Page 127 of The Garden of Forgotten Wishes
‘All right,’ I agreed happily. ‘And let’s make it a Tuesday and instead of a reception, have a Grace Garden party, instead!’
‘Brilliant!’ he said, and squeezed my waist. ‘I’m looking forward to telling everyone – though I suspect most people have already guessed. There’s just one thing worrying me …’
I looked up anxiously into his serious face and asked, ‘What’s that?’
‘Who’s going to break the news to Caspar?’
Epilogue
Flaming June
It had been a perfect little wedding and the Angel Gabriel had looked down on us from his jewelled window, austere but, I felt, approving.
Uncle Richard had given me away and Lex Mariner had been Ned’s best man … and I hadn’t worn white, but ruby-red silk, to go with my Borgia ring.
One of the smaller angels in the window was wearing robes the same colour, which I thought was a good omen.
Now the sun shone warmly on the Grace Garden, the throng of guests, the food laid out on trestle tables and the remains of a tall white cake decorated with real roses.
The Coronation bunting fluttered bravely in the warm breeze and there were pots of scented geraniums up the sides of the steps that led to the gazebo. Inside was a knot of people and I caught a glimpse of Aunt Em’s bright turquoise linen dress. How lovely it had been to see her and Uncle Richard again and introduce them to Ned – and they’d got on so well. I suppose that wasn’t really surprising, since we all shared a passion for gardening!
Caspar sat under a lavender bush dismembering a smoked salmon sandwich and Lancelot and Guinevere hoovered up any crumbs.
‘You know, this is the perfect place for a reception,’ Cress said, towing Roddy towards us. ‘You could hold them here as a side-line. We could haveourshere, couldn’t we, Roddy?’
‘Yes, but only on a Tuesday, when the garden is shut,’ he agreed, smiling at her.
‘You can have yours here if you’d like to, but I wouldn’t charge you,’ Ned said. ‘It’s an idea, though – it would be pretty lucrative, I should think.’
‘I expect so, but we might just want the occasional Tuesday off,’ I pointed out before he got carried away.
‘Marnie!’ Treena said, appearing suddenly from the sunken garden, flushed with either the sun or champagne – or possibly both. ‘Did Luke tell you he’s found evidence that the monastic site was a really, really early one and abandoned ages before the Vikings? So apparently it doesn’t matter if they haven’t found much there – Luke’sdelirious.’
And when he joined us and slipped his arm around Treena’s waist, he beamed and said, ‘Just had an expert opinion on those bits of pottery back – I think this is the happiest day of my life!’
‘I thought that was my line?’ Ned said, grinning. ‘Come on, Marnie, let’s go and thank Jojo – I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the vicar give a speech at a wedding reception before, but it’s going to be imprinted on my memory for ever.’
‘And mine,’ I agreed. ‘Especially that joke about how we’d always stay true to one another, so neither of us would be tempted by the Poison Garden.’
‘That was a joke?’
‘I think so. Maybe it was inspired by the Borgia ring; she did admire it.’
The vicar had a smoked salmon sandwich in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. She beamed at us.
‘Everything has turned out beautifully, hasn’t it? No more mysteries, alarms or excursions, just a peaceful life in our little Paradise on earth.’
‘Actually, I suppose there is one mystery unresolved,’ I said. ‘Nathaniel’s treasure!’
‘Oh, I know all about that,’ she said, and we gazed at her in astonishment.
‘Youdo?’ said Ned, doubtfully.
‘Yes! It was one of those grisly and entirely spurious holy relics – St Peter’s finger, along with a fragment of the True Cross – kept in a crystal box.’
‘Yuck!’ I said at the thought of the shrivelled finger.
‘How do you know about it?’ asked Ned.
