The Bridesmaid Read Free

with an open neck, and a lightweight jacket in a large but not overbold check of dark blue and cream and brown. The look on his face changed from dismay to an appalled disbelief that made him briefly close his eyes.
    He opened them again very quickly and came down the steps and hid whatever it was that was upsetting him under hearty politeness. Philip expected him to kiss Christine—and perhaps Christine expected this too, for she went to him with her face held up, but he didn’t kiss her. He shook hands with everyone. Philip put Flora down on the step while he shook hands.
    Christine said, “This is Fiona, my eldest. She’s the one I told you is getting married next year. And this is Philip who’s just got his degree and is training to be an interior designer, and this is Cheryl—she’s just left school.”
    “And who’s this?” Arnham said.
    The way Philip had set Flora down she did look like a fifth member of their party. Her wrappings were coming off. Head and one arm poked out of the hole in the cleaning bag. Her serene face, whose eyes seemed always to be looking beyond you and into the distance, was now entirely uncovered, as was her right hand, in which she held the sheaf of marble flowers. The green stain on her neck and bosom had suddenly become very noticeable, as had the chip out of one of her ears.
    “You remember her, Gerard. She’s Flora who was in my garden and you said you liked her so much. We’ve brought her for you. She’s yours now.” When Arnham didn’t say anything, Christine persisted, “For a present. We’ve brought her for you because you said you liked her.”
    Arnham was obliged to make a show of enthusiasm but he didn’t do it very well. They left Flora out there and went into the house. Necessarily, because there were four of them and the hallway was narrow so that they had to proceed singly, they seemed to troop into the house. Philip felt glad they at least hadn’t brought Hardy. This was no place for a dog.
    It was very beautifully decorated and furnished. Philip always noticed these things. If he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have been taking the training course at Roseberry Lawn Interiors. One day, a day that was necessarily far off, he would like a living room in his house like this one, with ivy green walls and drawings in narrow gilt frames and a carpet whose glorious deep soft yellow reminded him of Chinese porcelain seen in museums.
    Through an archway he could see into the dining room. A small table was laid for two. There were two pink table napkins in two tall pink glasses and a single pink carnation in a fluted vase. Before he could fully realise what this meant, Arnham was ushering them all into the garden by a back way. He had picked up Flora very much as if, Philip thought, he feared she might dirty his carpet, and was swinging her along like a bag of shopping.
    Once outside he dumped her in the flower bed that was the border of a small rockery and, making an excuse, disappeared into the house. The Wardmans stood on the lawn. Fee looked at Philip behind Christine’s back and behind Cheryl’s back, put up her eyebrows, and gave the kind of satisfied nod that is the equivalent of a thumbs-up sign. She was indicating that she approved of Arnham, that Arnham would do. Philip shrugged his shoulders. He turned to look at Flora once more, at the marble face which certainly wasn’t Christine’s face or that of any real woman he had ever known. The nose was classical, the eyes rather too wide apart, the soft lips too indented, and there was a curiously glazed look on the face as if she were untroubled by normal human fears and doubts and inhibitions.
    Arnham came back apologising, and they set Flora up in a position where she could contemplate her own reflection in the waters of a very small pond. They wedged her in place between two grey stones over which a golden-leaved plant had spread its tendrils.
    “She looks just right there,” said Christine. “It