Bride By Choice

perfectly. Angie too had moved in to the Residenza for the last weeks of her pregnancy, leaving her medical practice in the hands of her brother who had come out from England.

When Helen returned home from work they would all raise their heads from what they were planning, and call, ‘Come and see this.’ Their arrangements would always be perfect, and it would have been unkind to cry, as she sometimes wanted to, ‘Not so much.’

Only once did she voice her thoughts, one afternoon when she, Heather and Angie were sitting together in the gardens of the Residenza, enjoying the autumn sun glittering on the fountain. Before them, on a small table, were coffee and cakes.

‘Sometimes,’ Helen said wistfully, ‘I wish my wedding could be like yours, Angie. All arranged at the last minute, with just your close family in the village church. As it is-’ she sighed.

‘Yes, you are getting a bit swamped,’ Angie agreed sympathetically. ‘Palermo cathedral, and the Jubilate.’

This made them all laugh. Piero Vanzini, a local musician, had composed a Jubilate which he was anxious to hear performed, so he had obtained permission to play it at the wedding, and was rehearsing the choir to exhaustion point.

‘And practically every relative in the whole world,’ Angie finished.

‘My whole family from New York,’ Helen said. ‘It’ll be lovely see Mamma and Poppa, and my brothers and sisters, but there’ll also be fifty thousand others, including some I’m pretty sure we’re not related to at all. They’ve practically chartered the plane. And, of course, Giorgio.’ She made a face.

‘You really don’t like him, do you?’ Heather chuckled from the rustic chair where she sat with little Vittorio in her arms.

‘No, I don’t like him at all,’ Helen said. ‘He thinks now that his sister-in-law is marrying a Martelli his family over here is going to have it easy. He’s already telephoned me twice demanding to that I should “use my influence” for them. But Lorenzo says their produce just isn’t good enough.’

‘Then let Lorenzo tell him,’ Heather suggested.

‘No way,’ Helen said at once. ‘I can deal with him without having to call for male assistance.’

‘Don’t be so prickly,’ Heather laughed. ‘I only meant that Lorenzo has a lot of firmness under that boyish charm.’

‘So do I have a lot of firmness,’ Helen said. ‘Leave Giorgio to me.’

But the other two were smiling at her, and in the pleasant afternoon sun it was easy to let her indignation slip away. Helen had been looking through the photos of Angie’s mountain wedding, appreciating its simplicity and the spontaneous happiness on everyone’s face.

Angie’s dress had been a soft cream silk with a tiny veil, held in place by yellow roses. It had been one of three that Heather had hired to take up to Montedoro, a neat arrangement that struck Helen as nicer than standing for hours being fitted for an extravagant creation.

Her glorious bridal gown was Baptista’s gift, a sign that her future mother-in-law wished to do her honour, and Helen appreciated that. But she felt increasingly suffocated by the tide of finery that signified she was a Martelli bride, and which she knew would send her mother into transports of delight.

‘What are you thinking?’ Angie asked, watching her face.

‘Of my mother, and what she’d say if she could see us now; one new mother, one almost mother, and me in the countdown to my wedding in Sicily, to a Sicilian. After all I’ve said in the past. Of course, Mamma would insist that I’d finally “seen sense”.’

‘And that would make you so mad,’ Angie chuckled.

‘Yes, it would,’ Helen said ruefully.

If only, she thought, it could be just Lorenzo and herself. But he was still in France, garnering orders that must be in place before he could leave on their honeymoon. Helen understood this, but she increasingly felt as though she were marrying a phantom.

With three days to go she put in her final afternoon at the hotel. When she returned in three weeks she would be Signora Martelli. Axel kissed her jovially, gave her a costly gift for the new house and told her he hoped she wouldn’t get seasick, a reference to the honeymoon which was to be spent cruising on Renato’s boat, the Santa Maria.

It was a lovely day, and instead of going straight home she wandered down to a spot overlooking the harbour, where she could just make out the great mast of the Santa Maria. She thought of the honeymoon, when they would be alone, except for the crew, free to please each other and only each other. Unfinished business, she thought, with a smile.

Turning away, she collided with someone who’d been standing just behind her, and saw her go sprawling on the hard ground.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, going down on her knees to assist her victim. ‘Are you hurt.’

The young woman was rubbing her elbows, but didn’t seem injured.

‘It’s not so bad,’ she said. Then she grew suddenly alert as she saw who had knocked her down. At the same moment, Helen’s eyes brightened with recognition.

‘It’s Sara, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘Here, let me help you up.’

When they were both back on their feet and had recovered the oranges that had rolled out of Sara’s bag, Helen resumed, ‘Didn’t you used to work at the Residenza?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Let me buy you a cup of coffee to make up for hurting you.’

They found a little bar and Helen bought them both coffee and cakes.

‘You left very suddenly,’ Helen remembered. ‘Did you have another job to go to?’

Sara shook her head, apparently embarrassed. ‘I was dismissed,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Signora Heather was very angry with me.’

‘But why? Surely you can’t have done anything so very terrible?’

‘I said something-I had no right-I didn’t mean any harm, but nobody is allowed to speak of it in that house- because of you.’

‘Because of me? I don’t understand. Why should I care what anyone says?’

‘Please, Signorina, I don’t want to get into any more trouble.’

‘I won’t make trouble for you,’ Helen said gently. ‘But I think you should tell me what happened.’

‘But you will be angry with me too,’ Sara wailed, ‘if they haven’t told you-’

‘I won’t be angry,’ Helen insisted.

After a little more carefully calculated fencing Sara allowed herself to be ‘persuaded’.

‘It was about Signor Lorenzo,’ she whispered, ‘because he was supposed to marry her-and then he didn’t-’

‘What do you mean?’ Helen asked, frowning. ‘Who was he supposed to marry?’

‘Signora Heather. She came out to Sicily last year to marry him, but on their wedding day he vanished. She went to the cathedral, but he’d gone. He left her a letter saying he couldn’t marry her.’

‘Don’t be silly. If that had happened, I’d have heard.’

‘They won’t have it mentioned,’ Sara said. ‘It’s a great scandal and nobody must speak of it.’

‘You said “the cathedral”,’ Angie echoed, in a daze. ‘Do you mean-?’

‘Palermo cathedral. It was a very grand affair. All the family had come from far and wide, and the building was full. There was a great choir and a beautiful bride-but no bridegroom. He’d abandoned her.’

Sara spoke the last words with relish, but Helen was past noticing. The world seemed to be fragmenting about her, and reforming itself into a monstrous shape.

‘But-Heather married Renato last year,’ she murmured. ‘Surely-?’

‘Of course. Signora Baptista arranged it.’

‘Arranged-?’

‘It had to be done for the family’s honour. The wedding was barely two months after Signor Lorenzo left her standing at the altar. She had to save her pride, so she married his brother, but she was still weeping for him. Perhaps even now-oh, forgive me! I’ve said too much.’

‘No,’ Helen said, speaking like someone in a dream. ‘You haven’t said too much.’

Sara touched her hand. ‘You didn’t know?’

‘No,’ Helen whispered. ‘I didn’t know.’ She pulled herself together. ‘But it’s all in the past. It doesn’t affect