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blue, with a fetching hat, handbag, gloves and shoes, and the nucleus of a new wardrobe suitable for a senior registrar’s wife. Julia had assembled an elegant buffet for after the ceremony, and Monica had gone to the market and bought daffodils, so that when they reached the church—a red-brick mid-Victorian building, sadly lacking in beauty—its rather bleak interior glowed with colour.
Monica had gone on ahead, leaving Julia to make the last finishing touches to the table, which took longer than she had expected. She had to hurry to the church just as Dr Goodman came for Ruth.
She arrived there a bit flushed, her russet hair glowing under her little green felt hat—Ruth’s hat, really, but it went well with her green jacket and skirt, which had been altered and cleaned and altered again and clung to, since they were suitable for serious occasions.
Julia sniffed appreciatively at the fresh scent of the daffodils and started down the aisle to the back views of Thomas and his best man and the sprinkling of people in the pews. It was a long aisle, and she was halfway up when she saw the Professor sitting beside Mrs Goodman. They appeared to be on the best of terms and she shot past their pew without looking at them. His appearance was unexpected, but she supposed that Thomas, now a senior member of the team, merited his presence.
When Ruth came, Julia concentrated on the ceremony, but the Professor’s image most annoyingly got between her and the beautiful words of the simple service. There was no need for him to be there. He and Thomas might be on the best of terms professionally, but they surely had different social lives? Did the medical profession enjoy a social life? she wondered, then brought her attention back sharply to Thomas and Ruth, exchanging their vows. They would be happy, she reflected, watching them walk back down the aisle. They were both so sure of their love. She wondered what it must feel like to be so certain.
After the first photos had been taken Julia slipped away, so as to get home before anyone else and make sure that everything was just so.
She was putting the tiny sausage rolls in the oven to warm when Ruth and Thomas arrived, closely followed by everyone else, and presently the best man came into the kitchen to get a corkscrew.
‘Not that I think we’ll need it,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘The Prof bought half a dozen bottles of champagne with him. Now that’s what I call a wedding gift of the right sort. Can I help?’
‘Get everyone drinking. I’ll be along with these sausage rolls in a minute or two.’
She had them nicely arranged on a dish when the Professor came into the kitchen. He had a bottle and a glass in one hand.
He said, ‘A most happy occasion. Your vicar has had two glasses already.’
He poured the champagne and handed her a glass. ‘Thirsty work, heating up sausage rolls.’
She had to laugh. Such light-hearted talk didn’t sound like him at all, and for a moment she liked him.
She took her glass and said, ‘We can’t toast them yet, can we? But it is a happy day.’And, since she was thirsty and excited, she drank deeply.
The Professor had an unexpected feeling of tenderness towards her; she might have a sharp tongue and not like him, but her naïve treatment of a glass of Moet et Chandon Brut Imperial he found touching.
She emptied the glass and said, ‘That was nice.’
He agreed gravely. ‘A splendid drink for such an occasion,’ and he refilled her glass, observing prudently, ‘I’ll take the tray in for you.’
The champagne was having an effect upon her empty insides. She gave him a wide smile. ‘The best man— what’s his name, Peter?—said he’d be back…’
‘He will be refilling glasses.’ The Professor picked up the tray, opened the door and ushered her out of the kitchen.
Julia swanned around, light-headed and lighthearted. It was marvellous what a couple of glasses of champagne did to one. She ate a sausage roll, drank another glass of champagne, handed round the sandwiches and would have had another glass of champagne if the Professor hadn’t taken the glass from her.
‘They’re going to cut the cake,’ he told her, ‘and then we’ll toast the happy couple.’Only then did he hand her back her glass.
After Ruth and Thomas had driven away, and everyone else was going home, she realised that the Professor had gone too, taking the best man with him.
‘He asked me to say goodbye,’ said Monica as the pair of them sat at the kitchen table, their shoes off, drinking strong tea. ‘He took the best man with him, said he was rather pressed for time.’
Julia, still pleasantly muzzy from the champagne, wondered why it was that the best man had had the time to say goodbye to her. If he’d gone with the Professor, then surely the Professor could have found the time to do the same? She would think about that when her head was a little clearer.
Life had to be reorganised now that Ruth had left home; they missed her share of the housekeeping, but by dint of economising they managed very well.
Until, a few weeks later, Monica came into the house like a whirlwind, calling to Julia to come quickly; she had news.
George had been offered a parish; a small rural town in the West country. ‘Miles from anywhere,’ said Monica, glowing with happiness, ‘but thriving. Not more than a large village, I suppose, but very scattered. He’s to go there this week and see if he likes it.’
‘And if he does?’
‘He’ll go there in two weeks’ time. I’ll go with him, of course. We can get married by special licence first.’ Then she danced round the room. ‘Oh, Julia, isn’t it all marvellous? I’m so happy…!’
It wasn’t until later, after they had toasted the future in a bottle of wine from the supermarket, that Monica said worriedly, ‘Julia, what about you? What will you do? You’ll never be able to manage…’
Julia had had time to have an answer ready. She said cheerfully, ‘I shall take in lodgers until we decide what to do about this house. You and Ruth will probably like to sell it, and I think that is a good thing.’
‘But you?’ persisted Monica.
‘I shall go to dressmaking classes and then set up on my own. I shall like that.’
‘You don’t think Oscar will come back? If he really loved you…?’
‘But he didn’t, and I wouldn’t go near him with a bargepole—whatever that means.’
‘But you’ll marry…?’
‘Oh, I expect so. And think how pleased my husband will be to have a wife who makes her own clothes.’
Julia poured the last of the wine into their glasses. ‘Now tell me your plans…’
She listened to her sister’s excited voice, making suitable comments from time to time, making suggestions, and all the while refusing to give way to the feeling of panic. So silly, she told herself sternly; she had a roof over her head for the time being, and she was perfectly able to reorganise her life. She wouldn’t be lonely; she would have lodgers and Muffin…
‘You’ll marry from here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but very quietly. We’ll go straight to the parish after the wedding. There’ll be just us and Ruth—and Thomas, if he can get away. No wedding breakfast or anything.’ Monica laughed. ‘I always wanted a big wedding, you know—white chiffon and a veil and bridesmaids—but none of that matters. It’ll have to be early in the morning.’
Monica’s lovely face glowed with happiness, and Julia said, ‘Aren’t you dying to hear what the vicarage is like? And the little town?You’ll be a marvellous vicar’s wife.’
‘Yes, I think I shall,’ said Monica complacently.
Presently she said uncertainly, ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Julia? There