A Rather English Marriage Read Free Page A

tears pour down his face yet again. The healing words drifted like snowflakes over him: ‘Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery.’ Well, she’d been lucky. She hadn’t been full of misery, his Grace, except forthat awful time when the baby had died. They’d shared that and come through it, though they’d never understand; but now he was grieving alone. They had loved each other, till death them did part.
    He tried to pray for this other woman, glimpsed through the door in the little room off the ward, unknown; but his thoughts would keep stealing back to Grace.
    â€˜Stand up! Stand up for Jesus!/Ye soldiers of the Cross!’ bellowed Reginald lustily at the front of the church. ‘Lift high his royal banner,/It must not suffer loss.’ He knew all the words and, conscious of being the centre of attention, he squared his shoulders, threw back his head and roared through his favourite hymn. Jolly good show, he thought to himself, that’s what they’ll say. Good old Reggie, put on a jolly good show. Taking it well. Still a fine figure of a man. Marry again, I dare say. They’d better not say it to my face – he jutted his chin a fraction higher - or start any of that damned matchmaking. Women yammering and fussing around. The last words he could remember Mary saying to him had been, surely, ‘Are you still all right for clean shirts, dear?’ Not much there for a chap to hang on to. He’d taken the last clean white shirt to wear today. He glanced down. Funny to think that her hands had ironed it; well, hers or Mrs Whatsit, Murphy, and now … He lifted his chin again. Brace up! he thought sternly, you’re on parade!
    After the cremation people hung around expectantly for a bit before shaking his hand or clapping him on the back, looking rather harder into his eyes than felt comfortable, and drifting uncertainly away. ‘Be in touch, old man,’ the men said; and their wives murmured, ‘Dear Reggie, now remember, give me a ring
any time
you need cheering up!’
    No fear, thought Reginald. Just as I expected, matchmaking already. Some unmarried sister to foist off on me, some miserable old spinster looking for a husband. Not bloody likely. He stuck out his hand to ward off a peck on the cheek.
    â€˜Jolly good turn-out,’ he said. ‘Mary’d have been pleased. Good of you to come. Long way. Appreciate it, very much.’
    A few yards away, just out of earshot, the vicar hovered obsequiously at the edge of a family group. ‘Er, excuse - if I might — forgive me, Lady Blythgowrie?’ he inquired.
    Susan turned, icily, and, seeing who it was, bestowed a perfectly modulated smile. ‘My dear vicar! What a very moving service. You knew dear Mary well, of course … that was obvious from your tribute. Just the right words. We were so fond of her - the girls especially.’
    â€˜We
adored
Aunt Mary,’ said one of the girls, with real warmth. ‘We’re going to miss her dreadfully.’
    Ah, thought the vicar: good sign. He pressed on.
    â€˜I did just
wonder
whether, you know, anything had been
planned?
Next, I mean? People are starting to drift away …’
    â€˜Oh?’ she said, with a sound that encompassed four out of the five vowels. ‘You mean,
drinks?’
    â€˜Well, yes, and perhaps something to nibble,’ said the vicar.
    â€˜
I
haven’t organized anything,’ said Susan Blythgowrie, thinking, Reginald’s an infernal nuisance. Isn’t he capable of doing anything right? Little enough to ask, one would have thought. Plenty of local hotels, presumably. All it takes is a quick call to the catering manager. ‘I haven’t been told of anything. Vivian, darling, why don’t you go and ask Reginald what’s been laid on next?’
    â€˜Wake, you mean?’ said Vivian. ‘Oh don’t look like that, Susan. I was