Instead of the traditional veil she had opted for a frivolous cream hat that perched precariously on her hair and had a tiny spotted net veil which covered the upper part of her face.
James made no attempt to remove it when he kissed her for which she was sincerely grateful
for she was terrified that it might fall off at the lightest touch.
For Jenna, the wedding breakfast passed in a blur of voices and faces. James had invited several business colleagues and their wives, plus some of his own staff—executives whom she had already met at a dinner party, held by James’s accountant’s wife two weeks before the wedding. They all seemed pleasant enough, although Jenna had the sense to know that at the moment she was being treated with the reserve naturally accorded to the chairman’s wife.
As well as Bill and Nancy, she had invited Harley, who once he got over his petulance about not being informed ahead of anyone else of her plans had been pleased about the match, Gordon Burns and his wife, Maggie and her boyfriend, and one or two others.
Now she was aching with tiredness and reaction, and the thought of the long flight out to the Caribbean the following morning appalled her.
They were each staying in their respective apartments tonight, James having made the suggestion that it would make their departure easier. Jenna had been a little surprised, but his suggestion made sense. It was pointless moving all her clothes into James’s apartment only to have to move them out again the moment they came back from St Justine.
They would be away for two weekends in all, and Lucy was going to spend them here with Lady Carmichael and Sarah. James had organised everything meticulously, Jenna acknowledged, wondering why that fact should irritate her so much. It had struck her only the previous day that everything was running on oiled wheels and almost too perfectly. Sarah’s consultant had confirmed that a degree of sensation was returning to her paralysed body. Lucy seemed much happier and more settled. Everything was ready for them at the Hall. Jenna had supervised the final hanging of the curtains and other drapes only that week. James had not seen their quarters yet. Would he like them? Did it really matter? she asked herself wryly. She was surprised to find that it did, but then, of course, as an interior designer she was used to hoping that her clients approved of her work, and this was only a carry-through from that feeling.
James! All the time at the back of her mind was the information Lady Carmichael had given her about his mother. About her affair with Sir Alan and her subsequent death. Every time she thought about it, Jenna experienced a tiny thrill of apprehension. It disturbed her immeasurably that James should be so good at hiding his real feelings. Unless, of course, he had overcome his hatred of Sir Alan. But in that case, why did he want the old Hall so desperately? Oh yes, Jenna could understand how he wanted it. She could even sympathise with him, and if she were not committed to marriage to him no doubt she could have experienced a good deal more fellow feeling towards him.
‘Ready to leave?’
He was at her side, his hand on her arm, drawing her away from the laughing well-wishers.
‘In a minute. I’ve just got to say goodbye to Lucy and Sarah and then I’ll go and change.’
It was late afternoon when they finally drove away from the village. James stopped just outside it to remove the slogans from the paintwork.
‘It all seemed to go off pretty well,’ he commented.
‘Yes.’
She felt him looking at her, and leaned back in her seat closing her eyes.
‘Tired?’
‘A little…I didn’t manage to get back from Yorkshire until two in the morning the other night.’
‘I know.’
She opened her eyes. He was watching her closely, the blue eyes were scrutinising her keenly.
‘I know, I rang you both at the apartment and at the Hall, about ten and then again at one.’
‘It took longer than I expected to hang the curtains.’
‘You must have paid the makers an awful lot of overtime if they were prepared to stay so late to get the job done.’
Jenna felt herself flush. ‘They finished at eight,’ she told him shortly. ‘I went out for something to eat with someone afterwards.’
‘An old friend?’
Jenna felt her nerve endings prickle warningly at the silky menace wrapped round the words.
‘No,’ she told him shortly. ‘An antique dealer I met several weeks ago when I was looking for a Jacobean bookcase for the sitting-room.’
‘Ah, I see, he’d found you one.’
Jenna didn’t ask how James knew that the antique dealer in question was a man. ‘No, no, he hadn’t, but he had found some dining chairs he thought I might be interested in.’
‘Obviously a useful contact to have.’