After You Left(95)

He was standing by the altar, almost with his back to her. He was tall and broad, with a thatch of dark, healthy hair and, from what she could see of him side-on, there was something disarming about his smile. He was standing with a shorter, stocky, ordinary-looking lad – presumably the groom, judging by the aura of tension around him. The usher led them to their row. The pianist was playing one of those classical tunes you often hear at weddings, only Evelyn couldn’t say what it was called. Catching sight of him had stormed her senses. She was aware of the guests glancing up as they arrived, giving their outfits the eye. But every cell in her body was wired to the man up at the front. Once she’d sat down in their pew, she could observe him at leisure, while Elizabeth muttered in her ear.

A heart rush. A tingle of promise to the day. She hadn’t really wanted to come, given that she had never met the bride, or her intended, and she knew no one except for her friend.

He was joking around with the groom. It was amazing what you could tell about someone’s personality by just observing them. She found herself inwardly smiling when she sensed he was being funny, warmed by him, as though she’d known him for years. Then, he ran out of steam and solemnly bowed his head.

She had yet to see him face-on. It was becoming an exhilarating tease. Only when the pianist launched into ‘Ave Maria’ as the bride arrived did he finally turn around. Then everything faded into the background, except for his face. She watched him, slowly, if you could watch someone that way, acutely aware of trying to prolong her pleasure. So when he happened to look over, perhaps sensing someone’s eyes on him, Evelyn had already contained her surprise.

He blushed, deep red, a colour that intensified the more he looked at her. Neither one could pull their eyes away, until Evelyn absolutely had to, because she was about to burst.

The ceremony passed. She heard low voices, the distant repeating of vows. At one point, right after he’d handed the groom the ring, he looked back at her and seemed to blush again.

‘If I told you that every time I look at you, I think I’m going to bungle it before I even speak, would you decide I was undeserving of you?’ he asked her a few hours later.

The first thing he ever said to her. This was after confetti on the church steps, after pink fizz by the tennis courts with a cluster of Elizabeth’s friends – he’d gone off for photos with the wedding party. She looked him bluntly in the eyes, determined to deliver her reply without a smile. ‘No. I’d decided that before you even spoke.’

She had played a deliberate game of cat and mouse with him – moving to chat with someone else the second she sensed he was coming to talk to her. Finally, she’d positioned herself alone, by a window. He had followed, on the button.

His smile gleamed. There was no end to the amusement in his eyes. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked, burning with her awareness of how fanciable he was.

‘Like what?’

‘Like that!’ She flew a finger to his face. ‘You’re making fun of me now.’

He placed a hand in his trouser pocket, leaning to say in her ear, ‘Have you ever thought you might take yourself a bit too seriously?’

‘Hmm . . . Strange thing to say to someone you don’t even know! Why am I sensing that you and I don’t have two minutes of normal conversation in us?’ She was always more comfortable being sparky. She pretended to look around the room, bored.

He was observing her, sportily, yet warily. Like someone considering jumping off a cliff, but wondering if the water really was as deep as people said it was. ‘Why is your glass empty, by the way? Ah! I know! You’re the one they said was uptight about alcohol! Takes herself too seriously, is a bit high and mighty, stands in the corner, has no friends. I remember. That’s why you’re giving me no choice but to come and rescue you from yourself. Because I’m gallant like that.’

She snuffled a small laugh.

The music was a tune no one seemed to like. The dance floor had emptied. Eddy hadn’t yet serenaded her with ‘Be My Baby’. The song he was supposed to be singing to the newlyweds until he changed his tack and tried to woo her with his terrible voice that really wasn’t a terrible voice; it was mainly the episode that was terrible. This monumental embarrassment was to come later. As were so many things she had no idea about.

He got her another drink. ‘For the lady.’ He handed her a goblet of Babycham. ‘And a brandy in it for good measure. To loosen you up.’ He smiled. ‘Go on, Evelyn. Live dangerously for once.’

She had a nettling old uncle who always used to say something like that. ‘How do you know I don’t live dangerously all the time?’ she asked, taking a sip and finding it blow-your-head-off strong, but she was determined not to flinch. She’d have knocked back the entire glass to prove a point.

‘I don’t know. You’re all a bit Roman Holiday, aren’t you? A bit Audrey.’ He was scrutinising her. She felt his eyes saw nothing but her.

Her jaw dropped open. She was aware of the girls beside them, watching them. She searched for a comeback, but it was too late.

She had noticed that, after the photographs, he had undone his top button and cast off his bow tie. She was sure he wasn’t deliberately trying to look dashing and dreamy, but he was succeeding regardless. His shoulders were practically making contact with the walls. He was unfairly fit and handsome. She couldn’t work out whether his skin was dark, or his shirt was ultra-white; it was hard to say in the frosted party lighting. But his eyes were piercing sapphires. It made him hard to look at – and hard not to look at. It was a challenge that was completely foreign to her. With most men, she ended up looking at them witheringly and walking by.