He’d bought Liz a Kindle for Christmas. The first books she’d downloaded were
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
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 — 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.
‘Okay, the staircase. Well, that’s a selling point.’
‘And look at the views.’
‘Yes, I can’t fault the views.’
Liz looked at her list. ‘So how many stars shall I give it? Four or five?’
‘Out of how many?’
‘I don’t know.’
Sometimes he thought it would be better if he just let Liz and her family get on with organising the wedding without him. But he always hastily put the thought aside, in case it popped out of his mouth in an unguarded moment. That would definitely land him in big, big trouble.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’
Cooper knew she wouldn’t believe him, but she accepted his answer for the moment. If she pressed him, he would find it very difficult to tell her what actually was the matter. The fact was, he was feeling guilty. He was bothered by a persistent, nagging certainty that he’d made a mess of the job last night, that he ought to have been the one to find the body of Aidan Merritt, instead of leaving it to Diane Fry. All right, it might not have made a huge amount of difference. An hour or two perhaps. But those first few hours were crucial, as everyone knew.