Death of a Stranger (5 page)

That was the moment, joining the Registrar-General in his survey of the witnesses, that Tim remembered Constance Lorimer. It took a savage effort of will, aided by his knowledge that he had ordered two members of the force to be stationed the far side of the hall doors, to forget her. But he was pleased to see that Simon Shaw was one of just six people in the last occupied row to the right of the aisle.
Friend of the bridegroom
. Only he didn't know him …

The introduction was over, the Registrar-General was addressing him personally and he must respond in the words being put into his mouth. Words he knew by heart.

“I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Timothy James Le Page, may not be joined in matrimony to Anna Elizabeth Weston.''

A benign silence, in which he turned towards Anna. She had already turned towards him, and he spoke again.

“I call upon the persons here present to witness that I, Timothy James Le Page, do take thee, Anna Elizabeth Weston, to be my lawful wedded wife …''
Pour être ma femme legalement mariée
, Tim concluded in his head. Over the years the French words had become as familiar as the English.

“I call upon the persons here present,'' Anna responded in her usual quiet clear voice, “ to witness that I, Anna Elizabeth Weston, do take thee, Timothy James Page, to be my lawful wedded husband.''

Then the Registrar-General was nodding to Ted, who handed him the gold bands, one of which the Registrar-General handed to Tim. Tim, feeling the ring warm and slightly damp from its sojourn in Ted's palm, eased it onto Anna's thin finger, realising as he did so that he had never until that moment seen a ring on her marriage finger, not even a circle of pale skin where one might have been worn the previous summer … The ring Anna was sliding on to his finger was warm, too.

The Registrar-General, his smile widening to a beam, was pronouncing them man and wife, authorising the bridegroom to kiss the bride – Tim obeyed with a butterfly brush he knew was the most Anna would want in public – and then they were being invited over to the table, to turn what they had said into law. Straightening up from writing his name in the indicated places, Tim for the second time looked out over the congregation and saw his mother, her eyes glittering, lean into the aisle and look back along it at the moment Simon Shaw made a similar move. There was no doubt that they exchanged glances, and Anna looked at him sharply as his left hand, clasping hers, involuntarily clenched.

“All right, Tim?''

“Of course. I just saw – Mother and Shaw.''

“So did I. But we're married, Tim.''

“I know, I know. It's all that matters.''

When they had reached the outer doors, and were halted by the photographer, the first person Tim saw was Constance Lorimer. Just to the inside of the gates, standing against the railings with her friend Beth Smith. He'd forgotten about Beth Smith, so self-effacing and quietly spoken, but remembered now her frequent presence at Constance's side following the disappearance from the island of Constance's husband with Lorna …

The photographer was beckoning them forward into the sunshine, beckoning Ted and Lorna and Clare and Robin to stand either side of them, and Constance Lorimer's blank face was suddenly alive with rage. Beth Smith's was tense and strained as she held Constance back by the arm when she started to move forward, and Constance, thank heaven, was obeying, was retreating to the wall, where both women stood wide-eyed, chests heaving. As the photographer paused between shots Tim glanced across at his mother.

She too was aware of Constance, he could see it in the elaborately nonchalant way she was staring through the two women by the railings, half smiling. Constance saw it too, and reacted with a fist clenched shoulder-high and a distortion of the mouth as if she was shouting abuse. But if she was, it was drowned in the cheers and shouts of goodwill from the rest of the waiting crowd. Anna was half smiling at everyone; she had never knowingly seen Constance Lorimer, and Tim was glad she was unaware of the mimed drama. Which his mother seemed to be enjoying, he realised with the familiar dual reaction of amusement and exasperation.

“You'll come with us!'' he ordered her, when the first car squeezed in as the photographer released them.

“But I'm going with the Jamesons and your sergeant! You and Anna have to travel on your own!''

“No, we don't, Mother. But get in the front if it worries you. Constance Lorimer worries
me
.''

“
That
poor soul!'' Lorna hissed contemptuously. But she saw the determination in her son's face and got reluctantly into the front seat of the car when Tim had signalled to the driver to unlock the passenger door, not without a concerned glance back into St James in an attempt, Tim was sure, to catch a glimpse of Simon Shaw.

But he had been learning since childhood not to let his mother upset him, and as he settled into the back of the car beside Anna the pinpricks ceased.

“All right?'' she asked him again.

“Oh, yes.'' They kissed less decorously.

“Tim,'' Anna said, as she drew away, “you saw Constance Lorimer, didn't you? Were you afraid your mother might tackle her?''

“I was afraid she might tackle my mother, the way she was looking. At least, that she might come up to her while she and Ted and the Jamesons were waiting for the second car. Getting her away quickly seemed like a sensible safety measure.''

“I hope she won't follow us to the Duke.''

“Let's not think about it, we don't want Constance Lorimer to be part of our memories of today.''
Nor Simon Shaw
, Tim added in his head. But at least there was no danger of Simon making a scene. Getting himself into a press photograph … He wasn't going to let either Simon or Constance Lorimer spoil his wedding day.

Nevertheless he hustled his mother up the hotel steps.

“You both look fine to me,'' he said in the foyer, surveying her and Anna judicially. “ But if you feel you need to repair anything … I'm told the ladies' room here is a home from home. Unless you'd rather go upstairs.''

“The ladies' room,'' Anna said, looking at Lorna.

“But the bride …'' Lorna protested. “Other people – guests – might come in while we're there, and the bride—''

“I'm no mystical bride figure,'' Anna assured her, “and I shan't worry if they do. Which they may not if we're quick.'' She took Lorna's hand. “Come on! Back in a minute, Tim.'' If Lorna had been a woman carefully preserved physically, Anna reflected as they sped away, whose elegance depended on props and cosmetics, she would have given her the choice of where to retire to, but having observed her mother-in-law (the thought of Lorna Le Page being her mother-in-law was far stranger than the thought of Tim being her husband) she was confident she would need only to take stock of her hat and hair and renew her lipstick. In the event Lorna removed her hat, a gorgeous and becoming complex of light straw, and gave it over to the cloakroom attendant, reviving her hair with her hands.

“A hat can inhibit movement of the jaws,'' she observed to Anna's mirrored image. “Have you noticed? I'm hungry and I'm looking forward to the food. You know, Anna'' – her gaze was suddenly serious and thoughtful – “you've got what I've got. Flair. You know by instinct what suits you. It's worth buckets of cosmetics.''

“Thank you. I don't bother much, really.'' But Anna was pleased. “We'd better go,'' she said. “We're not intending to form a reception line, but I think we should be first into the restaurant.''

In effect they were a group at the door, so that Anna and Tim could be sure of presenting all their friends and partners to Lorna. To Tim's annoyance, he found himself scanning the influx of guests for the presence of Constance Lorimer; he had warned Reception to be ready for a dressed-down, middle-aged woman with a wild air to her, but knew even as he was alerting the politely attentive young man and young woman behind the counter how unlikely it was they would be able to pick Constance out of the throng of guests, or summon the confidence to detain a woman who answered his imprecise description …

“Anna! Tim! How splendid!'' The booming voice of Anne's boss Brian Bradshaw surmounted the quiet hubbub. Brian had the looks to go with his voice, Anna thought, as the tall broad figure with the shock of black hair and thick black brows enveloped her in a bear hug.

“I'm glad, Anna. Be happy.'' Brian's wife Laura, elegant by artifice and seen generally as a sourpuss, but Anna had somehow breached her defences, even persuaded her to get a job at the Guille-Allès library in town and make use of her librarian qualifications. But Laura, of course, regarded Lorna with suspicion; most people still, despite her Anna-induced concessions, were guilty in her eyes until proved innocent.

“Anna dear, I'm so happy for you.'' John Coquelin, soft-spoken second in command at the surgery, always civil and contained. Anna didn't know how far John had recovered from the trauma of his girlfriend's violent death and suspected that no one else did, either.

“Oh, Anna! Lovely, lovely!'' Joy Smith, the vet practice assistant and dogsbody, remembered Anna's reserve halfway through an exuberant embrace, and stepped hastily back.

“Thank you, Joy.'' Anna retained the girl's hand for a moment, to show her she had appreciated Joy's spontaneity. Joy's boyfriend Cliff Ozanne, the fourth vet in the practice, shook hands with Anna as formally as with Tim, ever wary since admitting in an uncontrolled and regretted moment that he had hoped for the junior partnership. Wary again, as he glanced over his shoulder at Pam Francis, close behind him and an attractive local girl who had recently taken over Reception. Anna noticed Joy glancing back, too, with a frown. Cliff was being noticeably less taciturn with Pam than he was with most people, and if the new girl hadn't been so obviously uninterested in him Anna would have been braced for a drama in their midst.

Nicky Torode, Tim's newish DC, possibly the most glamorous of the young female guests but still looking fearsomely efficient, which Tim had told Anna she was. Nicky made Anna consciously grateful, for a moment, that she had total faith in her husband's loyalty.

A bunch of Tim's young colleagues, a couple of them a bit teasing, but all showing Anna that they liked and respected him. Lorna was flirtatious with them as a group, which they obviously enjoyed, and Anna was amused to see one of them look with surprise from her to her son. Alerted by Tim's muttered identification, Lorna greeted her son's Chief and his wife with dignified graciousness.

Simon Shaw was almost the last. Anna glanced at the two politely blank faces as he and Tim shook hands, then found herself smiling at the boy as she held hers out. “I hope you'll be very happy,'' Simon said quietly. He hadn't said anything to Tim.

“Thank you. If I don't get a chance to speak to you again, I hope you enjoy your stay in Guernsey as well as getting your business done.''

“Thank you.'' The boy gave her a long, grave look and then, with a little bow, moved on to Lorna. Without turning fully towards them Anna was aware that he had bent to kiss her, and heard the murmur of their voices.

Both Tim and Anna, and each of them with annoyance, felt a sense of relief when the half-hour of standing around with glasses was ended by the voice of the hotel proprietor and it became possible to see precisely who was in the restaurant. A friend of both Tim and Anna and, with his wife, just back like everyone else in his restaurant from St James, he led them and their small party to the top table, before suggesting to the guests that they colonise the smaller round tables and then attack the display of food, as wide and colourful as a herbaceous border, that stretched across the opposite wall.

“We're the élite, we're being waited on!'' Lorna had spotted the shyness of DS Mahy's small, stout wife, hanging back with a nervous smile and her handbag in a twitchy grip, and was taking her by the hand as Tim and Ted came up. “I'm Lorna, Tim‘s mother. I know you're Mrs Ted, but I don't know your own name.''

“It's Marilyn.'' Dazzled by Lorna's radiant smile and attentive presence, Marilyn Mahy blinked.

“Marilyn can sit beside me, can't she, Tim?'' Lorna asked. “So long as you and Anna are at the centre and I'm next to her and Ted next to you … Oh, dear, that means you'll have to choose between me and your husband as a neighbour, Marilyn.''

“Oh, dear … I don't …'' Mrs Mahy's face flamed red. Not for the first time, Tim noted resignedly, the teasing element in his mother's make-up had clashed with the compassionate, and the object of her compassion had been disturbed rather than reassured. But Lorna moved in an aura of unexpectness, and Tim wasn't really surprised when, suddenly positive, Mrs Mahy elected to sit next to Mr Le Page's mother.

Clare sent her handsome husband to the end of the top table on Mrs Mahy's side and settled down to an animated chat about flower arranging with the wife of the Duke's proprietor, who had wreathed the restaurant in white and gold and, reluctantly agreeing to let her husband preside on his own, sat down next to Clare, enabling the bride and bridegroom, to the expressed satisfaction of the photographer, to be the precise centre of the line.

At least, Tim thought, as a colourful plate of food was put before him, he wouldn't have to sit through a eulogy of his bride from a father or a father figure, mentally adjusting his own sketchily prepared speech to accommodate appreciation of its wit and comment on the revelations it had offered. No one had given away that free spirit Anna Weston, and he need thank no one before thanking the guests for their gifts and their presence, and the hotel for its catering and its flowers. Ted would be spared entirely, as there were no bridesmaids. Within minutes of their cutting the elegant small cake the hotel had made for them, another of his friends, the Duke's resident musician, would be slipping behind the curtain into the ballroom, where he would join his small team and strike up the band.