Coral Glynn (13 page)

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Dolly. “She’ll weep anywhere. Won’t you, Mother?”

Mrs Coppard allowed that she would, and said to call her Flossie.

“Sit down, Mother, over there on the bed, and stay out of the way.” Dolly pushed her mother towards the bed and turned towards Coral. “Now, have you bathed? What are you planning to do with your hair? Where’s your dress?”

“It’s in the wardrobe,” said Coral, electing to answer only one of Dolly’s many questions.

“Now, before we start, do you need a tipple, darling? You’re shaking like a leaf. Nerves! Have you got your flask in your bag, Mother?”

“Course I have.” Mrs Coppard opened her bag and withdrew a silver flask, which she handed to her daughter.

Dolly unscrewed the cap, which was attached to the bottle with a thin silver chain, and held it towards Coral.

“No, thank you,” said Coral.

“You haven’t got nerves! I’ve got nerves, and I’m only the bridesmaid.”

“The witness,” said Coral.

“It’s the same thing,” said Dolly. “Have a tipple.”

“I’m fine,” said Coral. “I just need help doing up the dress.”

“Would you like a tipple, Mother?”

“I might as well,” said Mrs Coppard, reaching out for the flask. She took a dainty sip and then stowed the flask back in her bag.

“Time for the dress!” announced Dolly. “It’s in here?” She indicated the wardrobe.

“Yes,” said Coral.

Dolly opened the wardrobe. “Oh, you shouldn’t have hung it on such a cheap hanger. Look, Mother, she’s hung her lovely wedding dress on a cheap hanger.”

“Well, it’s her dress, my dear. I suppose she can do whatever she wants with it.”

“Oh, Coral, it’s beautiful!” exclaimed Dolly. “It isn’t the one I thought at all.”

Coral opened the top drawer of the dresser and removed the small package wrapped in gold paper. “I’ve got these as well,” she timidly said.

“Got what?” asked Dolly.

“Stockings,” said Coral. “Mrs Henderson gave them to me. As a gift. They’re silk.”

“Silk! Real silk?”

“Yes,” said Coral. “From Paris.”

“I suppose she wants to get on your good side,” said Dolly, “seeing how you’re marrying Clement. She thinks you’ll be buying lots of dresses and doesn’t want you going up to London for them.”

“I invited her to the luncheon,” said Coral.

“Mrs Henderson?”

“Yes. And the boy at the flower shop.”

“Does Clement know you invited them?”

“Yes,” said Coral. “He said I might invite whomever I wanted. Since he invited you and Robin.”

“Well, we’re your witnesses, darling, of course we’re invited to the luncheon. It’s not even a question of inviting. But it’s a bit odd to invite tradespeople, wouldn’t you agree?”

“It might seem odd to you,” said Coral, “but it is not odd to me.”

“Well, fancy Mrs Henderson making you a gift of silk stockings. Perhaps it’s a tradition. What’s the poem, Mother? ‘Something bothered, something blue, a wedding gift from me to you’?”

“I don’t think that’s quite it,” said Mrs Coppard. “It’s certainly not ‘bothered.’ Why would you give a bride something bothered?”

“Words meant different things back then,” explained Dolly. “Like ‘cudgel.’”

“Cudgel? What’s cudgel?”

“It used to be a fish, I think. Some sort of eel. But now it’s something else. Or now it’s an eel and before it was something else. Words change. ‘Bothered’ used to mean something handmade, I think. Something you bothered over.”

“I think it’s ‘borrowed,’” said Mrs Coppard.

“It’s not,” said Dolly. “It’s bothered. ‘Borrowed’ makes no sense at all. You can’t give something borrowed.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Mrs Coppard.

“Why must you always contradict me, Mother?”

“I don’t always contradict you, my dear, only often, and that’s because you’re so often wrong.” Mrs Coppard opened her bag and rummaged in it, extracting the flask.

“No more tipples, Mother, it makes you disagreeable.”

“Those who speak the truth are always thought disagreeable,” philosophised Mrs Coppard. She helped herself and then held the flask out towards Coral. “Tempt you, my dear?” she asked.

“She doesn’t want any!” cried Dolly. “Put it away, Mother, and sit quietly, or we’ll send you down to the lounge.”

“At least I could get a proper drink down there.”

“No you couldn’t,” said Dolly, “since the bar doesn’t open until noon.”

Coral, who saw no end to this discussion, said, “Perhaps it would be better.”

“What?” asked Dolly. “Perhaps what?”

“If your mother— It’s only that it’s a tiny room, and with all of us in it … perhaps it would be better if she went down to the lounge. I’m sure they’d give her a drink if she asked.”

“Of course, darling,” said Dolly. “Did you hear that, Mother? Coral wants you to go down to the lounge. It’s too crowded in here.”

“No, it’s not that—it’s just that I thought she might be more comfortable…”

“Don’t say another word,” said Mrs Coppard. “It wasn’t my idea to come. Dolly thought that as you hadn’t got a mother, I might be a comfort to you, but if I’m in your way, I’ll make myself scarce.”

“It was lovely of you to come, Mrs Coppard, it’s only that I’d like to be alone with Dolly for a moment.”

It took awhile for Mrs Coppard to arise and collect her things, as she had settled herself quite completely upon the bed. When she had righted and reassembled herself, she kissed Coral and said, “I wish you all the happiness in the world, my dear,” and left the room.

As soon as she was gone, Coral held her hands to her face and began to cry.

“Darling!” said Dolly. “What’s wrong? Sit down here on the bed. Go on, sit.” She pushed Coral towards the bed and then down upon it, and sat beside her. “What’s wrong, darling? Do you want a tipple? Should I go get Mother’s flask?”

Coral shook her head and then wiped the tears away from her eyes with her hands. “Oh, Dolly!” she cried.

“What? What is it, Coral? Tell me, darling.”

“I don’t know what to do,” said Coral.

“Do you have doubts, darling? Jitters? Every girl has them. You oughtn’t worry, even if it does all seem too ghastly for words, I promise you it isn’t at all—”

“No,” said Coral. “It isn’t that.”

“Then what is it, darling? Tell me.”

“I’m worried that I am—not in a position to marry Major Hart.”

“Whatever do you mean? Do you mean because of class? None of that matters anymore, darling. And Clement had quite given up on marrying any girl at all, you see, so—”

“No,” said Coral. “It isn’t that.”

“Then whatever is it?”

“I’m with child,” said Coral.

“Coral! Whatever do you mean? Do you mean that you are pregnant?”

“Yes,” said Coral. “And I don’t know what to do…”

“But whose … Is it Clement’s? Don’t tell me he’s … or that you’ve—”

“No,” said Coral. “It isn’t his. It can’t possibly be.”

“Then whose is it? Have you got a beau somewhere?”

“No,” said Coral. “At my previous position—it was with a family; the children had scarlet fever, all three of them, and they needed a nurse, and the husband—”

“Oh, darling—did he force himself upon you?”

“Yes,” said Coral.

“Oh, how awful,” said Dolly. “You poor thing. Aren’t men brutes? I’m so lucky with Robin, I forget how horrible most men are, as bad as dogs—”

“What can I do?” asked Coral. “What should I do?”

“Well, that depends,” said Dolly. “First of all, you mustn’t cry. Men can always tell when women have been crying, I expect because they’re so often the cause of it. Let me get you a hankie.”

Dolly opened her bag and extracted a handkerchief. She handed it to Coral and watched Coral dab at her eyes and blow her nose and then said, “How far gone are you?”

“About three months,” said Coral.

“Do you want to get rid of it?”

“I don’t know,” said Coral. “I don’t know what to do…”

“Couldn’t you do it yourself? You are a nurse, after all.”

“I suppose,” said Coral, “but it’s dangerous.”

“I know a girl who got one, and she was fine,” said Dolly. “She just wept all the time.”

“Do you know someone who—”

“Oh, darling, forget about all that. Just marry him, marry Clement and it will all be fine. Everyone will think it’s his, and perhaps he will, too. Men are so stupid about babies.”

“You don’t think I should tell him?”

“Tell him? Of course not! Just go ahead with everything, marry him, and it will all work itself out.”

“But what if he finds out?”

“People don’t find out things they’d rather not. And if he does, you’ll be married and there’s nothing he can do about it without embarrassing himself.”

“You’re sure I shouldn’t tell him?” asked Coral.

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” said Dolly. “Trust me, darling. Just put it all out of your mind. Oh, you poor dear. Really, you mustn’t let anything ruin your happy occasion. We get so little happiness in life, you know.”

They sat in silence for a moment and then Coral stood. “If you’ll help me Dolly, I’ll put on the dress.”

“Of course!” said Dolly. “That is what I am here for, darling. Now, have you got new under things?”

“No,” said Coral. “Just the dress and stockings.”

“Oh, darling, you should have new under things—”

“It’s all right,” said Coral. “I don’t need them. I only need—”

The door was knocked upon and Dolly called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, ma’am,” said the maid. “Major Hart and Mr. Lofting are downstairs. They say it is time for you to go.”

“Tell them we’ll be there in a moment!” Dolly shouted at the door.

*   *   *

There was no weeping at the wedding. The car Major Hart had hired could only accommodate the four members of the bridal party, so Mrs Coppard stayed behind at The Black Swan to supervise the preparations for the wedding luncheon. And perhaps, even if Mrs Coppard had accompanied the bridal party to the magistrate’s office, she might not have shed a single tear, for there was nothing sentimental or lovely about the ceremony. Sensing this deficiency and feeling short-changed, Dolly asked if she might sing “Two Roses in a Garden Grew,” but the magistrate would not allow it, and so the ceremony remained unadorned by feeling.

*   *   *

An awkward scene awaited the bridal party back at The Black Swan, where Major Hart had reserved a private dining room for their luncheon. It was a problem of size: the room was too large. It contained a long rectangular table set for sixteen, with seven places down each side and one at either end. Mrs Coppard, had, in the absence of any other suitable hostess, taken it upon herself to arrange the seating, and had put Mrs Prence, Mrs Henderson, and the pansy from the flower shop along one side with two empty places on either side of Mrs Henderson. She suggested that Robin and Dolly sit at the far ends of the other side, Robin next to the bride at one end and Dolly next to the groom at the other. She would take the middle seat, opposite Mrs Henderson.

Mrs Henderson, who felt stranded in the middle of the table with only Mrs Coppard directly across from her for company, said, “Perhaps it would be jollier if we cleared away the extra settings and shifted everyone down towards one end of the table?”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs Coppard. “That would never do. It’s a wedding luncheon, so the bride and groom must have the seats of honour.”

“Perhaps they could sit beside each other at one end, and we could group ourselves about them,” suggested Mrs Henderson. “That would be more convivial, and then we needn’t shout to each other.”

“There is no need for anyone to shout,” said Mrs Coppard. “I think this arrangement suits us fine. And it will do nicely for the photographs, instead of us all lumped up together.”

Mrs Henderson resigned herself to the trial the luncheon had quickly become and said no more. The bridal party arrived, and when they were all correspondingly seated, a waiter appeared with a magnum of champagne and went round the table, filling everyone’s
coupe
. He was young and terrified and had apparently been told that each squat glass must be filled to its brim. Everyone sat in silence while this feat was slowly and painstakingly achieved. Little beads of quivering perspiration appeared on the waiter’s forehead. Watching him was like watching a medical student suture a wound.

When the waiter had scurried out of the room, Robin stood and attempted to raise his glass, but its brimming abundance made this impossible, so he bent down and sipped preventively from it and, so tamed, managed to hold it before him. “A toast,” he said, “to Clement and Coral: May their days be long and their loads be light, with peaceful days and fruitful nights!”

Everyone agreed to this toast by leaning over and sipping in a delicate feline way at their champagne. No one dared to raise his or her glass. When Clement sat down, Dolly popped up as if some sort of valve connected them. “I tried to sing this song at the ceremony but the magistrate thought he was too good for it, so I shall sing for you all now. Mother, have you got your pitch pipe?”

“I know I put it in here,” said Mrs Coppard. She picked her bag off the floor and rummaged through it, extracting a brush, a banana, the flask, and eventually a pitch pipe, which she held to her lips.

“C major,” Dolly said.

“I know,” said Mrs Coppard, “just let me find it.” She found and blew the pitch and Dolly began to sing “Two Roses in a Garden Grew.” As she was the kind of singer who riveted attention upon herself, no one noticed that during her song the door had quietly opened and Inspector Hoke stepped into the private dining room. He, too, appeared to be raptly entranced by Dolly’s performance and was the only one who applauded its conclusion. This had the effect of diverting everyone’s attention away from Dolly and onto himself.

“Brava, Mrs Lofting!” he said. “A beautiful song, beautifully sung, by a beautiful woman.”

It was odd that it was Coral, not Major Hart, who stood up. “What do you want?” she asked Inspector Hoke.

“Ah, Miss Glynn,” he said. “Although I suppose by now it is Mrs Hart, isn’t it? Congratulations.”

“What is it you want?” asked Coral.

“Just a word with you, if you would be so kind.”