Bride at Briar's Ridge. Margaret Way
heart to his bride and all the guests were applauding, everyone was so touched. Looking down the bridal table, decked with what looked like thousands of exquisite white orchids flown in from Thailand, Linc could see a little tear run down Alana’s cheek. He knew it for what it was—a tear of overwhelming happiness. Weddings were times of high emotion. What he hadn’t expected was to get all emotional himself. He tried to stand back from that kind of thing. Much better to keep all the emotions locked up inside. Grief, abandonment… As a boy he had been so crazy he had even blamed his mother for dying, for going away and leaving him. And his highly confrontational relationship with his father he had to paste over. He couldn’t bear to think about that poor silly creature Cheryl.
At last the formalities were over, and everyone was free to roam from table to table, meeting up with old friends, making new ones, joining in the dancing. A great five-piece group was playing. The guy on the sax was so good—the sound, the form, the phrasing—he would have been happy just to sit there, listening, champagne glass topped up regularly. Only Lilli caught hold of his shoulder, urging him to his feet. Someone with a professional-looking video camera started to film them. He guessed the Radcliffe-Callaghan wedding would make it into the glossy magazines. He might even make it himself. He didn’t look too bad in his classy suit, with a pink rose with a bluish tint in his buttonhole to match Lilli’s sexy satin gown. All four bridesmaids were wearing drop earrings of large Tahitian pearls with a fair-sized diamond above—a very generous gift from Guy.
‘This is wonderful, isn’t it?’ Lilli gushed. ‘Alana is my favourite cousin!’
He wondered about that.
After a while he felt as if he had danced with every girl inside the marquee except her. Every time he made a move towards her some other guy beat him to it, or one of the sisters clamoured for another dance. The elder one, Violette, was being rather forceful about it. Lilli had confided in him that Violette had been a long-time girlfriend of Guy’s.
‘He nearly married her, you know.’
He took that with another cup of salt. He had a feeling Guy was a one-woman man, and that woman was now his wife.
She must have moved outdoors.
Pleasant as it was, he was continually trapped by pretty girls, eyes shining, cheeks flushed. He couldn’t be rude and turn them down. He needed to keep up his role as groomsman.
‘Don’t disappear on me,’ Lilli begged, her bright blue eyes locking on his. ‘I promised Mike here another dance.’
It was his moment to make a move. His decline into sheer neediness was so dramatic, it was mind-blowing. He actually needed to see the woman. He actually wanted to see her smile.
A lovely gentle breeze was blowing, carrying the mingled scents of Wangaree’s spectacular gardens. A lot of other guests had drifted outside, most still hugging their champagne glasses.
Where was she? She couldn’t have gone home. Guy and Alana hadn’t left yet. Alana, as tradition demanded, hadn’t yet thrown her bouquet. The honeymoon was to be spent in Europe, but the happy couple were staying overnight in a suite at one of Sydney’s luxury hotels, before flying out to Paris via Dubai the next day.
Obviously she had decided to lose herself. It didn’t make him mad, but intrigued. He continued on his way, skirting the main paths bordered by banks of azaleas and rhododendrons, a positive sea of them, pink, white, ruby-red. He traversed a small ornamental bridge that spanned a glittering dark green lily pond before heading towards what looked like a secret garden. He was enormously impressed with the way Guy kept the place. The maintenance of the gardens alone was a huge achievement. Wangaree was a country estate in the grand manner. Even Gilgarra, though a top New England property, couldn’t match it.
The fringing trees along the path kept the light a cool subdued green, even on this brilliant sunny day. His mother had kept a lovely garden, continuing to work in it even as she’d sickened. He remembered the delight she’d had in her roses. She’d adored the English roses in the walled garden. David Austin roses, he remembered, luxurious and wonderfully fragrant. Perfume had been a big priority with his mother. Her David Austin roses had done well for her. As a boy he had spent many hours helping her, doing what he had called the ‘hard yakka’, all the while drunk on perfume and contentment. He had an eye for beauty.
Cheryl, now, had no interest in gardens at all. Jewellery was her big thing. Chuck had shown a lot of spunk, demanding their father turn over to him their mother’s engagement ring—a large emerald surrounded by diamonds. Their mother had always said it should go to her firstborn’s bride. Whenever she’d said it she had always caught hold of Linc’s hand, as if she had something else lined up especially for him. He thought it would have been her pearls, a gorgeous necklet her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday. If he ever saw them around Cheryl’s neck he thought he might die.
Gradually the stone path was narrowing—he supposed to enhance its secret quality. He had to bend his head beneath a glorious shower of blossoms from a free-standing iron arch that was wreathed in a delicate violet-blue vine. It might be easy passage for most people, but not those topping six feet. He could be following entirely the wrong path, but somehow he didn’t think so. He fancied the spell that had been put on him was luring him on.
As he stepped inside the entrance to the walled garden, flanked by two huge matching urns spilling extravagant flowers, there she was: the only other one to find that enchanted glade.
He had followed in her footsteps. He didn’t know whether to be troubled or amused by the fact he was utterly besotted with some aspect of her. Maybe when he got to know her it would pass. There was that cynical voice again. She was seated on a garlanded swing that was suspended from a sturdy tree branch. Wasn’t that exactly where one might expect such a beautiful creature to be, in her beribboned short dress? The dress was exactly the same colour as the flowers of the vine that grew so profusely up the swing’s support chains, a porcelain pink.
He paused, looking towards her. ‘You couldn’t have found a more bewitching spot.’
‘Hello,’ she said simply. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see him. ‘You’re right. How did you know where to find me?’
He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘I just followed the magic petals. You did strew them for me, didn’t you?’
‘If that’s how you want to interpret it.’ Her glance held faint irony, as though she thought it wouldn’t hurt him to be taken down a peg.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, moving over the daisy-flecked green turf towards her. ‘I did find you.’
‘You were looking.’ It wasn’t a question.
No point in denying it. He ran a hand through his shock of black hair, pushing back the unruly lock that had fallen forward onto his brow. ‘I’ve been trying to get to your side for hours.’
She began to swing, very gently. ‘How could you possibly fit me in between partners? You were never short of one.’ The minute it was out of her mouth, Daniela regretted it. It sounded as if she had been keeping an eye on him. She hadn’t been. Well, maybe she had directed a few glances.
‘That thing actually works?’ he asked, his gaze on the swing, wondering if it was safe. It looked more like a marvellous decorative element in the garden than functional.
‘You can see it does.’ She began to swing higher. ‘The garlands are a lovely idea, don’t you think? The flowers spring from these little planter boxes fixed to the base of the swing. See?’ She slowed to point them out. ‘It’s the most amazing garden. I love it. I expect fairies with wonderful sparkling wings hold midnight parties here.’
He could feel the impact of her—her beauty and mystique—in every cell of his body. ‘Do you suppose they ask mere mortals to join in? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to the wedding?’
She flew a little higher. ‘It didn’t seem to me we would meet again.’
‘Oddly, I don’t