields. We both spent the night in gaol. It sort of bonds you. We’ve been friends ever since. She’s got absolutely no side,’ she added humbly. ‘And she’s so beautiful. I make up so many faces but hers is easily the best.’

‘You do excellent job today. Look, Lucy.’

When he spoke her name in that husky Gerard Depardieu voice, Lucy was lost.

‘We start filming Don Carlos next April for three month, maybe more,’ he went on. ‘I would like to offer you the make-up job. Would you be free?’

‘Yes, please,’ gasped Lucy. She’d have cancelled anything.

‘Singers are very highly strung,’ sighed Tristan. ‘They can’t pack their voices away in a case like other