41
The first thing Finula did on awakening was look to the window. With relief she saw sunrays shining through the gap in the blind. As if needing further confirmation, she pulled back the bed sheets and went to open the blind. Yes, beautiful, clear blue skies thank God. Her gaze wandered to the marquee on the lawn. Already the staff hired for the day were busy about their duties, carrying flowers, tablecloths and cases of champagne. Finula’s stomach fluttered with butterflies. It was finally here, her wedding day. There was a knock at the bedroom door.
‘Come in!’ she called.
Dermot poked his head round. ‘Do you want breakfast in bed, Finula?’
‘I’m not sure I could eat breakfast, Dad,’ she replied rubbing at those butterflies, which refused to go away.
‘You’ll need something to line your stomach,’ he gently warned. ‘How about scrambled egg on toast?’
‘OK then, thanks.’
Dermot nodded and went back downstairs.
Finula heard the church bell chime. It was nine o’clock. She’d slept remarkably well considering the nerves inside her, which were gradually building up. She smiled, remembering Megan and Tobias’ wedding. She hadn’t felt anxious at all, and the nation’s press had been out in full force then. This was different though, this washerwedding day. She tried to picture Marcus, waking up in Treweham Hall and wondered if he was having breakfast in bed. She giggled at the mental image. Would he be showing any sign of jitters? Doubtful, she thought, but that was why she loved him so much; they were polar opposites, her the fiery redhead, he the cool, composed rock.
Finula turned to see her wedding dress, hanging patiently, along with a pair of white satin shoes, neatly tucked underneath on the floor. Megan was due to help her get ready at 11am, leaving plenty of time for the wedding at 1pm. Willing herself to stay as calm as possible, she ran a hot bath and put on the soothing CD she had bought. It contained “Sounds of Nature” to relax the mind, such as waterfalls and wind chimes. Marcus had howled with laughter when he’d seen it, saying he’d prefer a stiff drink.
*
Maybe Marcus had had one stiff drink too many last night. He woke with a thick head, rubbed his eyes and wondered where the hell he was, before rational thought kicked in, along with a throbbing headache. Jeysus, that was some stag do. Setting off tame, he, Tobias and Sebastian had had a few drinks whilst chatting, then the cards came out and one drink led to another. At three in the morning, Tobias had had the sense to send them all to bed. And what a bed it was, noticed Marcus, his head turned upwards to the floral canopy of the four-poster. He hardly remembered getting in it.
Water, he needed water. His mouth felt like sandpaper. He looked sideways. There on the bedside table was bottled water and a glass. He hurriedly leant over and poured himself a drink. By the bottle was a box of aspirin. How thoughtful. Had the butler supplied them? Probably used to looking after his brothers this way. He chuckled to himself, then swallowed a couple and finished off his glass of water. After a few minutes, he was beginning to feel better and his head began to clear. Rubbing his hands together, he looked forward to the hearty breakfast, which they were all to share in the great hall.
He was the first down. Marcus stalled initially at seeing all the silver platters lined up on the sideboard, then decided to just help himself. He really didn’t want any staff waiting on him. After piling his plate high with bacon, sausages, eggs and fried bread, he sat at the long oak table running down the great hall and stared round the enormous room. Portraits glared down at him. It was a touch unnerving, especially as one or two showed definite resemblances to himself.
Not for the first time, he contemplated how different his life could have been, if his mother had not bolted from Treweham Hall. Would he have been any happier, being brought up in these surroundings? He didn’t think so, not when he knew the price his brothers had to pay for belonging to such a prestigious, ancestral line. He was a private man. Again his thoughts turned to the documentary and how it would change his life forever. He was interrupted by Megan, who was carrying Edward, his godson.
‘Good morning!’ she breezed. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ replied Marcus smiling. Tobias and Sebastian followed, along with their mother Beatrice. Marcus stole a glance at Beatrice, never feeling quite easy in her company. Hardly surprising really, considering he was the illegitimate, firstborn son of her husband. Both had been polite and civil to each other, but that was all. There were unspoken boundaries between the two.
‘So, Marcus—’ Sebastian slapped his hands together ‘—ready for blast-off?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ he replied, casually tucking into his breakfast.
Megan smiled to herself, knowing full well the state Finula would be in compared to Marcus’ nonchalance. She quickly ate her breakfast and checked her watch. ‘I’d best be off now,’ she told Tobias.
‘OK.’ He moved Edward’s high chair closer to him.
‘Any message for Finula?’ she asked winking at Marcus.
‘Yes, tell her she’s the luckiest woman alive,’ he retorted with a wink back, making them all laugh.
*
After much fussing and flapping, Finula was finally ready to go and looking absolutely radiant. The vintage, sleeveless wedding dress in ivory silk could have been tailor-made for her (as opposed to the charity shop buy it was). The smooth material fitted her curves beautifully and the long, ivory gloves she wore elegantly complimented her slim arms. Megan had painstakingly wound Finula’s auburn locks round long curlers to create ringlets, which cascaded down her back. Finula wore a tiara that contained an emerald as the centre stone and had chosen to carry her late mother’s pearl rosary beads, which she’d woven shamrock into. Her make-up was light and fresh, but still showed the freckles that Marcus loved.
‘Finula, you look amazing.’ Megan’s eyes started to fill.
‘Don’t you start.’ Finula laughed. ‘It’ll be bad enough when my dad sees me.’
‘True,’ agreed Megan. ‘Right, I’ll have to dash back.’ Megan had already showered and done her make-up; all she had to do was change and join the others.
Finula composed herself. It was 12.30pm. She could hear everyone scurrying about The Templar before making their way to the church. After ten minutes there was a silence. She knew her dad would be waiting downstairs for her. With a deep breath she made her way to the top of the landing.
There he was gazing up at her. Immediately his chin wobbled. ‘Finula, you look beautiful,’ he choked. ‘If only your mammy could see you now,’ then he took out his handkerchief and wiped his watery eyes.
