‘It was obscenely extravagant.’ Miranda shuddered at the memory. ‘I can’t bear to think about it: the dress, the invitations, the flowers, the table decorations, the food, the champagne, the special entertainer for children…It was all so over the top.’
‘Weddings often are excessive,’ Rafe commented mildly.
‘But why?’ Miranda stopped and watched a tanker inch its way along the horizon. ‘It seems to me that if you want to get married, you shouldn’t need all that brouhaha. It should be about two people making a commitment to each other. You don’t need five hundred guests and a flotilla of bridesmaids and pageboys for that.’
‘You’re very severe,’ said Rafe, standing beside her. ‘A wedding is the most important day of most people’s lives. What’s wrong with wanting to make it special?’
‘Well, if I ever get married, it’s going to be just me and a man who loves me,’ said Miranda defiantly. ‘All we’ll need is each other. We’ll have a simple ceremony, then we’ll come here and sit on the beach when it’s dark. Maybe we’ll have some champagne and listen to the sea and just be together.’
‘And then?’
‘Then we’ll go back to Whitestones and make love all night, and know that when we wake in the morning the sun will be streaming through the window, and we’ll have the rest of our lives to spend together.’
‘Miranda, you’re a romantic!’ Rafe’s smile held more affection than mockery. ‘I never expected that.’
Up went the chin in a gesture that already seemed heart-clenchingly familiar. ‘You’re not, I suppose?’
‘I don’t think I can be,’ he confessed, ‘but I can certainly see the appeal of your wedding. What will you be wearing?’
She stared at him, disconcerted by the abrupt question. ‘What?’
‘You seem to have imagined your wedding in some detail. I just wondered what you were going to wear to make the occasion special-or will you just be in one of your neat little grey suits?’
‘Of course not,’ said Miranda, but she hesitated. ‘I don’t know about a dress,’ she admitted after a moment. ‘I’m not very good at clothes.’
Rafe put his head on one side and considered her. ‘I think you should wear something very simply designed, but in a soft, beautiful fabric. Something floaty, with chiffon perhaps, to make you look ethereal…like a mermaid.’
Miranda was embarrassed by how clearly she could imagine it as Rafe described her dress in his deep, warm voice. ‘If I’m going to look like a mermaid, I should carry a bunch of seaweed perhaps?’ she said in an attempt to puncture the sudden tension in the atmosphere.
‘Meadow flowers would be better,’ said Rafe, unfazed. ‘And, of course, you’ll have to let your hair down.’ Without thinking, he reached out and pulled the band from her ponytail so that her hair slithered silkily forward. It was just as soft against his fingers as he had imagined, and he let out a careful breath.
Thrown ridiculously off balance by how she looked, standing there with the sun in her eyes and her hair spilling down to her shoulders, he made a great show of fluffing it up in a caricature of a hairdresser while he got his breathing under control.
‘That’s better,’ he said.
Realising that she was trembling, Miranda snatched the band from his hands, and stepped back from the tantalising warmth of his hands.
‘Thanks for the tip,’ she said, hating the fact that her voice wasn’t quite steady. ‘If I ever get married, I’ll certainly remember your advice.’ She began walking along the sand again. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath, though. I won’t get married until I can find a man who is everything to me, a man who doesn’t feel as if he’s quite complete unless I’m beside him. I realise that may take a long time,’ she added, hoping that she sounded wryly amused, but suspecting that instead she simply sounded wistful.
‘Ah, so you’re holding out for the fairy tale?’
Why couldn’t
‘No, I can’t say I do,’ said Rafe. ‘I think that kind of all-encompassing love is overrated, to be honest. I’m not saying it doesn’t exist. My parents had that kind of marriage. They were everything to each other, just the way you want to be with your husband.’
‘You’re lucky to have had that kind of model,’ said Miranda, unable to keep the wistfulness from her voice this time.
‘Maybe.’ Rafe sounded unconvinced. ‘From the outside, it always looks perfect. When my parents were together in a room you felt as if it was an effort for them to notice anyone else, even their own child. I always felt incidental to their marriage.’
‘I’m sure they must have loved you,’ Miranda said a little awkwardly.
‘Oh, sure,’ he said with a careless shrug. ‘It wasn’t as if I was neglected, or badly treated. Far from it. But I always knew that I wasn’t necessary to them, not the way they were necessary to each other. It didn’t seem to matter whether I was good or bad…so of course I was bad most of the time. Classic bid for attention, I’m afraid.’
He gave a short laugh that Miranda guessed was meant to be self-mocking, but which hinted instead at a small boy’s bafflement and hurt at finding himself excluded from the intense relationship his parents shared.
‘My father was shattered when my mother died,’ Rafe went on. ‘He never recovered from it. He withdrew into himself, became a workaholic, and, selfishly, I resented him for it. It’s only recently that I’ve begun to wonder whether the reason he refused to give me any responsibility was because he was afraid to let go of anything to do with the company. Perhaps he thought that the moment he stopped working so hard he would have to face the emptiness of his life, and remember that without my mother he had nothing.’
‘He had you.’
Rafe shook his head. ‘I wasn’t her. I was only fifteen and away at school. I never really had a chance to build a proper relationship with him. If they had been less bound up in each other, her death might have meant that we grew closer. As it was, I couldn’t offer him any comfort.’
And his father had offered him none either. Miranda’s heart twisted to realise how unhappy the wild, reckless boy Rafe had been.
By tacit consent, they had drifted to a halt once more and stood side by side, facing out to sea while the waves swooshed and swirled over their feet.
‘If you don’t want the fairy tale, what kind of marriage are you looking for?’ she asked him after a moment.
Rafe didn’t answer immediately. ‘I’m not looking for an incredible love affair,’ he said at last. ‘I think if I was going to fall in love, I would have done it by now. I’m thirty-five, and I’ve known a lot of women. I’ve liked them and desired them, but I haven’t
‘So who are you looking for at this ball when all these supposedly serious women turn up?’
Rafe was disconcerted to find that he couldn’t think with her clear green eyes on him. How could he imagine his perfect bride when she was standing right there beside him? When he tried to picture the woman he would want to marry, all he got was Miranda’s image, which was no help at all.
He had to be practical, after all. A wife who was determined to hide herself away in a place like this was obviously unsuitable. He needed someone who could be part of his life in London.
‘Someone I like being with,’ he decided in the end, conscious that it sounded a bit lame. ‘Someone intelligent and cultured, with her own career and her own interests. I’d expect her to be sophisticated, I think, and capable of entertaining for me. And attractive,’ he added honestly. ‘Someone I could come to love without necessarily feeling a grand passion. The kind of relationship my parents had isn’t healthy. If I have kids, I want them to feel part of things, not as if they’re intruding.’
‘Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone like that,’ said Miranda, determinedly brisk. ‘It’s a lot easier if you’re not looking for true love.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Rafe, but suddenly it didn’t seem as easy as it had before.
‘I’d better get on with organising this ball, then.’ Miranda produced a bright smile. ‘Summer would be the best time. Everyone will be away in August, but we could try for mid or late July. What do you think?’
‘The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned,’ he said. ‘It’s May already, though. Do you think that’ll be long enough for you to organise it?’
‘It’ll be tight,’ she acknowledged, pulling her hair determinedly back into its ponytail. ‘I’ll just have to get on
