Page 9 of Wedding Games
‘Well, next time, borrow my plane,’ said Brad with a smile.
‘Oh my goodness, we couldn’t possibly,’ replied Mary.
Brad shrugged. ‘Sure you can. I’ve got one just for the UK. The pilots and crew don’t like to be bored.’
‘But—’
‘You’re family now,’ said Brad. He thumped the centre of his chest as if to emphasise the point. ‘Family.’
‘Clive,’ said Rory, trying to move the meal on. ‘Are you ready to serve the first course?’
Clive nodded and snapped his fingers at his daughter who scurried out of the room.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘Our first course is a mezze platter of food from the estate. We have smoked salmon, Aberdeen Angus bresaola, wild boar prosciutto, and smoked wild duck. In addition, we have a selection of salad leaves grown at the Kinloch community farm and griddled halloumi from the Clun Forest flock. There are also freshly baked flatbreads served with cultured butter.’
Rory glanced around the table at the smiles. At least the food would hit the spot, even if the company was at odds.
‘So, Mary,’ Brad said. ‘You grew up in Kinloch?’
Mary nodded.
‘Do you know Morag? Doll that runs the post office?’
She smiled broadly. ‘We’ve been friends since before either of us can remember.’
‘Hot damn!’ Brad whistled. ‘Tell me more.’
Mary blushed. ‘We were rather naughty growing up. Well, as naughty as you can be in a small village with nothing much to do and extremely strict parents.’
Kayleigh re-appeared and put platters on the table so they could help themselves.
‘In those days,’ Mary continued, ‘we had to make our own fun. The internet didn’t exist and my mother didn’t have a television. She believed it corrupted the mind.’
Brad laughed. ‘What do you think she would have made of one of my films?’
Mary grimaced. ‘I’m afraid she would have consigned you to a fiery pit in hell. She was a bit of a dragon.’
Brad looked pleased with this response. ‘Any siblings?’
She shook her head. ‘Only me.’
Brad turned to Barbara. ‘And did you join in? Were you a naughty girl too?’ he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Rory held his breath.
His mother’s face was impassive. ‘I wasn’t yet born when they were caught stealing apples from the estate. Although—’ Her unlined brow furrowed slightly. ‘I believe I was seven when they graduated to cider making.’ Her expression turned sourer than month-old milk. ‘The bottles exploded as they were carrying them at night down the high street, and the corks broke two windows.’
Brad hooted with laughter. ‘I like your style, Mary. Arnold, are you from Scotland? How did you two meet?’
Arnold placed a hand over his heart. ‘It was a love story to rival one of your films.’
Brad’s eyes gleamed as if beholding dollar signs humping Oscar statuettes. ‘Go on,’ he urged, leaning forward.
Mary and Zoe reached for their glasses of wine. Despite many years as a teetotaller, Rory wondered if now might be the time to start drinking alcohol again. Arnold’s monologues could make a raver on amphetamines nod off.
Arnold sat back in his chair, cracking his neck before speaking. ‘Well, I may resemble a handsome city slicker—’
Barbara coughed into her wine glass.
