Who would you like?

Your grandmother, naturally is there anyone else?

' "No.

I haven't any aunts or cousins.

Would any of your family like to come or would they prefer not to?

' "I'm sure they would like it.

I'll ask them.

Wien and will be with us, of course.

' He took her arm.

"T thought we might invite Sir Walter and his wife too.

' "Are we going straight back?

' she asked.

"Would you mind?

I do have quite a backlog of patients.

I shall be going to Hamburg, though, in a couple of weeks' time, I

thought you might come too.

' "T shall like that.

' They turned their steps homewards then, talking casually, but not about themselves.

There didn't seem any more to say, and indeed for the rest of that day and the few hours they had together before he left for Holland again, they scarcely mentioned their wedding.

It was as if Sarre, now that all the arrangements had been made, had lost all interest in it.

Alethea didn't allow herself to mind about this; after all, he was a man at the height of his career with wide interests, he had made his mark in the world, he had his home and children, all that was behind him, whereas a younger man would probably see his wedding as the beginning of these things.

Nick, for example--she tried to bury the thought and couldn't--there would have been a house to search for and furnish, a career to plan, children to educate and bring up.

She made herself stop thinking about it.

Sarre had told her to turn the page forward, and she must.

She missed Sarre when he went; the little house had seemed over-full while he was there but curiously empty when he was no longer there.

She occupied herself in sorting out her clothes and packing those she would take with her, conferring with her grandmother and Mrs Bustle about the lunch which was to be given after the ceremony, and helping to clean the little house from top to bottom, a quite unnecessary exercise which Mrs Bustle considered absolutely essential before the wedding could take place.

In actual fact, the days flew by.

Sarre had telephoned her from Hamburg and there had been an elaborate card from Mrs McCrea and another from Al and she had received a surprising number from her friends at Theobald's.

She had hoped that there might have been something from the children and had to remind herself that she was still almost a stranger to them.

Patience, she told herself once more; they hardly knew each other as yet.

Sarre and Wien and arrived together in the afternoon, having made the crossing from Ca lais by Hovercraft, and Alethea, seeing the Jaguar slide to a halt at the gate, hurried out to meet them, and if she was disappointed at Sarre's quick kiss it was instantly made up for by Wien and's boisterous hug and warm salute.

"Prettier than ever," he declared.

"How do you fancy switching bridegrooms tomorrow?

' "What about the girl-friend?

' asked Alethea, laughing.

"Which one?

' he laughed.

They were walking up the path, the three of them together, and

Alethea's grandmother, watching them from the window, frowned a little

before going to meet them.

They had tea in the garden, one of Mrs Bustle's special teas, with scones and jam and cream, ginger cake, cuc.u.mber sandwiches and little iced biscuits, and now the conversation was all of the wedding.

"There will be an aunt and uncle of mine coming," explained Sarre, 'my

father's brother and his wife.

They'll drive up from London in the morning in time for the church service you already know about Sir Walter and his wife.

' "Well, I haven't invited anyone," said Alethea, 'if I'd asked one of my friends at Theobald's they would all have expected to come.

There's just Granny and Mrs Bustle and the vicar's wife.

' "And the entire village, unless I'm very much mistaken," remarked her grandmother dryly.

Alethea and Sarre went for a walk after tea, leaving Wien and to entertain her grandmother, and Alethea asked how the children were.

"Very well you didn't meet Nero, their dachshund, did you?

He was at the vet's he came home yesterday and they're all over him.

' She made some noncommittal answer, wondering if he had deliberately misunderstood her, and told him about the cards.

"I've saved all of them for you to see," she added, and then wondered if they would interest him at all.

She still didn't know when he said: "We'll put them in a sc.r.a.pbook, shall we?

' and went on to talk about something else.

It seemed strange to be walking down the churchyard path with Sarre the next morning, his ring on her finger.

Alethea didn't feel married yet, though; the ceremony at the register office had been formal and almost businesslike she was glad that only her grandmother and Wien and had been there as witnesses, because none of it had seemed quite real.

But Sarre was real enough, walking beside her now in his beautiful pale grey suit.

He was holding her hand and halfway up the path he stopped and turned her round to face him.

"You look quite lovely," he told her, 'the most lovely bride that ever was.

' He smiled down at her.

"And now we're going to be married.

' She smiled back at him.

"Oh, Sarre, do you feel like that too?

I'm so glad.

I don't think I like register offices much.

' He lifted her hand and kissed it.

"T promise you we'll not go to one again, my dear.

' At the porch the vicar was waiting and over his shoulder Alethea saw that her grandmother had been quite right; the church was full.

She said, "Oh, lord!

' under her breath and was glad of the rea.s.suring grip of Sarre's hand

on hers.

He let go of it for a moment and turned to pick up something on the porch bench; a posy of flowers exactly matching her outfit.

She took it in her other hand and caught his again as they started down the aisle.

It was a simple ceremony and brief, yet she felt well and truly married as they came out of the church with everyone crowding round them wishing them well, throwing confetti and rose petals, calling good luck.

They brushed each other down, laughing, when they got back to the cottage and then went to the door to meet their few guests.

Sarre's aunt and uncle were dears, elderly and good-natured and pleased with everything.

They had arrived in an elderly Rolls Royce driven by a man called Piet, no longer young but thickset and so broad that he appeared to be almost square.

Sarre greeted him like an old friend, introduced Alethea who had a hand almost wrung off before Piet was led away by Mrs Bustle for a cooling draught of beer, and then took her to join the others.

The lunch was a happy affair with everyone crowded round the table in the dining room.

Mrs Bustle had excelled herself with iced melon, fresh salmon salad, and a variety of rich puddings.

Sarre had insisted on providing the champagne and Alethea, still feeling as though she were in a dream, drank two gla.s.ses of it before she quite knew what she was doing.

Sarre, sitting beside her and glancing down, chuckled at her pink cheeks and bright eyes.