Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles 1)

'So, how do you think you got on?' he asked as he filled her glass.

'I don't know,' sighed Emma, as dozens of other girls poured out of the examination hall. 'I didn't realize what I was up against until I saw that lot.'

'Well, at least you've got something to distract you while you wait for the results.'

'Just three weeks to go,' Emma reminded him. 'That's more than enough time for you to change your mind.'

'If you don't win a scholarship, I may have to reconsider my position. After all, I can't be seen associating with a commoner.'

'And if I do win a scholarship, I may have to reconsider my position and look for another scholar.'

'Deakins is still available,' said Harry as he topped up her glass.

'It will be too late by then,' said Emma.

'Why?'

'Because the results are due to be announced on the morning of our wedding.'

Emma and Harry spent most of the weekend locked away in her little hotel room, endlessly going over the wedding arrangements when they weren't making love. By Sunday night, Emma had come to one conclusion.

'Mama has been quite magnificent,' she said, 'which is more than I can say for my father.'

'Do you think he'll even turn up?'

'Oh yes. Mama's talked him into coming, but he's still refusing to give me away. What's the latest on Old Jack?'

'He hasn't even replied to my last letter,' said Harry.

47

'HAVE YOU PUT ON a little weight, darling?' asked Emma's mother as she tried to fasten the last clasp on the back of her daughter's wedding dress.

'I don't think so,' replied Emma, looking at herself critically in the full-length mirror.

'Stunning,' was Elizabeth's verdict as she stood back to admire the bride's outfit.

They had travelled to London several times to have the dress fitted by Madame Renee, the proprietor of a small, fashionable boutique in Mayfair, thought to be patronized by Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth. Madame Renee had personally supervised each fitting, and the Victorian embroidered lace around the neck and hem, something old, blended quite naturally with the silk bodice and empire bell skirt that was proving so fashionable that year, something new. The little cream tear-drop hat, Madame Renee had assured them, was what women of fashion would be wearing next year. The only comment Emma's father made on the subject came when he saw the bill.

Elizabeth Barrington glanced at her watch. Nineteen minutes to three. 'No need to rush,' she told Emma when there was a knock on the door. She was sure she'd hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob and told the chauffeur not to expect them before three. At the rehearsal the previous day, the journey from the hotel to the church had taken seven minutes. Elizabeth intended Emma to be fashionably late. 'Keep them waiting for a few minutes, but don't give them any cause for concern.' A second knock.

'I'll get it,' Elizabeth said, and went to the door. A young porter in a smart red uniform handed her a telegram, the eleventh that day. She was about to close the door when he said, 'I was told to inform you, madam, that this one is important.'

Elizabeth's first thought was to wonder who could possibly have cancelled at the last moment. She only hoped it wouldn't mean reorganizing the top table at the reception. She tore open the telegram and read the contents.

'Who's it from?' asked Emma, adjusting the angle of her hat by another inch and wondering if it was perhaps a little too risque.

Elizabeth handed her the telegram. Once Emma had read it, she burst into tears.

'Many congratulations, darling,' said her mother, taking a handkerchief out of her handbag and beginning to dry her daughter's tears. 'I'd hug you, but I don't want to crease your dress.'

Once Elizabeth was satisfied that Emma was ready, she spent a moment checking her own outfit in the mirror. Madame Renee had pronounced, 'You mustn't outdo your daughter on her big day, but at the same time, you can't afford to go unnoticed.' Elizabeth particularly liked the Norman Hartnell hat, even if it was not what the young were calling 'chic'.

'Time to leave,' she declared after one more look at her watch. Emma smiled as she glanced at the going-away outfit she would change into once the reception was over, when she and Harry would travel up to Scotland for their honeymoon. Lord Harvey had offered them Mulgelrie Castle for a fortnight, with the promise that no other member of the family would be allowed within ten miles of the estate during that time and, perhaps more important, Harry could ask for three portions of Highland broth every night, without a suggestion of grouse to follow.

Emma followed her mother out of the suite and along the corridor. By the time she reached the top of the staircase, she felt sure her legs were about to give way. As she descended the stairs, other guests stood aside so that nothing would impede her progress.

A porter held open the front door of the hotel for her, while Sir Walter's chauffeur stood by the back door of the Rolls so the bride could join her grandfather. As Emma sat down beside him, carefully arranging her dress, Sir Walter placed his monocle in his right eye and declared, 'You look quite beautiful, young lady. Harry is indeed a most fortunate man.'

'Thank you, Grandpa,' she said, kissing him on the cheek. She glanced out of the rear window to see her mother climbing into a second Rolls-Royce, and a moment later the two cars moved off to join the afternoon traffic as they began their sedate journey to the university church of St Mary's.

'Is Daddy at the church?' asked Emma, trying not to sound anxious.

'Among the first to arrive,' said her grandfather. 'I do believe he's already regretting allowing me the privilege of giving you away.'

'And Harry?'

'Never seen him so nervous. But Giles seems to have everything under control, which must be a first. I know he's spent the last month preparing his best man's speech.'

'We're both lucky to have the same best friend,' said Emma. 'You know, Grandpa, I once read that every bride has second thoughts on the morning of her wedding.'

'That's natural enough, my dear.'

'But I've never had a second thought about Harry,' said Emma, as they came to a halt outside the university church. 'I know we'll spend the rest of our lives together.'

She waited for her grandfather to step out of the car before she gathered up her dress and joined him on the pavement.

Her mother rushed forward to check Emma's outfit one last time before she would allow her to enter the church. Elizabeth handed her a small bouquet of pale pink roses as the two bridesmaids, Emma's younger sister Grace and her school friend Jessica, gathered up the end of the train.

'You next, Grace,' said her mother, bending down to unruffle her bridesmaid's dress.

'I hope not,' said Grace, loud enough for her mother to hear.

Elizabeth stepped back and nodded. Two sidesmen pulled open the heavy doors, the sign for the organist to strike up Mendelssohn's Wedding March, and the congregation to rise and welcome the bride.

As Emma stepped into the church, she was taken by surprise to see how many people had travelled to Oxford to share in her happiness. She walked slowly down the aisle on her grandfather's arm, the guests turning to smile at her as she made her way towards the altar.