They're Wed Again

‘Well, at least this time there’s no chance of your father walking in,’ Luc commented, taking her back in his arms.

Several bliss-filled seconds later, Belle was just snuggling deeper into his embrace when the back door suddenly opened.

‘Belle, it’s me, Jane…’ she heard her mother’s friend and neighbour calling out cheerfully.

Any hopes that she and Luc had managed to spring apart without being seen were squashed when she heard Jane’s voice change completely as she started to apologise in a flustered voice. ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised…’ And then it changed again as she recognised Luc. ‘Luc… But what…?’

‘Luc called round to see Mum and Dad,’ Belle fabricated quickly. ‘He hadn’t realised that they’d gone away.’ Heavens, it was amazing how very creative one could be with the truth when the need arose, and she wasn’t even blushing.

‘Oh, I see…’

Uncertainly she looked from Belle to Luc, and then back again.

‘How’s your eye now, Belle?’ Luc asked solicitously. ‘She’d got an eyelash in it,’ he told Jane straight-faced.

‘Oh…I see… Well, I only called round to say hello,’ Jane explained. ‘Er… I’ll er…leave you to it…’

‘Now the whole neighbourhood is going to know that you were here,’ Belle groaned after she had gone. ‘Oh, Luc…’

‘Oh, Belle…’

‘Now what are you doing?’ she demanded a little breathlessly as he took her back in his arms.

‘Looking for that eyelash,’ Luc told her.

* * *

‘I just hope that Jane hasn’t seen us driving away together,’ Belle worried half an hour later as Luc backed his car out of her parents’ drive.

‘We’ve got a perfectly legitimate excuse for being seen together. We’re buying Joy and Andy a joint wedding present—remember?’

‘Yes, I know that, but we’re not doing that now, are we?’

‘No, we’re not doing it now,’ Luc agreed urbanely.

‘So where are we going?’ Belle asked him curiously ten minutes later. ‘It’s too early for dinner and…’

‘Wait and see.’

As they passed the country church where her niece was to be married, Belle leant forward in her seat.

‘Does it bring back memories?’ Luc asked her.

‘Yes,’ Belle admitted.

They had been married there themselves, and her eyes blurred briefly with emotional tears as she remembered how deliriously happy she had been, how filled with excitement mingled with awe at the thought of marrying Luc.

Not that she had originally wanted a big white wedding with all the trimmings. She had wanted something far quieter and more intimate.

It had been Luc who had persuaded her otherwise, pointing out to her that the vows they made to one another would be just as precious no matter where they made them, and that it would be unfair of them to exclude their families from the occasion.

‘You wanted to be married somewhere private and out in the open air—remember?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Belle agreed, her voice a little husky with emotion at the way he had picked up on her own thoughts. ‘An island, or the top of a hill… I wanted our marriage to be different, special… romantic, a private memory we could cherish for ever…’

‘I know.’

‘Instead it was a full family affair with me in a dress like a meringue and eight bridesmaids.’

‘You looked beautiful.’

‘You could barely get close enough to kiss me after the vicar had said you could because of the width of my dress hoops. Remember?’

Luc started to laugh.

‘It wasn’t funny,’ Belle protested indignantly. ‘A bride whose groom can’t kiss her is no laughing matter.’

‘I wasn’t laughing at that,’ Luc told her. ‘I was just remembering the panic we had when no one could find little Timmy and then he crawled out from underneath your skirt.’

Belle laughed too.

‘Yes, he’d been under the table whilst I was talking to his parents and he’d crawled under my hoops without any of us noticing.’

Silently they exchanged reminiscent looks, and then out of the corner of her eye Belle saw a familiar signpost.

‘You’re taking me home?’ she asked Luc incredulously, not realising until it was too late just how betraying her choice of words had been.

‘I’m taking you home,’ Luc agreed huskily.

This time the silence between them was deeper, closer, and potentially tense with unspoken emotion. Belle could feel her heart starting to beat far too fast as they drove through the village and Luc took the narrow country lane that led to the house they had bought together.

Belle had fallen in love with it at first sight, and the feelings that swamped her as they rounded the bend and she saw the house through its framing protective canopy of trees made her press her lips firmly together to stop her chin from wobbling and trembling. They had bought this house with such love and she had left it in so much pain that she could hardly bear to remember just how she had felt.

‘It hasn’t changed,’ Belle whispered as Luc stopped the car.

Originally two separate farmworkers’ cottages, the pair had been knocked through into one when they had bought it, and the whole building carefully renovated.

It was surrounded by a large garden overlooking the lane at the front and running down to a stream at the rear. Inside the front door was a long, narrow stone-flagged hallway and a flight of steep stairs. The stone mullioned windows gave the house character and an air of timelessness.

‘Oh, you’ve still got the same curtains,’ was the only thing she could think of to say as Luc helped her out of the car.

She had bought the material on impulse one wet afternoon when Luc had been studying and she had driven into Cambridge to do some shopping.

She had found the heavy damask fabric by accident on a market stall. It had come originally from one of the colleges, the stall owner had told her.

Uncertainly Belle had fingered the rich heavy fabric. Even at the stall holder’s price it was still horribly expensive, but it was also perfect for the house.

She reminded herself that only the previous week she and Luc had rowed about money, and in retaliation for his claim that their expenses were far too high she had immediately accused him of spending far too much on the books he had claimed he needed to study.

‘I thought that’s what college libraries were for,’ she had told him scornfully, still smarting from his reference to the fact that she had spent more on a pair of luxury tights then he had done on a whole week’s lunches.

‘It is, but they don’t carry a set of these,’ Luc had countered quietly.

So she had walked determinedly away from the stall, only to walk back again ten minutes later, closing her eyes as she told the woman she would have the fabric.

She had made the curtains herself. How could she preach economy to Luc and then pay someone else to make them?

‘They’re beautiful,’ Luc had told her quietly once they were hung, but the lack of genuine enthusiasm in his voice had hurt and angered her.

If she wanted to spend the money she had worked so hard to earn on expensive curtains, then she had every right to do so. And

she had told him so.

Remembering the incident now, Belle winced at her own careless disregard of Luc’s feelings, her lack of wisdom and foresight.

‘The shop has sent me a brochure with photographs of the different styles of beds they do,’ Luc explained as he unlocked the front door and ushered Belle in in front of him. ‘Since they don’t carry a stock of each design, I thought you might want to look at it.’

‘Do they still do our bed?’

“‘Our” bed?’ Luc gave her a slow, teasing smile. ‘It’s my bed now—remember? The removal men took the one I made when you moved out. Of course it’s not too late for us to—’

‘No, no, I don’t want—I’m keeping the bed I’ve got,’ Belle told him quickly, and then added a little defensively, ‘I like it, I’m used to it—it’s…’

It’s a tiny bit of you, she could have said.

Belle shot Luc a slightly self-conscious look, but he was already ushering her towards the drawing room.

‘Come and sit down. I’ll make us both a cup of tea and then you can look at the brochure.’

The sitting room was just as she had left it. The covers on the sofas a little faded, perhaps, and the rust carpet’s original colour softened by the sun, but the classic timelessness of the furniture Belle had chosen because the house had demanded it had stood the passage of time very well, she acknowledged.

Luc might not have changed anything, but she could see that the room had been repainted at some stage and its surfaces were dust-free and well polished.

‘Sorry about the delay,’ he apologised ten minutes later, when he reappeared with their tea and the catalogue. ‘I couldn’t find this. Mrs Leyton, who comes in from the village to clean for me a couple of times a week, had “tidied” it away.’

Being in the house which had once been her home, the home she had once shared with Luc, who was here beside her, whose home it still was, was causing her to feel so many conflicting emotions that Belle could barely concentrate on the brochure he was showing her.

Certainly the company had extended its original small range of furniture, and the four-poster beds they had added to their list were works of art—and had she been looking for a new bed—