Page 45 of Mirrors of the Past

And Evie! Evie was just a child, for goodness’ sake. What on earth had predisposed her, Viola, to dislike the girl before she’d even met her?

It was, of course, because she’d thought Laurie was her beau. Nothing could be further from the truth — and Evie had actually turned out to be lovely.

Viola had had a divine letter from Evie, hoping she was well and recommending some “delightful romantic novels, should she want to read and recuperate”. Holly had smiled when Viola had shared that, and said Noel’s younger sister, Marion, was similarly entranced by “delightful romantic novels” and they would probably get on well.

But the last thing Viola had wanted to do for too long was rest and recuperate. She had too much to do! Most definitely, she’d had some lovely messages and gifts from the guests at the party, and had stayed, at Pearl’s insistence, with her at Elton Lacy for a few days, so, Pearl had said, ‘That you can be thoroughly spoiled because Sam just will not do that.’

And it had been nice, and Pearl had been right of course. Sam had found it amusing that she’d careered down the stairs because of a shock she’d received in an “amusing little mirror game” — once he’d realised she was fine, he wasn’t that heartless — so she’d enjoyed being waited on for a day or so at the Lacy and then, when she’d felt less fragile, had enjoyed spending time with her sister, out and about in the town and visiting Holly and baby Joe.

Elsie, Louis and Marigold had already returned to London, taking Evie and her brothers with them, but Medora and Isolde had met Pearl and Viola for tea and buns in Bodmin. They’d brought a big bottle of fizz from Elsie, a bunch of autumn flowers from the grounds of Pencradoc and Laurie’s “best wishes”, but Laurie himself hadn’t come.

Viola hadn’t known whether to be pleased about that or not, but she’d chosen to smile, because there would be none of that awkward “thank you for rescuing me” piffle.

Obviously she’d been grateful, but it had just seemed difficult to face him just then . . .

At one point, though, she’d looked up and out of the tearoom window, and had seen someone she’d been convinced was Laurie stalking along the street. The man had had his coat collar pulled up and his hat pulled down, and, really, his face hadn’t been visible, but Laurie had a certain gait when he walked — he strode, slightly hunched over, as if he was thinking deeply about something, and he walked fast. And this fellow had been doing exactly that.

Pearl had called her attention back to the conversation and the next time she’d looked, the man had disappeared.

But here she was, now back in London, and there was a card with her name on it on the mantelpiece when she walked into the house.

‘Obviously, I left it for you,’ said Sam, when he saw her picking it up curiously. ‘None of the exciting invitations are ever for me.’

She flashed a look at him, ready to dispute that fact, when she spotted the twinkle in his eyes.

‘Sure,’ she said mildly. ‘And you’ve never been invited to an exciting party back home in New York, have you.’ It was a flat sort of statement, rather than a question. They both knew the answer. The Arnolds, the Astors, the Vanderbilts, the Kings — the list went on. Half the people on the Social Register had invited Sam Arthur to their parties. He had probably kissed the other half of the people on that register at those very same parties.

‘Well, this one is definitely addressed to me, so I am opening it right now,’ she said, and slit the envelope open.

Inside the envelope was an invitation. And not just any invitation . . .

‘It’s from Elsie!’ Viola said. ‘It’s a wedding invitation! For her and Louis!’ She looked at Sam. ‘You were right. They really are not married!’

‘Yet,’ said Sam, with a shrug. ‘I wonder what’s brought that on? A marriage! Good Lord.’ He had the audacity to shudder.

Viola kept reading. ‘It’s for December twenty-second,’ she said. ‘So it’s pretty quick.’

‘Really.’ Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘Shotgun, anyone?’

‘Sam!’ Viola was cross. ‘A quick wedding does not mean she’s pregnant, for God’s sake!’

‘Doesn’t mean she’s not pregnant, either.’ There was no denying the logic, so Viola chose to ignore him. Her mind flitted to the last time she’d seen Elsie, at the Halloween party.

Ah.

Well, yes. She had been damned pale and listless . . .

Oh, whatever. It was Elsie’s life and Viola loved a good wedding, so . . .

‘I shall send my acceptance,’ she said, hunting for a pen.

‘So you’re going to be here in December, are you?’

Viola’s hand hovered over the desk, where she knew a fountain pen lurked in the drawer. ‘Guess so,’ she said, without looking at her brother.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Am I invited too?’

‘You are.’

‘Fine. Accept for me too, please.’

‘Will do. Oh. Hold on one moment . . .’ Viola pulled an extra piece of paper out of the envelope. She read it, then let out a delighted whoop. ‘Hey!’ she said. ‘I’m gonna be bridesmaid as well!’

‘You definitely need to stay then.’ Sam grinned at her.

‘Yup. Apparently she’s already got a design in mind for her dress and she’ll invite me over to see it when she’s had it made up.’

‘Exciting times,’ said Sam.

‘Very exciting.’

‘And definitely shotgun.’

‘Shut up, Sam.’