She had tried to seek Matt out, to reassure him that their friendship was unaffected by the recent turn of events. However, when she had arrived on the doorstep of the wooden reception cabin at Ultimate Adventures, Freddie had explained to her that Matt had jumped on a last-minute flight to Tenerife to climb Mount Teide with a group of his father’s climbing buddies, and since his return two weeks ago he had steadfastly avoided her.
“Maybe there’ll be another mystery for you to solve that will bring you back together,” mused Mia as she drained the dregs of her coffee and went to wash her mug in the sink and return it to its allotted space.
“God, I hope not! All our lodge guests are here for the stag party and then to celebrate the wedding on Sunday. Grace, not to mention, the Rev and Carole, would be mortified if anything untoward happened to them!”
“Oh my God! It’s freezing! I can’t believe the guys still wanted to take part in the cycle race instead of adjourning to the pub for a cosy few pints like most stag party enthusiasts!” said Rosie, screwing up her nose in disgust as she wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to fend off the relentless downpour and keep warm. “More to the point, I can’t believe you managed to persuade me to form part of the welcoming committee!”
A shiver of discomfort shot down her spine as she peered through the gloom into the densely packed woodland at the rear of the outward-bound centre. Ultimate Adventures offered a plethora of activities including mountaineering, gorge scrambling, a treetop zip wire adventure, and even an obstacle course that mixed physical strength with mental agility. She could understand how these pursuits would be appealing in the summer months, but not on a wet Wednesday morning in the middle of December. In fact, there was something almost menacing about the way the naked trees crowded forward, blocking out what little light was left in the pewter-coloured sky.
“Lots of cycle addicts love this kind of weather – makes the whole ride much more interesting.” Mia laughed as she blew on her palms and clapped her mittened hands together in excitement. “Anyway, it’s just a shower.”
“This isn’t a shower, it’s a monsoon!”
The rain was coming down in stair rods, hammering the wooden planks of the reception’s veranda with a vicious acrimony and drenching the small but courageous – and some might say crazy – gathering of spectators at the finish line. Rosie tightened the hood of her padded jacket around her chin in an attempt to prevent her curls from ballooning like copper candyfloss but she was fighting a losing battle.
“And you never know, maybe this rain will turn into snow,” beamed Grace, the end of her perfectly-formed nose tinged pink from the cold. “Don’t you think that would make an absolutely amazing backdrop for our wedding photographs?”
“And the Christmas tree competition!” added Mia with a glint of mischief in her eyes as she glanced across at Rosie.
“I agree with Rosie,” mumbled Abbi, Grace’s best friend and chief bridesmaid, as she twirled her frilly cerise umbrella over her shoulder like a female version of Gene Kelly and frowned up at the bruised sky.
Rosie experienced a stab of empathy when she saw that Abbi’s previously smooth bob was no longer straight but plastered haphazardly to her cheeks and forehead. The pale pink sequinned stilettos that matched the gorgeous leather satchel she had designed and hand-sewn herself were clearly no match against the onslaught of rain gods.
“Give me a tropical beach anytime!” Abbi continued. “If Dylan ever gets around to proposing to me, I’m definitely opting for wall-to-wall sunshine, a pretty white gazebo on the sand and as many palm trees swaying in the breeze as possible.”
“Well, I could hardly do that, could I? Mum and Dad would have killed me if I’d decided to get married anywhere other than at St Andrews!” giggled Grace, as she flicked her messy blond curls behind her ears and squinted into the distance for a potential early glimpse of the cyclists. “Anyway, I happen to think every season has its own splendour.”
“Oh, me too,” declared Penny, Theo’s girlfriend who, like Grace, had been keen to be part of the boys’ intrepid welcoming committee. “I love all the raw, tempestuous beauty of the natural environment. There’s almost a mystical aura hanging over the foliage, don’t you think? I can easily imagine this whole place being populated by a horde of mythical beasts; the ivy-laced boughs their playground, the hidden copses where they take an afternoon snooze. It’s the perfect inspiration for my next children’s book. I can’t wait to get my pencils out when I get back to the lodge and start sketching.”
As if to prove her artistic credentials, she pulled out her mobile phone and took a few random photographs of the surrounding woodland, sending a whiff of patchouli oil into the air and causing the plethora of silver chains to jangle against her ample chest. With her penchant for wearing black, from her heavily drawn makeup down to the colour of her nail polish, she occupied the opposite end of the sartorial colour spectrum to Abbi.
Rosie recalled booking Penny and Theo into their luxury Scandinavian lodge the previous day and had been amazed at the amount of painting equipment Penny had brought with her. Canvases of varying sizes, paint palettes, a whole battalion of brushes. There was so much stuff that a casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking she was running an artist’s retreat for the other guests at the Windmill lodges, which included Josh’s best man and his wife, Sam and Zara, as well as Abbi and Dylan – who had turned down the luxury lodge to stay in the cute peppermint-and-white shepherd’s hut despite its size. When she had suggested one of the larger lodges, Abbi had reminded her that after spending the summer backpacking in south east Asia, the shepherd’s hut was the height of decadence for them.
“Hey, Penny, do you think you could do a pastel sketch of St Andrew’s church as a wedding present for us?”
“Wow, yes, I’d love to!”
“Oh, do you do portraits? I’d love one of the twins,” said Zara, tucking her neat mahogany curls behind her ears, her face brightening when she spoke of her two boys currently having the time of their lives at their grandparents’ farm in the Lake District.
“No problem,” smiled Penny, clearly delighted to have got two commissions in the space of five minutes.
Rosie cast her eyes around the group of women from beneath her lashes. Despite the inclement weather, everyone had managed to achieve a sense of style. Compared to them, she felt like Cinderella’s bedraggled cousin in the mismatched outfit she had selected that morning for comfort and practicality rather than sartorial elegance. Why hadn’t she worn a jaunty bright orange hat-scarf-and-gloves combo like Zara, or a quirky leather jacket like Penny? Of course, Mia had chosen a white down-filled jacket she had embellished herself with appliqué snowflakes and what Rosie had assumed were branches adorned with red berries but had turned out to be reindeer antlers and Rudolph noses.
When her eyes fell towards her footwear, Rosie cringed. Olive-green Wellington boots weren’t the most glamorous of attire – although they did match her wax jacket. She really should have made more of an effort, especially as this was the first time she would be seeing Matt in weeks. However, she reminded herself that Matt wasn’t the kind of person who judged a book by its glossy cover and she relaxed.
“Look! Here they come!” cried Mia, shielding her eyes with her hand and pointing towards a flicker of luminous yellow Lycra just beyond the row of conifers standing to attention like a battalion of sentries guarding the road that lead to the reception lodge. “Can you see who’s out in front? Is it Matt or Freddie? Oh, I really hope it’s Freddie!”
“It won’t be if Theo has anything to do with it!” muttered