Part 15 (2/2)

'I told her that if she sat on her own in that place, she'd be pestered by men all night. But she didn't seem to care.'

Cooper frowned. 'Do you think Samantha might actually have been there with the intention of picking up a man?'

Mrs Wheatcroft gave a short laugh, then shook her head again. 'No, that's wrong. I shouldn't laugh. We don't know anything about other people's lives, do we? She might have been doing that, for all I know.'

'Did you see her talking to anyone?'

'No, I don't think so. There were people around her, at other tables. But she didn't seem to be speaking to anyone.'

'You're sure?'

'Yes. Well ... pretty sure.'

Mmm. Perhaps a hint of a memory there that might surface later?

'If you do remember anything later, Mrs Wheatcroft, please give me a call. It could be important.'

'Yes, I see that.'

'And it was definitely Watford, was it?' asked Cooper. 'The town those visitors came from?'

She looked surprised. 'Watford? No, no. Coventry a that was the place.'

Mrs Wheatcroft beamed at him, her face lighting up with a smile that suggested pride in an achievement. Cooper recognised that look. He'd seen it often in his own mother as she grew older a that delight in plucking a name from the air that had almost managed to elude her. After a while, every accurate recollection became a minor triumph.

Then she frowned.

'Or it might have been Northampton,' she said.

Cooper sighed. When he looked at Mrs Wheatcroft again, he realised that she was just like his mental image of the typical madwoman in the attic a the first Mrs Rochester perhaps, p.r.o.ne to alcoholism and fits of violence.

The impression was so strong that Cooper found himself expecting an insane laugh to follow him as he left her cottage and walked back towards the gate.

14.

Cooper's life was becoming dominated by lists. Their headings ran through his mind like a well-practised litany. Organists, choirs, cakes, cars, bells, banns, veils, vows, videos, rings, dresses, flowers, music, DJs and seating plans for the reception. Bridesmaids, bouquets, ushers, pageboys, speeches, guest lists, gift lists, hen nights and centrepieces for the tables at the wedding breakfast. Even honeymoon outfits, for heaven's sake. If they ever made it that far.

He'd bought Liz a Kindle for Christmas. The first books she'd downloaded were The Complete Wedding Planner and The Step by Step Guide to Planning Your Wedding, closely followed by Get into Shape for your Wedding Day. Well at least she'd stopped looking at brochures for destination weddings in the Seych.e.l.les.

There was a list of potential wedding venues too, of course. The venue currently top of the list was deep in one of the wooded dales on the banks of the River Wye, not far from Bakewell. It was a former mill owner's house, quite a fanciful piece of gothic architecture in itself, but standing in a wonderful position, with twenty acres of woodland and the most fantastic views over the river.

Liz had her eye on the floral arcade for an outdoor ceremony. It was bit optimistic, given the vagaries of the weather in this part of the world. But no bride ever expected her wedding day to be spoiled by rain. Everything was going to be perfect, including the weather.

There was always the orangery, where the reception would take place. Cooper measured the distance by eye. It wasn't too far to run if the rain started. Well, unless you were wearing a wedding dress with a train as long as the Monsal Viaduct. He wondered if it was one of the groom's duties to carry the bride indoors to escape a thunderstorm, as well carrying her over the threshold of their new home. That wasn't mentioned in any of the wedding planning guides.

Nor was the fact that their new home might only be a pipe dream, its threshold purely notional as well as symbolic.

'The orangery can seat up to ninety, if we use the room that opens into it as well,' said Liz.

'Ninety?'

'Up to.'

'Do we even know ninety people to speak to?'

'I've got a big family, especially on my dad's side. There'll be cousins coming from all over the place.'

'Oh yes. The Scottish Pettys. Half of Dundee will be coming down on a coach trip, I suppose.'

'And they can stay right here, Ben. It's perfect. There are cottages in the grounds. They can accommodate up to fifty people at a time. No one will have to drive back home afterwards if they don't want to.'

'So they can all get well oiled on the Glenlivet.'

'It is a celebration,' she said accusingly.

Immediately he began to regret sounding flippant.

'Yes, of course it is. The Dundee Pettys can drink as much Glenlivet as they want, as far as I'm concerned. I might even check to see if the bar has any Laphroaig.'

She squeezed his arm. 'It's going to be wonderful, you'll see.'

'Just perfect. Everything will be perfect.'

'A lovely traditional wedding.'

'Absolutely.'

Was an outdoor ceremony in a floral arcade particularly traditional? Cooper wasn't sure. His brother had married his sister-in-law Kate at All Saints, the parish church in Edendale, followed by a buffet and disco at a local pub. That was what he thought of as tradition, though he supposed traditions changed over time, like everything else.

Well, he knew the wedding cake would be traditional. Liz had shown him a photograph of a four-tier confection from Love Cakes of Derby, covered in little iced flowers. At least it wasn't a cupcake tower, which was what he'd been afraid of.

'We can do photos in the grounds, and they say we can use the main staircase too, if we want,' said Liz.

'The staircase? Use it for what?'

'You know, Ben a for the photos with the dress and the train spread out over the steps, and the bridesmaids behind me. It'll look fantastic.'

'Oh, okay. Am I in these photos, by the way?'

'Only if you behave yourself.'

The orangery was nice, he had to admit. It had been restored about ten years ago to its early nineteenth-century elegance. According to the brochure, the restoration had received a commendation for its design from the Council for the Preservation of Rural England.

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