Mother of the Bride

One of other girls from her office had giggled. ‘God, he sounds perfect, shame I was away when he came in. I’d hang on in there, sweetie.’ And so Jess had.

Jess just hadn’t thought Max was that serious, even if when they first started going out together he’d done things like whisk her away to Paris on Eurostar for the weekend, and when she had been feeling a bit down had a dozen red roses delivered to the design office where she worked. But then he’d come over all Mr Darcy and be preoccupied and prickly, which sometimes Jess saw as a challenge and other times was just bloody annoying. Then again no one was perfect and he always apologised. When he did and looked at her with those big brown eyes, she could feel herself melting.

Recently it had all slowed down a bit and they’d both been busy and tired and finding it hard to make time for each other. In fact until he’d gone down on one knee Jess had begun to wonder if maybe they had already peaked and whether there was any future in the relationship at all. Well, apparently there was. Jess grinned. Not just a future but a happy ever after.

She turned over and snuggled up against him. ‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.

They had been drinking champagne and talking and leaving garbled messages on answer machines the length and breath of the known world, and now more sober and very slightly hung over, it was all beginning to sink in.

Jess ran her fingers down his arm. She had always imagined eventually marrying someone like Max – the classic older man, someone urbane, mature, slightly distant, calm, generous, someone who would take care of her, look after her. Someone who was already established. If she had had a list Max would tick almost all the boxes. She suppressed another giggle.

Up until now she hadn’t even been sure that Max loved her. I mean how mad was that? She knew that Max liked her but he had never mentioned the ‘L’ word, not at all, not once. Not ever. And now they were getting married. The grin was back. Married.

Mrs Jessica Peters – it had such a nice ring to it. Mrs Jessica Peters – she rolled the words around inside her head. She was going to get married. And it would be fine, just fine. After all Max was sensible and he was kind and exactly what she needed. Someone strong and understanding – an old-fashioned man, someone who had seen a bit of life, someone who knew what he was doing.

As she lay there Jess made an effort to quell any little flurries of doubt that surfaced. After all, everyone was nervous about getting married. It was only natural, marriage was a big thing and okay, maybe she had just got a little bit swept along by the moment, but who wouldn’t?

Obviously Max hadn’t got any doubts about it or he wouldn’t have asked, or maybe he could see something in her that she couldn’t? The idea made her smile. It was quite exciting to think that he could see her hidden depths.

Down on the beach, when Max had asked – or told – her, there had been this funny, awkward silence and then he’d said, ‘So what do you say then?’

It was all Jess could do to stop herself from laughing because it sounded ridiculous that anyone wanted to marry her. Then, without really stopping to think about it, she’d said, ‘Yes, please.’ Which, on reflection, made it sound as if he had just offered her an ice cream or something.

In amongst all her thoughts and feelings there was a terrible sense of being overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the plans that needed making to make a wedding happen. They had sixteen weeks tops to get it all together; she’d worked it out in the back of her diary. The biggest thing Jess had organised up until now was a table for fifteen at the local curry house. At the same time she had a funny sense of joy and excitement and anticipation. There was part of her that was ready to settle down. ‘There is so much to get organised, you will help, won’t you?’

Max yawned and stretched. ‘What did you say?’

‘Plans – we’ve got to make plans. And lists. You will help, won’t you?’

He blinked and then rubbed his eyes and reached out to brush the hair back off Jess’s face. ‘You worry too much,’ he said.

‘And I was thinking – does this mean I’m officially moving in?’

He grinned. ‘Well, I certainly hope so.’

‘I meant when we get back. After all it would make life a lot easier and my lease is up.’

‘I’d kind of assumed we’d wait until after the wedding,’ Max said after a few seconds. ‘I know it’s a pain in the arse but would you mind waiting? It’s not long and I’d really like to get the house sorted out. Decorated.’

‘We could do that together. I’m a dab hand with a paint roller. I wouldn’t mind helping.’

‘I know you wouldn’t, eager beaver,’ said Max. ‘But I’m up to my eyes with work at the moment. I’d been thinking I’d get someone in to do it, and it’ll be a lot easier if the house is empty. I need to clear my office out and move the servers first…’ He paused. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Well, no,’ Jess said with a shrug, masking her disappointment. ‘No, not at all, it’s fine.’

He laughed and poked her. ‘No, it’s not. You’re annoyed.’

‘Well, I just thought…’ she began, but he was ahead of her.

‘It won’t be for much longer. If I were you I’d enjoy it. In another few years you’ll probably be sick of the sight of me.’ Max smiled and then leaned in to kiss her. ‘I know my place isn’t all that huge but it’ll do us to start off with and then maybe later we could buy somewhere bigger – you happy with that?’

He kissed her again, more tenderly this time, and as she pulled away, and not for the first time, Jess admired the view. There was no doubt about it: Max Peters was a catch.

They’d met when he’d been brought in to upgrade the computers where she worked. He wasn’t the normal engineer but had been doing a favour for a friend and as he came in, their eyes met and Jess had had one of those totally heartstopping moments of lust. He was gorgeous and knew it.

Debbie, who sat at the desk opposite, and was about to go on maternity leave, had purred and then whispered, ‘Wipe the drool off your chin, sweetie.’ And then five minutes later Max had walked over to her desk and before she knew what had hit her he had asked Jess out for dinner and she had said yes. Just like that.

‘Way, way too smooth,’ Debbie had said, swigging Gaviscon like it was vodka, not quite able to hide the appreciation in her voice as Max went off to sort out one of the other machines.

And now here she was six months later, getting married to him. Jess drank him in with her eyes; she liked those nicely defined muscles in Max’s arms, those broad shoulders and the way his hair – thick and almost black, and shot through here and there with grey – curled into the nape of his strong muscular neck. He swam and worked out two or three times a week and there was something about those big brown eyes of his that suggested he had been hurt, but with a lot of love the right woman could heal him – and apparently it turned out she was that woman.

Jess grinned lazily. Maybe happy ever after wasn’t just a fairy story after all.

By some stroke of genetic good fortune his skin turned the colour of golden syrup at the merest glimpse of sunshine, so that as she moved closer and slid into the crook of his arm, Jess was aware of how very pale and delicate and feminine she looked next to his strong, beautiful golden body. It gave her a little ripple of pleasure. No two ways about it, Max Peters made her mouth water and she was going to marry him and be Mrs Peters. As he pulled her closer all her doubts began to ebb away. She was going to marry Max Peters and live happily ever after and the very thought of it made her smile.

‘So, about these plans and lists,’ she murmured.

‘Plans and lists?’ he teased.

Jess nodded. ‘Uh-huh. Lots of them.’

‘That’s what the bride’s mother’s for,’ Max said, stretching again. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I’m being serious,’ Jess said.

‘And so was I – I’m absolutely famished.’

‘About the wedding.’

‘Oh, don’t look so worried; mothers, they love it, all that arranging, the frocks, the flowers, the caterers.’

‘I’m not sure my mum’s like that,’ said Jess. ‘She’s really busy.’

Max laughed. ‘They’re all like that once you scratch the surface. You okay?’

Jess nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m tired, a bit hung over.’ She looked at Max’s face, trying to work out what he was thinking. ‘You’re frowning? You’re not cross I asked you to help, are you? I am really excited.’

He smiled. ‘I’m not cross, baby. I’m just not great at all that kind of thing. Actually, I’m rubbish, if you want the truth. And I’m incredibly busy at the moment.’

Jess wrinkled up her nose. ‘What about when you got married first time around, didn’t you help with the arrangements then?’

‘That was a long while ago now,’ Max said, pulling himself up onto one elbow. ‘Lucy’s mother organised it all. We got married in the chapel on their family estate. All I did was turn up. If I remember correctly she even sorted out the morning suits for me and the best man. Let’s not talk about that. What do you fancy to eat? We could take a drive along the coast if you like or nip into town. Pick up something and cook it here.’

Jess made the effort to smile.

Lucy. The Honourable Lucy Troughton-Warbridge-Hays, Max’s first wife, the woman who had left Max with that whipped-puppy look. The wife who he had married when they were both too young and who he had loved with all his heart. The wife whose photograph still hung in his office even after all these years.

When Jess had pointed it out Max had blushed furiously and taken it down. ‘Sorry – you know I didn’t even notice it was there,’ he’d said, sliding it into a drawer. Lucy Troughton-Warbridge-Hays, the wife who had run off with his best friend and best man Stephen, who between them had broken his heart and ensured that Max Peters had been a career bachelor – up until now. Jess couldn’t help wonder what it was that had changed his mind. Was it that finally at forty he thought it was time that he settled down? Time to put down roots and have a family? Did he see Jess as someone special, the kind of woman he could trust and wanted to spend the rest of his life with? Surely the answer had to be yes? The thought made her feel warm and fluttery inside.

Jess looked up into his big dark eyes. ‘Do you love me, Max?’

He smiled and kissed the end of her nose. ‘What do you think?’

‘And you will help with the wedding, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will,’ Max said, and rolled back the duvet. ‘But I’ve already told you that I’m not great at that kind of stuff.’ He sounded offhand and casual, but Jess needed him to be keen, eager, and enthusiastic – and told him so.

Max, feet on the floor now, sighed. ‘I am, Jess, sweetheart, and I trust your judgement. Absolutely. After all, you’ve agreed to be my wife, haven’t you? Just shows you’ve got great judgement and the most fantastic taste.’

Jess laughed and threw a pillow at him.

And then Max got out of bed and pulled on a robe. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘it’s no big deal.’

Jess was about to protest when Max leaned over and held a finger to her lips and then, leaning closer still, kissed her briefly. ‘Poor choice of words. What I meant was, it will all get sorted out. You have to understand I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, with the McKeeley project and Jacobson going live in the spring as well as all the usual crap. It’s going to be a busy few months.’

Jess stared at him, wondering whether it was meant as a joke. ‘Well, if you’re that busy maybe we ought to wait – I mean, I don’t mind waiting.’

‘Well, I do,’ said Max emphatically. ‘In my line of work you can never guarantee what the schedule is going to be. We’ve just got to seize the moment.’ Laughing, he made a tickling, nipping lunge at her which made Jess shriek and giggle, then stood over her, hands flat on the mattress, pinning her down. It was a dominant, manly, sexy gesture that made her skin tingle all over.

‘If you wanted to seize the moment maybe we should just slip away – do something romantic, drive to Scotland, get married at Gretna. I’m sure Mum and Dad would understand, ’ said Jess. ‘Just the two of us. Drag two people in off the street to be our witnesses.’

Max’s expression softened into something that made Jess’s heart melt. ‘But I don’t want us to slip away, Jess – I want everyone to see us. I want us to have the most wonderful, perfect day with all our family and friends. I want everyone to see how beautiful you are, to say, “Wow, don’t they make the most stunning couple”. I want it to be just perfect. And it will be.’

‘Oh, Max.’ Jess felt her eyes filling with tears.

‘And I’m sure your mum wouldn’t want us running off and getting hitched without any fuss,’ Max said, pushing himself back upright. ‘I’ll let the dog out and then I thought as we were up we might as well drive out to Exmoor – take Bassa for a bit of a hike and then see if we can find a nice pub somewhere. Unless you want to cook?’

‘It’s still raining,’ protested Jess.

Max laughed. ‘You won’t melt. Come on, the fresh air will do us both good. We ought to make the most of it while we’re down here. I don’t know when I’ll be able to take any more time off before the wedding.’

Wordlessly Jess got out of bed and pulled on her jeans. Actually Max was probably right, the fresh air would help clear her head. When she checked her phone there was a message from Molly. She tried to ring back but Molly had her phone on voicemail.

‘Hi, Mum. I’ve got loads to tell you and talk about, but the signal down here isn’t great. How about we come round on Saturday and we can catch up then? Love you.’ And then, still smiling, Jess hung up. She hurried downstairs, excitement drowning out the little niggling worries she had about Max.

Chapter Five

‘Where’s Max? Couldn’t he make it?’ asked Molly, looking out into the porch through the open kitchen door. She was just sliding a batch of homemade bread out of the oven. It smelt wonderful. It was first thing on Saturday morning and making bread was Molly’s idea of relaxing after a long and busy week.

Jess, in a summer dress over leggings, bundled into the kitchen holding her coat above her head, dripping water all over the flagstone floor. Bassa, her supersized Jack Russell-mongrel-mix followed hard on her heels, tail wagging enthusiastically.

‘No, he’s had to work this weekend. We only got back late last night and he needed to get back on site. The company he’s working for are putting in some kind of new system in their new offices and he’s got to be there – that’s why we grabbed a few days away, while we could. I can see that I’m going to be an IT widow. God, that bread smells wonderful, are we having it for lunch?’

Molly nodded. ‘Uh-huh, and there’s homemade hummus, some tomatoes out of the garden, some cheese and a ham Nick boiled last night. Okay?’

‘Oh God, yes,’ Jess purred as she dumped the coat over a chair and then let Molly fold her into her arms.

‘Congratulations,’ said Molly, voice crackling with unexpected emotion as she pulled back to look Jess up and down. ‘I can’t believe my baby is getting married. Seems only a few months ago we were at the zoo feeding the llamas.’

Jess grinned. ‘It was only few months ago, Mum, remember? We went to do some sort of promo with the radio station?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Jess nodded. ‘It’s so nice to be home,’ she said in a little voice. ‘This week has been completely and utterly crazy. And it was really hard to talk on the mobile – I didn’t want to do all that “Can you hear me? You’re cracking up” thing –’

‘It’s fine and you’re here now, so I want to hear all about it.’

Behind them Bassa did a wet-dog shimmy and shake, covering everyone and everything with a fine spray of mongrel-scented water. Molly’s dog, Milo, a huge English mastiff, lifted his head to check out the new arrivals from the comfort of his basket by the Aga and then celebrated the fact they weren’t burglars by closing his eyes and letting out a loud snore. Bassa made a beeline for Milo’s biscuits while Molly indicated they should sit.

‘I’m so, so glad you’re here. We’ve got pink champagne on standby in the fridge – I was hoping that Max would be here too so we could share it while we have a chat about what you want to do about the wedding.’ Molly struggled to hold back the unexpected flurry of tears that threatened.

Jess grinned. ‘Oh, come on, we don’t have to wait for Max, do we? Do you want to open it or shall I?’

Molly rubbed away a stray tear. ‘First thing you need to learn about men is that they need to feel useful to feel loved,’ and with that she turned and shouted, ‘Nick? Jess is here, darling. We need a real man to come and open the champagne.’

And from somewhere deep in the cottage they both heard Nick laugh. ‘I’m on my way,’ he called.

‘The garden is looking wonderful,’ said Max, taking a sip of tea.

‘Yes it is, isn’t it? We’ve done terribly well with the mixed borders this year. It’s so nice to see you, Max,’ said his mother. ‘Seems like ages since you’ve been down. Such a shame Daddy is out at the moment. You really should have rung and let us know you were coming. He only arranged to go and play golf with Archie this morning…’ Daphne Peters let the silence fall and waited, in the way that all mothers wait, because she knew damned well that Max hadn’t driven nearly three hours out of his way just to admire the dahlias.

‘Actually, Mummy, I came down to tell you that I’ve asked Jessica to marry me,’ Max said, setting his cup and saucer carefully back down on the tea tray. ‘And she’s said yes.’

‘Really,’ said Daphne with a smile. ‘Well, that’s absolutely wonderful news, Max. Congratulations. And not before time. You know your father and I have been terribly worried about you. I’m so pleased. It’ll be lovely for you to be settled at long last. And she seems like a charming young woman. We both said so when you came for lunch – Daddy was most impressed. It’s just a shame you couldn’t have come down to see us together really. Couldn’t Jessica make it today?’

Max shook his head. ‘She’s working this weekend. And to be honest I thought it would be better if I told you myself. Obviously I’ll bring Jess over as soon as possible but I wanted to tell you on my own, rather than spring it on you unprepared.’

He lingered over the word unprepared. Daphne nodded; there was bound to be more.

‘We’re planning to get married in December.’

They were sitting in the conservatory, with its chintz-covered cane furniture and view of the carefully manicured lawns and lovingly tended gardens, where a mother duck was busy leading a waddle of tiny ducklings down towards the pond at the bottom.

Daphne topped up his cup. ‘December? Gosh, well, in that case, we’ll all have to get our skates on then, won’t we? I’ll ring Marjorie and see if she’ll make the cake.’ Max’s mother paused and watched him thoughtfully. ‘Rather a short engagement, darling. Anything else you’d care to share with me?’

Max looked bemused. ‘I thought I was sharing?’

Daphne Peters laughed. ‘I meant, should I ask Marjorie to make sure the top tier is a decent size? I’m a woman of the world, Max, these things happen.’

Max looked more puzzled. ‘Mummy, what are you talking about?’

‘For the christening, Max – it’s traditional to keep the top tier for the christening.’

Max stared at her as if she were speaking in tongues. ‘Right,’ he said slowly.

‘What I mean is, are you planning to make me a grandmother as well as a mother-in-law?’

‘Ah, children,’ he said with relief. ‘I presume so, eventually, but not straight away. Will you tell Daddy about the wedding for me?’

Daphne sighed; men. ‘Of course, darling. Presumably Jessica’s parents will be in touch so we can talk about the arrangements? You have met her people?’

Max nodded. ‘Yes, they’re nice. Divorced. Her father is in business, although I think he’s semi-retired now, remarried – and her mother is on the radio.’

Daphne’s expression brightened. ‘Really? Three or four?’

‘Nothing quite so grand, I’m afraid, it’s a local station. She’s some kind of presenter.’

Daphne nodded again. ‘Well, that all sounds very jolly. I don’t mean to pry, Max, but this hasn’t got anything to do with –’ She stopped short. ‘Well, you know.’

Max looked up from his cup and saucer and said obliquely, ‘With what?’

Sometimes Max and his father took obtuse to a whole new dimension, thought Daphne.

Jess held out her hand and wiggled her fingers so that Molly could inspect her engagement ring. They were sitting at the kitchen table and Nick was busy filling champagne flutes for a toast.

‘Oh, that’s really –’ Molly hesitated, cautiously feeling her way around for the right adjective. ‘Quite striking really,’ she managed after a few more seconds.

Jess looked down at it and then up at Molly and pulled a funny little face. ‘I know what you mean. It isn’t something I’d have chosen for myself, but it’s growing on me.’

‘Growing on you?’ Molly looked her daughter in the eye. ‘You haven’t told Max you don’t like the ring, have you?’ Jessica didn’t say a word, so tactfully Molly pressed on. ‘Jewellery is a really hard thing to choose for someone, even if you know them well. Most couples go out and choose the ring together. It is such a special thing; it would be nice to have something that you really love, don’t you think? I’m sure Max would understand. Men aren’t always great at picking things, you know what they’re like.’

‘What are we like?’ asked Nick, handing them their glasses. A corporate bunny all week, at weekends he dressed like a roadie for a rock band.

‘I was saying picking jewellery for someone can be tricky even when you know them well,’ said Molly.

Nick held out his hand and without a word Jess put her hand in it. He leaned in closer and took a long, hard look at the ring. ‘Umm,’ he said.

‘It looks like roadkill, doesn’t it?’ said Jess glumly. ‘The more I look at it, the more I hate it. How can I tell Max that I hate his engagement ring?’

Nick sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘The best way is to try not to hurt his feelings, so try something like, “You know, Max, your taste in totty is spot on, but to be perfectly frank your taste in jewellery is complete shite.”’

At which point Jess laughed, which was a great relief because for a few seconds there Molly was convinced she was going to cry.

‘No, what you need to say,’ Nick continued, ‘is that it’s a very beautiful ring but not the kind of thing that you would usually wear, and that you want something you can wear every day, so when you look at it you think of him. After all you’ve got to wear it the rest of your life.’

Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m impressed. This from a man who gets palpitations at the mention of marriage.’

‘Come on, I’m not the only one. Who was the woman who said she’d rather push needles in her eyes than get married again?’

‘What I said was…’ Molly looked at him and grinned. ‘Did I really say that?’

Nick nodded. ‘You most certainly did.’

‘Well, maybe I was being a bit hasty. Anyway, don’t go shifting the blame. You’re a marriage cynic too,’ said Molly.

‘That doesn’t mean that I’m not a romantic,’ he said, sounding genuinely hurt. ‘Remember that time I had three tons of well-rotted horse manure for the garden delivered on your birthday. We even gift-wrapped the tipper truck.’

Jess laughed. ‘You’re all heart.’

‘Do you know where Max bought the ring?’ Molly asked.

Jess picked up her rucksack and started to rootle around in it. ‘I’ve got the box in here somewhere. Oh, here we are.’ She pulled out a navy blue velvet drawstring bag, extravagantly lined in purple silk. Inside was a matching box with the initials LP intertwined discreetly on the lining of the lid. On the bottom of the box it said LovesPleasures, Jewellers, and a Cambridge phone number.