Bride in Flight Read Free Page B

the need for trying to grasp the sheer incredibility of what the woman was saying.
    “You’re Christine Macpherson? And you’re marrying Gilbert Brownfield this morning?”
    “Yes, I—I am—but who—?”
    “I’m Miriam Brownfield. You won’t have heard of me. Can’t have ... or there’d be no wedding. I hate to give you a shock like this, my dear, but I’ve just reached Australia trying to trace my husband. My husband, Gilbert Brownfield. Thank heaven I was in time to prevent him committing bigamy. Are you there?”
    Kirsty’s voice, even to herself, seemed to come from far away.
    “Yes ... yes, I’m here. I’m listening. Go on. Do you mean—?”
    “I mean he ran out on me. Disappeared two years ago. Then I heard he’d been seen in Australia. He’d always had a longing for the tropics. So I came. They told me up here—I rang his office in the canefields from Brisbane—that he was getting married today. I didn’t tell them who I was. It’s taken me all this time to locate you. I’ve been working against time. I’ve got his address too, so I have a priority call in for that too. I thought I must ring you first, however, to give you time. I’m most terribly sorry, my dear, believe me. If only I’d got here sooner. If only it hadn’t been your wedding day! He’s always been a weak, roving character, bu.t I never dreamed he’d go as far as this.”
    Kirsty summoned up her voice again. “What do you want me to do?”
    “I’m going to get in touch with the police. It will take time. I have proof with me, naturally, but they won’t be able to act within a certain time. And I want to speak with Gilbert first. I feel desperately sorry for you. I don’t feel you should be involved more than you need. When it comes out you’ll be pestered to death with reporters. They’ll be round you like wasps round a jam pot. You can leave Gilbert to me. If I were you I’d clear right out of town now, saying nothing to anyone. Without even a note to Gilbert ... the swine. Without even telling your bridesmaids. Just go. Disappear for a few days. Then when it’s all over everyone will say what a lucky escape you’ve had, you’ll be the heroine of the hour—and in time you’ll pick up the threads of your life again. Not like me. I’m married to him. Married to a rotter.”
    Kirsty said automatically through stiff lips, “All right. I don’t see what else I can do. I’ll go now. I’ll have to be quick before my attendants are out from the bathroom. I’m sorry about this—for your sake too. Good luck and goodbye.”
    She replaced the receiver with a careful finality. She let her train slip from the crook of her elbow. It wouldn’t matter now ... crushing or soiling. It had had its day. A day over almost before it had begun.
    Then she found herself running madly upstairs; she must get to the refuge of her own bedroom before the girls emerged and saw her face. Shock and horror must be etched upon it.
    Later Kirsty was to realize she did everything in a state of deep shock. She moved swiftly with the precision of an automaton. She kicked off the high-heeled white shoes, reached her hands to the tiny satin-covered buttons at the back of the high neck, was gratified to find her hands were not shaking, could do their job properly. Not that she could undo enough to get out of the frock ... Patty had had to fasten them for her from hips to shoulder-blades, but she got enough undone to get a firm grip, and with calm strength, rip. The buttons flew in all directions, falling without noise on the carpet.
    She pulled the long filmy slip over her head, reached out for the short one lying next to her going-away outfit. She didn’t fumble. Into the toffee-brown frock with its exquisite pleating, the three-quarter coat to match; a hasty smoothing of her hair, the feather cap pinned securely on. She caught up her make-up kit, thrust it into the brown bag beside that ill-fated wedding ring.
    Her going-away outfit. Well,