A Quiver Full of Arrows

Henry kissed her gallantly on the cheek and said: “It will be worth waiting for, my dear. I can assure you it will be a day neither of us will ever forget.”

“I’m sure of that,” Victoria replied as he released her hand.

* * *

On the morning of his wedding Henry leaped out of bed and drew back the curtains with a flourish, only to be greeted by a steady drizzle.

“The rain will clear by eleven o’clock,” he said out loud with immense confidence, and hummed as he shaved slowly and with care.

The weather had not improved by mid-morning. On the contrary, heavy rain was falling by the time Victoria entered the church. Henry’s disappointment evaporated the instant he saw his beautiful bride; all he could think of was taking her to Paris. The ceremony over, the Grand Pasha and his wife stood outside the church, a golden couple, smiling for the press photographers as the loyal guests scattered damp rice over them. As soon as they decently could, they set off for the reception at the Ritz. Between them they managed to chat to every guest present, and they would have been away in better time had Victoria been a little quicker changing and the General’s toast to the happy couple been considerably shorter. The guests crowded onto the steps of the Ritz, overflowing onto the pavement in Piccadilly to wave goodbye to the departing honeymooners, and were only sheltered from the downpour by a capacious red awning.

The General’s Rolls took the Grand Pasha and his wife to the station, where the chauffeur unloaded the bags. Henry instructed him to return to the Ritz now that he had everything under control. The chauffeur touched his cap and said, “I hope you and madam have a wonderful trip, sir,” and left them. Henry stood in the station, looking for Fred. There was no sign of him, so he hailed a passing porter.

“Where is Fred?” inquired Henry.

“Fred who?” came the reply.

“How in heaven’s name should I know?” said Henry.

“Then how in hell’s name should I know?” retorted the porter.

Victoria shivered. English railway stations are not designed for the latest fashion in silk coats.

“Kindly take my bags to the end carriage of the train,” said Henry.

The porter looked down at the fourteen bags. “All right,” he said reluctantly.

Henry and Victoria stood patiently in the cold as the porter loaded the bags on his trolley and trundled them off along the platform.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” said Henry. “A cup of Lapsang Souchong tea and some smoked salmon sandwiches and you’ll feel a new girl.”

“I’m just fine,” said Victoria, smiling, though not quite as bewitchingly as usual, as she put her arm through her husband’s. They strolled along together to the end carriage.

“Can I check your tickets, sir?” said the conductor, blocking the entrance to the last carriage.

“My what?” said Henry, his accent sounding unusually pronounced.

“Your tic … kets,” said the conductor, conscious he was addressing a foreigner.

“In the past I have always made the arrangements on the train, my good man.”

“Not nowadays you don’t, sir. You’ll have to go to the booking office and buy your tickets like everyone else, and you’d better be quick about it because the train is due to leave in a few minutes.”

Henry stared at the conductor in disbelief. “I assume my wife may rest on the train while I go and purchase the tickets?” he asked.

“No, I’m sorry, sir. No one is allowed to board the train unless they are in possession of a valid ticket.”

“Remain here, my dear,” said Henry, “and I will deal with this little problem immediately. Kindly direct me to the ticket office, porter.”

“End of Platform Four, governor,” said the conductor, slamming the train door in annoyance at being described as a porter.

That wasn’t quite what Henry had meant by “direct me.” Nevertheless, he left his bride with the fourteen bags and somewhat reluctantly headed back toward the ticket office at the end of Platform Four, where he went to the front of a long line.

“There’s a queue, you know, mate,” someone shouted.

Henry didn’t know. “I’m in a frightful hurry,” he said.

“And so am I,” came back the reply, “so get to the back.”