As it turned out, the jeweller let them down, and she found herself with her wedding ring on before she could show off her diamonds. Apart from the unfortunate business of Hessell’s mother’s engagement ring, everything went smoothly, expertly, needless to say, tastefully. The bridegroom wore morning dress, and a perfect gardenia, in the manner one would have expected of him. Anthea Mortlock looked sideways to see whether her friends Val Tulloch and Mollie Aspinall appreciated.

‘It would be grandiflora,’ Mollie whispered to Val.

Just then Gil Tulloch came up and said: ‘Who was right? If Anthea doesn’t know where she’s going!’

‘I hope she does, poor girl,’ observed his wife, ‘otherwise I shall have to feel sorry for her.’

On top of everything else it was something of a triumph for Mrs Scudamore to have got the Tullochs inside her house. Her colour was higher today, not altogether from triumph, for Dad refused to make a speech.

‘I bloody won’t!’ Bill Scudamore said.

‘People will hear you,’ his wife reminded him from behind her teeth.

It was fortunate for Mrs Scudamore that her husband was a fairly silent drunk. Thanks to his taciturnity, his wry character, and his sleight of hand, only she knew when he was.

It would have been more provoking on the present occasion if Hessell Mortlock had not behaved with such urbanity. He cocked his leg at several ladies, with the result that all but the most cynical stopped trying to calculate his age. It was more or less agreed that he was rather fun.

When suddenly the bridegroom looked at his wrist-watch, and said: ‘Anthea, we’ll be hard put to it! Unless you change your togs quicker than most.’

For he had decided to return east with his bride that same evening; business matters demanded it.

Anthea was not so much unfeeling as relieved to escape those of her incapacities which tended to follow her around in their house thrown open to the public.

At the airport her teeth almost collided with her mother’s.

‘Good-bye, my baby!’ Mrs Scudamore blubbed through her lipstick.

But it was Dad who looked awful – silent, yellow, down at one shoulder, in his hired clothes. Anthea promised herself that one day she would give some thought to her father, to discover what it was they had in common. But for the moment there was too much else to explore. And then they were strapped into their seats. She lay back happily enjoying the lingering smell of weddings. And looked at her husband. It was a relief to feel it was not imperative any more to think of something to say.

12

As he had left the Riley at the airport they were able to drive out to Sarsaparilla in comfort, though comfort did not protect her from foreboding as other people’s suburbs filtered through the darkness.

‘It is late, of course, but perhaps your sister will have got something ready for us to eat,’ she ventured.

Hessell was having trouble with his gears.