Sure enough, a few minutes later we hear the crunch of wheels on gravel, and I open the door to find a pretty horse drawn carriage with art nouveau rails and a covered leather seat.
“Sire, your carriage awaits.” I curtsey.
He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even acknowledge the joke, just picks up his cases, waits for me to walk out, then follows me, closing the door behind him.
The carriage driver introduces himself as Evans and brings down a step to help me climb up. He tries to take the cases, but Brandon keeps them with him as he climbs up and sits opposite.
I have seen politicians before delivering a big speech, and they can be very keyed up and hyper. Brandon is the opposite. He’s withdrawn into himself, as if there’s a still pool deep inside. Elodie, next door, told me about a pond called L’eau Caché, meaning hidden water. The phrase fits Brandon perfectly just now.
I leave him to his thoughts and enjoy the nice ride. I’ve never seen this part of the countryside. The horse takes us over a very pretty bridge through a wooded area. The winter sun sparkles on bare tree branches and makes the air feel like cut glass, light shines on the distant church spire.
Saint Mary’s is surprisingly large with a vaulted ceiling and a tall steeple.
People are beginning to arrive already. Brandon goes directly to the altar and speaks with the organist. I find a quiet pew and sit down.
Millie and George are at the front too, discussing things with the vicar and some others.
Millie looks radiant, today. When I went to visit her at the mother and baby clinic, she had been too tired to even sit up in bed.
There is no need for me to worry about childbirth just yet, but involuntarily, my hand goes to my stomach. Where will I be giving birth? My sister insisted I come and stay with her and register with the birthing centre in North London. She is firmly of the opinion that Clive and I should come clean with a public statement and be done.“To hell with his political career. There’s a baby on the way.”
Mum and Dad want me with them in Italy.Cinque Terreis far from England, ideal if I don’t fancy giving birth while the press tell me to breathe.
A movement catches my eye. Up at the front, a couple are making a big fuss of congratulating George Du Montfort. They shake his hand, then he moves back to place a protective arm around his wife and bends down to kiss the baby’s head. It’s his face that holds my attention; his expression transformed with love and pride.
Pain twists like a corkscrew inside me.
A normal family and a loving husband. Is it too much to ask? I don’t want to have my baby alone. The thought swells in my head, it grows, then divides into lots of thoughts, lots of wants and wishes.
I should do a list like Brandon.
One – Clive. Obviously.
Two – To have my baby in safety and comfort.
Three – To have a meaningful career.
Four – To be loved and cherished and looked after. Yes, I know I sound like feeble girl that can’t take care of herself, but sometimes I just want to feel a man’s arm around me knowing he’ll do anything for me.
Five – I want to have my cake and eat it. A happy family without sacrificing my dream. Why should a woman have to choose between career and children? Men never do.
“Hello.” Someone slides in next to me. It’s Laura, smiling widely, happy to see me as if we are old friends.
The way my heart feels, just now, I’m deeply grateful for her friendship and return her hug just as warmly.
“Why are you hiding in the back, come with me.” Before I can protest, she pulls me up and takes me all the way to the second row from the front.
“This is for family.”
“Youarefamily.” She ushers me in and slides in next to me.
I’m sandwiched between her and Pierre.
“How am I family?” I look over my shoulder at the rest of the church; there are more and more people coming in. “This is too close, I shouldn’t, it’s not right.”
Pierre kisses my cheek. “You’re Liam’s family and Liam was family to us, so stop bellyaching.”
I have no choice but to stay as everyone takes their seats around us. The church is full.
