Guarded Passions (29 page)

‘Just a minute. It might be better if Mum got dressed first,' Ruth suggested as Hugh made for the door.

Helen looked down at the warm red dressing-gown she'd wrapped round her and then back at Ruth.

‘Go on, Mum. First impressions count,' Ruth urged.

As she stood in front of the mirror, combing her greying hair, Helen tried to compose her thoughts. In her heart she knew the odds were against her if Lucy had set her mind on marrying Russell Campbell. Ruth had married Hugh, she reminded herself, in spite of all her threats and Lucy was far more spoilt and self-assured than Ruth had ever been.

What's wrong with my girls? she wondered. Why did they have to throw their lives away like this? Marriage was all very well, but why didn't they enjoy their independence first, not tie themselves down to a husband and a family?

Ruth was just thirty-one, yet sometimes she seemed quite middle-aged. She was a good wife and mother, but what had she got to look forward to? She had no career, and very few friends or interests outside her immediate family. Helen felt it was all wrong.

It reminded her of her own life, and she thought how different that could have been if she hadn't rushed into marriage so young. Her parents had probably been right and she should have gone to university. The way things had worked out, she would have completed her time there before Adam came home. But things had been rather different for her … she had been pregnant. Ruth didn't have that kind of pressure, nor, it seemed, did Lucy.

Looking into the mirror she was aware of how the passing years had left their mark. She was grey-haired, her face was lined, and she was putting on weight. She picked up a lipstick to try and give her face a little more colour before she went downstairs.

Russell Campbell was bold, handsome and arrogant. He was well over six foot tall, slim, with broad shoulders, and he seemed to fill the room with his presence. Helen felt his green eyes sweeping over her critically, as he took her outstretched hand in his strong grasp. Helen was glad she had taken Ruth's advice; she would have felt even more at a disadvantage in her dressing-gown.

‘Nice of you to see me without warning, Mrs Woodley.' He greeted her in a deep, cultured voice. He smiled, showing his strong white teeth. ‘Ruth's told you that Lucy and I are going to be married … as soon as possible.'

Helen returned his stare, conscious that his astute green eyes were watching her closely.

She felt irritated by the way Lucy was clinging to his arm, gazing up into his strong-boned face so adoringly. Was it sexual attraction, or was Lucy flattered by his attention because he was an officer? she wondered. Lucy couldn't be in love with him, not on such a brief aquaintance, she thought stubbornly. Why marriage anyway? It seemed crazy for a man of his type to want to rush headlong into something so serious and binding.

‘Lucy is eighteen, legally old enough to decide such issues for herself, so she doesn't need my permission, does she?' Helen said coolly.

Russell Campbell's sandy eyebrows raised enquiringly and his mouth twitched in a slight smile. ‘Does that mean you would withhold it if we did, Mrs Woodley?'

‘I would prefer Lucy to think it over and be sure that she knew exactly what she was doing.'

‘Mum, of
course
I know what I'm doing!' Lucy's blue eyes glistened, her lips pouted. ‘Stop treating me like a child.'

Russell Campbell patted Lucy's hand reassuringly, but his gaze remained fixed challengingly on Helen.

‘Right, Mrs Woodley. Then I take it that we can go ahead with our plans?' he said crisply.

‘White wedding … Guards' Chapel … Guard of Honour …' Lucy breathed excitedly, her face radiant, her blue eyes suddenly sparkling.

‘All the trimmings,' he assured her. ‘And for our honeymoon … Venice … Paris … wherever you wish.'

Helen's legs suddenly felt weak and she groped for a chair and sat down. It was like the re-run of a film she'd seen before. How could this be happening? It was madness! They didn't know the first thing about each other.

She looked helplessly at Ruth and Hugh but, like her, they seemed to have been swept along by Russell Campbell's decisive manner and supreme confidence. He'll go far, Helen thought grudgingly. But was he the right man for Lucy? Once the glamour of the situation paled, would Lucy yield to his dominance? Helen didn't think so; it wasn't in Lucy's nature to do so. If only she could persuade her to wait.

As she looked at their eager faces, she could hear her own voice, begging her parents to let her marry Adam. And she remembered Ruth, on the day she'd returned from Brecon, making threats about what she would do if she wasn't allowed to marry Hugh. I must be getting old; I'm not even going to put up a fight this time, she thought resignedly.

As she looked again at the tall, haughty young officer, so resplendent in his Mess dress, she knew it would be useless. He looked so devastatingly handsome that Lucy was bound to think herself in love with him. She could only pray that it would turn out all right and that the inevitable rift between Ruth and Lucy wouldn't cause too much heartbreak. Even if they managed to meet in private with the barriers down, the gulf between officer and men had to be observed when they were on duty.

Helen felt the only good that would come from it was the barrier it would create between Gary and Lucy. For a long time now she had worried about the closeness between them and wondered whether the time had come to break her silence. Now she felt relieved that it wasn't going to be necessary.

The burden of Adam's unfaithfulness was heavy for her to bear, but it was her cross. She didn't want to blight Lucy's life with such knowledge. She wished she had never told Ruth. She had never dreamed it would make her regard Hugh with suspicion. She must talk to Ruth and try and convince her that she had nothing to worry about where Hugh was concerned; of that she was certain.

Ruth and Hugh's ways were not hers, but she was confident that their relationship was sound. Ruth mustn't let doubts ruin it. She had always boasted that if anything troubled either of them, they always brought it out in the open and talked it over. Perhaps it would be best if Ruth
did
tell Hugh about Gary; perhaps she had been wrong in making her promise not to speak to him about it.

Sometimes, when she lay awake at night, pondering over Adam's behaviour, Helen wished he could return and tell her exactly what had happened. They had been so very much in love with each other and their marriage had seemed to be so secure, that deep in her heart she still found it hard to believe that he had let her down. Perhaps it had just been an isolated incident.

She knew that if only she could convince herself of that, then, knowing the strain he had been under at that time, she would have been able to understand and forgive him.

Lucy's wedding had a fairy-tale quality; the sort of wedding most girls only dream about. Helen wasn't sure whether it was the magnificent setting of the Guards' Chapel, or the knowledge that Wellington Barracks was only just across the road from Buckingham Palace, that gave added splendour to the occasion.

The sheer grandeur, though awe-inspiring, had a calming effect. As they waited for Lucy to arrive, Helen remembered that the last time she'd been there had been for Ruth's wedding to Hugh. That had been memorable, but this time it was all on a much grander scale; everything was so much more opulent. Even the flowers were in greater profusion, and there were three times as many people.

It was Russell's friends and family that filled almost one half of the huge chapel, she reflected a little ruefully, while their own occupied a mere three pews and most of those were Lucy's friends.

As she studied the women's expensive furs and stylish clothes, their smart hats and glittering jewellery, she truly felt a country cousin by comparison.

She was irked to see that Gary had been invited. She still held him responsible for Lucy rushing into marriage. If Gary hadn't introduced her to Russell Campbell, then she would probably have gone on to finish her training as a hairdresser.

Like Hugh, Gary was not in uniform because they differed in rank to Russell. Grudgingly, Helen had to admit that Gary looked extremely handsome in his well-tailored grey suit, and his likeness to Adam brought a lump to her throat.

Her curiosity was aroused by the stout, elderly woman, with a very colourful floral hat, seated next to Gary. From the way she kept asking him questions in a sibilant whisper, Helen assumed it must be one of his relations.

She asked Ruth, only to be met with a negative shake of the head. ‘Perhaps it's Sheila's mother,' Ruth whispered.

Helen put the matter out of her mind as the music changed, heralding the arrival of the bride. The soft murmur of voices died away, as the waiting congregation turned to watch Lucy make her entrance.

She looked breathtakingly lovely, her white silk gown billowing ethereally about her, as she walked down the aisle on Mark's arm. The lace veil that covered her golden hair was held in place with a circlet of white rosebuds, which matched the posy she was carrying.

Russell Campbell and his best man, both resplendent in their full dress uniform of red and blue, lavishly trimmed with gold braid, were waiting at the foot of the altar steps.

Sally and Anna walked sedately behind Lucy. Sally in a long dress of pale, dusky pink which set off her dark hair; Anna in Wedgwood-blue which made her shoulder-length fair hair appear almost silver. On their heads they wore tiny circlets of white rosebuds and carried matching posies.

The entire ceremony went as smoothly as any television spectacular. The only discordant sound was the faint whirring of cine-cameras being operated from high up in the gallery.

As they emerged from signing the register, Lucy, with her veil now thrown back, looked radiant. She clung to Russell's arm, gazing up at him adoringly, her pink lips slightly parted, her forget-me-not blue eyes sparkling with happiness.

Outside, in the paved courtyard, was the official photographer and hoards of amateurs, eager to capture the colourful scene for themselves.

Passers-by in the road outside stopped to gaze through the railings, delighted at the colourful spectacle, as Russell and Lucy posed, again and again, for the clicking cameras.

Helen had never seen Lucy so vivacious. She prayed that the marriage would work out, but she felt apprehensive about the different life style Lucy would be adopting. She had only met Russell's parents briefly, but she suspected they thought their only son was marrying beneath him.

Colonel Campbell was an ex-Guardsman, every inch a military man, with his bristling moustache and ramrod back. Only recently retired, he now lived in the country where, in season, he hunted twice a week and, for the rest of the year, amused himself playing golf or attending race-meetings.

His wife, with her fashionable blue rinse and elegant designer clothes, came from a titled family. She was involved with numerous charitable committees and had seemed astounded when Helen had confessed that she had little time for such activities, because she was too busy helping Mark with the day-to-day running of the farm.

The reception was as lavish as the ceremony. Champagne flowed freely, punctuating the speeches and toasts. Helen drank sparingly, resenting the fact that Russell's family were paying, when she should have been.

Colonel Campbell had been insistent. ‘Can't take it with us, so we may as well spend some of it now! Russell's our only child, dammit – only right that we give him a good send off. He'll get the lot once we die, so think of it as an advance!' He had boomed with laughter at his own macabre joke.

Standing there, sipping her glass of champagne, and looking around the noisy, crowded room, heavy with the smell of expensive perfume and cigar smoke, Helen sensed there were two camps. The small group that comprised Lucy's relations and friends, were from a different world to Russell's family and friends, who were all so self-assured, so egotistical. They all seemed to be rich and successful; people who either knew where they were going in life or who had already arrived.

With Lucy gone she would now be very much on her own, she thought. She recalled with a feeling of apprehension Lucy's teasing comment to Mark as they were about to leave the farm for London. ‘Next time you walk down the aisle it had better be as a bridegroom,' she had joked.

He had grinned and shaken his dark head emphatically. ‘No chance of that. As soon as we get rid of you I'm through with the farm. I can't stand Sturbury any longer.'

‘What are you going to do?' she'd asked in surprise. ‘Join the Army?'

‘I wish I could.' His blue eyes had clouded. ‘I've left it too late though; I'm too old now. No, I'll probably emigrate to South Africa, or Australia, or just become a hobo!'

They'd both laughed, but Helen had heard the desperation in his voice and knew that he meant it. She blamed Gary for Mark's discontent. His constant talk about Army life had made Mark envious and restless.

She felt saddened and bitter that her entire family had this obsession with the Army, although, she supposed, it was only natural since, with the exception of Lucy, they'd been brought up in married quarters. Even Sally and Anna were planning to be Army wives.

She'd overheard them talking together when they had been standing outside the Guards' Chapel, posing for the photographers. Sally had said wistfully, ‘Only another seven years and I'll be able to get married.'

Anna had looked at her in surprise. ‘Who will you marry?' she'd asked in a puzzled voice.

‘A soldier of course,' Sally replied scornfully. ‘It's a family tradition, isn't it?'

Young as they were, they had realised that, Helen thought resignedly, and the prospect dismayed her. People began to drift away after Lucy and Russell left for their honeymoon in Paris. Helen went across the room to where Ruth was sitting talking to someone. As she reached them she was surprised to see it was the elderly woman in the flowered hat she'd noticed earlier in the chapel.