A Vintage Wedding (3 page)

‘Beth!’ said Rachel.

‘Sorry,’ muttered Beth.

‘I got pregnant and – massive disapproval from his parents of course. I had ruined his life—’

‘He ruined yours,’ said Rachel indignantly.

‘Anyway, we rubbed along until I got pregnant again. He got over his crush and we parted.’

‘Did you get over yours?’ asked Beth.

‘Beth! It was a crush. They don’t last for ever,’ said Lindy, but something about the way she said it made Beth wonder.

She sighed, slightly deflated by Lindy’s story. ‘So you two are great examples of how marriages can go wrong,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’d better tell my sister not to bother.’

Rachel and Lindy both protested. ‘No! I was only seventeen when we got married,’ said Lindy. ‘It was bound to fail.’

‘And I got married …’ Rachel paused. ‘Well, I did love him. And I think he loved me. But not quite enough. We drifted apart.’ She paused. ‘And maybe I wasn’t exactly perfect, wife-wise.’

‘I’d hate to put anyone off marriage because mine failed,’ said Lindy.

‘Me too,’ said Rachel. She smiled. ‘Besides, if you tell your sister not to get married I can’t help with the wedding.’

‘Do you want to? Are you a wedding planner?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I’m an accountant – freelance – but I’d love to be more creative.’

Lindy nodded. ‘I have heard that creative accountants don’t have a great reputation.’

Because of her solemn expression it took the others a second to realise she was joking.

‘That’s why I’ve had to find other outlets for my creativity,’ said Rachel. ‘I’d love to have a go at the village hall, for instance.’

‘In what way?’ said Lindy. ‘I’m sure my mother would love to hear your ideas.’

‘I haven’t had time for ideas yet but I just think it’s a lovely building and if it was done up, it could earn its keep. So perfect for a wedding. It’s only a short walk from the church. Imagine the bridal party processing across the village green—’

‘Dragging their dresses in the mud,’ said Lindy.

‘—to an old-fashioned feast spread out on trestle tables,’ Rachel finished, and then added, ‘with bunting.’

Beth looked at her. ‘That does sound wonderful. And the sort of thing my mother would absolutely hate. I’ll suggest it to Helena.’

‘I do think you should do what Helena wants, not what your mother would hate,’ said Lindy.

Beth nodded. ‘So do I, but I do think Hels would love that. I’ll suggest it to her next time we can Skype. What with her being on the move all the time, we can’t always,’ she added.

‘But would she want to get married here?’ asked Lindy.

‘I think she might. Jeff’s parents have connections here. The cottage where I’m living at the moment is their pension. They want to retire somewhere down here.’

‘But the village hall is hardly fit for a wedding,’ said Lindy. ‘You were only in it for a short time while it was full of people. It looks at its best then. It needs a lot of work.’

‘Remind me when the wedding is, Beth?’ Rachel asked.

Beth shrugged. ‘We haven’t got a specific date yet. The end of August sometime.’

‘Will you still be here then?’ asked Lindy. ‘Won’t your house be rented out?’

‘It might be. I’m there now because their insurance isn’t valid if it isn’t occupied or something. When and if I find a job, I’ll be on the lookout for something else. I don’t suppose there are many jobs round here.’

‘No,’ said Lindy. ‘You might have to work for yourself in some way, like I do.’

Beth sighed. ‘The trouble is, I don’t have any skills,’ she said.

‘Well, look for a job for now and concentrate on your sister’s wedding,’ said Lindy.

‘That’ll certainly keep me busy until August,’ said Beth.

‘Plenty of time to arrange a wedding, if you focus,’ said Rachel.

‘Not if we’ve got to do the village hall first,’ said Lindy.

‘We’ll work better with something to aim towards,’ said Rachel. ‘A big wedding at the end of the summer could be just the incentive.’

Lindy looked at her doubtfully. ‘I think you’d better go on Mum’s committee,’ she said. ‘She’ll be thrilled. It’ll need a lot of enthusiasm.’

‘That would be great for me,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m doing a bit of work in Letterby but it’s quite a long commute. I’m hoping to get some work round here. I know there aren’t that many businesses but some of them might need me to sort out their finances. Being on a committee might give me good contacts.’

‘Of course. Mum will die of joy. An accountant? On the committee? Can I tell her you’ll do it?’

Rachel took a breath. ‘Only if you two will let me buy you another glass of wine. I’m not sure one is enough for this sort of thing.’

‘Well, I think we should have a toast,’ said Lindy when Rachel had returned with more wine. ‘Meeting you two has been lovely!’

‘I think I should toast moving into my own house after months of work,’ said Rachel. ‘I didn’t want to do it on my own.’

‘And I think we should all toast new beginnings,’ said Beth. ‘I know it’s not the same for Lindy, who’s always been here, but me and Rachel are starting a new life in the country.’

‘You know what? I think if we thought hard we’d find some sort of project to do together,’ said Lindy. ‘Not just the village hall,’ she added.

‘I’ll drink to that!’ said Rachel.

‘So will I! New beginnings—’

‘And new friends!’ said Lindy, raising her glass.

‘Hooray!’ said Beth, as she clinked glasses with her two new friends. Life was looking up.

After they left the pub, Rachel walked with the others as far as she could and then cut off down the lane to her house. She took out her torch and turned it on. She hadn’t yet developed the ability to walk about in the near-dark like her country-bred neighbours.

She unlocked her back door and went in, and for the first time the overpowering sense of loneliness she usually felt was missing. Maybe it was because she’d met people. Maybe it was because she’d had a couple of glasses of wine. Or maybe the house was no longer the only thing that mattered to her here.

This house, this charming Cotswold village, had been the focus of her thoughts and dreams for so long, yet when she’d finally managed to throw off the shackles of her city life, it had all felt a bit empty. She had been so sure that if she could only move full-time into the house she had bought partly with some inherited money and now, since her divorce, was hers mortgage-free, she would be happy. And while she did really love making it perfect, paying attention to every tiny detail, somehow it hadn’t been enough.

It had taken quite a while to find the perfect property in the perfect location. Chippingford was pretty but not fake; it was more than a destination for second-homers. It was reachable from London and yet it was truly in the country. She had loved planning the alterations, finding the right builders, sourcing the materials, making sure it had all been done to her exacting standards, but moving in had been a little disappointing.

But meeting Lindy and Beth, sharing a slightly odd evening and ending up in the pub had felt positive. Their toast to ‘new beginnings’ had given her an optimism she hadn’t felt for ages.

She went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. At her insistence, Beth had gone off with the tea set. She lived nearer the pub and it was quite heavy, so they agreed that Beth could have it first. But now Rachel looked at the two plates, propped up against a shelf on her small but perfect antique kitchen dresser and admired them. How would she feel about having more plates, cups and saucers with a pattern? Would it be too much colour? Or would the fact it all matched make it acceptable? And she hadn’t been able to check them for chips. If any of it was less than perfect, Beth could have it for ever.

When she’d first taken possession of the house, she’d had it all sprayed white. In the two years since she’d owned it, she had never been able to decide on a colour she liked as much.

Later she’d painted the floorboards white. They were new – far newer than the house, which was Edwardian – and she liked the clean look. Now, as she brought her tea through to the sitting room, she realised she found it cold.

Of course it was cold – there was an unused wood-burner in the fireplace and she didn’t have the heating on much. But it was the feeling of the house that was cold, not just the temperature. At first she’d found it cleansing. Now she was ready to add some colour to her life.

She’d felt a bit shy being introduced to Lindy and Beth by Lindy’s mother. Mrs Wood had obviously thought Rachel was much the same age as her daughter, but Rachel was thirty-five – a good ten years older than the other two. It didn’t seem to matter though, and she really hoped it would go on being like that. She’d often had doubts about the wisdom of abandoning her life in London for this house she barely knew in the country but every time she’d managed to convince herself it was the right thing to have done.

She washed up her mug, dried it and put it away so there would be nothing to mar the perfect lines of her fitted kitchen when she came down in the morning.

As she went up to bed she wondered if actually she was a little OCD about things, as Graham, her ex-husband, had suggested. At the time she had felt she just wanted part of her life she could control. Now she suspected that keeping things tidy was becoming more of an obsession. As she cleaned the bathroom sink thoroughly after she’d brushed her teeth, polishing it with a bit of old towel she kept for the purpose, she wondered some more.

In bed, between freshly ironed, thousand-thread-count percale sheets, she imagined what the homes of her new friends might be like. She shivered slightly at the thought of possible chaos. And yet she’d loved spending time with them and she realised to her surprise that as long as her life was ordered she didn’t mind how other people ran their lives.

The following morning her phone went when she was applying a thin layer of polish to her kitchen worktop.

She didn’t recognise the number but answered it anyway.

‘Good morning! I hope I’m not too early for you. It’s Sarah Wood, Lindy’s mum. She gave me your card.’

Rachel had given both girls one of the cards she’d had printed in the hope they would bring her business as a bookkeeper and accountant.

‘Hello. How can I help?’

‘Well,’ said Sarah, obviously relieved that Rachel sounded so positive. ‘Lindy mentioned you might go on the committee I’m trying to get together? For the village hall? I’d be so grateful to have someone young. And an outsider.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound unkind but when people have lived with something as it is forever, it can be hard for them to visualise anything different.’

Rachel said, ‘I like a challenge.’ Getting those dusty rafters clean and painted would be very satisfying.

‘So will you come to a meeting? I’ve arranged one for tomorrow night. I’ll come and collect you so you needn’t feel nervous about going into a room full of strangers.’

‘Oh, OK. That should be all right.’

‘About seven thirty? Will you have eaten?’

Sarah seemed very anxious to make things as easy as possible for Rachel. ‘Seven thirty will be fine.’ If she ate at six she would have cleared up by then. And she wouldn’t have to actually let Sarah in, so that would be all right.

When she had disconnected, and while she was getting ready to visit the old people’s home a little way away, where she did the books, Rachel realised she was quite looking forward to the meeting. It would be good to meet more local people – and as she’d said to Lindy, she might get some work a bit nearer to where she lived.

Sarah had arrived on time the following evening wearing some rather covetable boots, Rachel thought. When Rachel commented, Sarah picked up her leg and admired them. ‘Yes, they are nice, aren’t they? They were in a sale in a shop in Cheltenham. I always feel I can face the winter better if I’ve got lovely boots. That and a good coat.’ She was wearing one with shearling wool round the hood. ‘Are you ready? It’s so nice of you to agree to come.’

‘Well, you like to do your bit. And you never know, someone might need an accountant.’

‘If it’s not a stupid question – or even if it is – how did you come to be an accountant? You look like you should run an art gallery or a very gorgeous clothes shop.’

Rachel shrugged. ‘I’ve always liked numbers. I can make them do what I want them to, put them in orderly columns. I think I got it from my father.’ Her father had liked things to be tidy too.

But when Rachel and Sarah entered the room upstairs at the pub she realised it was unlikely that the three fairly elderly women and one man present would need help with their spreadsheets or how to minimise their tax liability. They had probably managed their finances brilliantly all their lives with a pencil and a small notebook.

Rachel looked around her as two more people arrived, full of apologies for being late. They were a couple in their early forties and judging by their clothes they were a bit more urban.

Sarah took charge. ‘OK, well, we’re probably all here. I was hoping for a few more but I know some people don’t like going out at night.’ She smiled at Rachel. ‘Before we start I’ll introduce Rachel – she’s new to the village but I’m sure she’s going to make a great contribution.’