He held her to him, his familiar smell mingled with the tang of a forbidden cigar. Rosie didn’t trust herself to respond with any opposing argument.
‘I wish Mum were here to witness how proud I am of you both today. I’ve missed her every single day of the last fourteen years. But her love lingers on in the crevices of our hearts. The passage of time has no favourites, Rosie, it treats us all equally. But I knew your mum for thirty years before that disease stole her from her family and she would have wanted all this for you too – a happy life, not a slave to the accumulation of wealth for people who have more than enough to service several lifetimes already.’
Her father knew he’d struck a chord. ‘Promise me and your mum that it won’t be years before I walk down that aisle again? It was a promise I made to her before she left us that I would see you both settled before I, well… Hey, there are some great guys who come into the store. Want me to fix you up with a date?’
‘Dad!’
‘Look, Rosie, I’m sorry I can’t go to the UK for Bernice’s funeral. I would have loved to have seen Devon one last time.’ Tears threatened to mist Jack’s lashes for the first time on that emotional day. The sadness in her father’s eyes sent a shard of panic through Rosie’s heart. Was he hiding a health issue? Was there a secret he was protecting her from, another evil incursion by an incurable disease poised to steal away her only parent?
‘It’s okay, Rosie. I’m just tired. Long hours in the store, you know.’ Her father failed to see the irony of this last sentence, having spent the last ten minutes lecturing and berating his daughter against the vices of corporate Manhattan and her solitary lifestyle.
‘Rose adored Bernice, you know.’ His kind, wise eyes clouded as he grasped Rosie’s hand in his, its paper-thin skin stretched and liberally-flecked with age spots. ‘But she wished her sister had found a partner to spend her life with. Don’t end your days like Bernice, Rosie.’
‘Are you sure there’s no way you can close the store for the week whilst you go to the UK? Maybe the break from the routine will do you good?’
‘It’s not the store, Rosie.’ The look on her father’s face caused Rosie’s heart to contract and a giant fist squeezing the air from her lungs. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure I could manage the trip. It’s a long flight, and what with the jet lag and… well. I know how much Bernice meant to you, darling. I’m sure she would understand why we can’t attend the funeral, what with the store and Freya on honeymoon and your work commitments. The UK is more than an arduous car ride away.’
With huge effort, Rosie refocused on the present. She glanced down into her lap where her slender fingers were entwined with her father’s arthritic ones. Her heart ballooned with love for him and the support he had given her and Freya. She knew he had struggled at times with the gargantuan task of raising two young girls – Rosie was eighteen but Freya had only just turned eight – whilst coping with his own grief. Her unconditional love for him had been one of the reasons she had so swiftly slotted her toes into her mother’s shoes to care for Freya – to help to alleviate his suffering in any way she could.
And now Freya was to become a married woman. Rosie adored her sister. Throughout her childhood she had braided her hair, mopped her brow when she was sick, played hostess to her school friends, baked cookies, dressed her up in home-stitched Halloween costumes. She had protected her from every adolescent disaster she could, even forgiven Freya for ‘borrowing’ her favourite cocktail dress – which she had cut up for a fancy dress outfit.
She truly hoped Freya had found her soul mate. Jacob was a great guy – girls would ditch their grannies for a husband like him. When she had met Jacob, Rosie and Lauren had dragged out their personalised wish lists of essential criteria for potential dates and performed a meticulous comparison with Jacob’s plethora of assets: he’d scored favourably with both girls. He offered Freya a life she could only have dreamed of when she’d crawled home destitute from her extravagant exploits in the party capitals of Europe. Having expended every couch-surfing opportunity from the Atlantic to the Adriatic and squeezed every last ounce of enjoyment from her itinerant lifestyle, she’d been forced to return home to Connecticut.
Rosie would do anything to make life easier for Freya. She had endured more than her fair share of pain in her life and didn’t deserve to suffer further. And anyway, after her father, her little sister was all she had left of her family. But was she proud of what she had produced? Had she, and her father, over-protected her? Had they been complicit in preventing her from learning how to stand on her own two feet, how to deal with the grenades that life threw in her path?
‘Come on Dad. You go down to the garden to reassure Jacob and the rest of the congregation that Freya hasn’t run off with the best man and I’ll join Lauren in the search.’ She witnessed the look of horror gallop across her father’s tired features and regretted her flippancy. After all, Freya was a saint in her father’s eyes, not the flighty little madam Rosie had been covering for over the last ten years.
‘Joking, Dad.’ She rose from the bed and placed her hand on his shoulder whilst she stooped to drop a kiss on his cheek. ‘Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.’
But still the butterflies played an active game of tennis in her stomach.
Jack and Rosie descended the impressive sweeping staircase to be met by a frantic Lauren, hopping from one foot to the other like a toddler in need of a visit to the bathroom.
‘No sign of her! It seems Little Miss Superior has melted into thin air, the selfish…’ Lauren flicked her eyes from Rosie to Jack and relented on her character assassination of the errant bride-to-be.
‘Don’t worry, Lauren. Will you escort Dad to the garden for me? Try and placate Jacob and the rest of the guests.’ Rosie checked her mother’s silver Tiffany watch – her most adored possession. ‘Technically the ceremony is not due to start for another thirty minutes so there’s nothing to panic about yet. I’m sure she’s just taking a quiet moment to prepare herself for the most important day of her life.’
Rosie heard the expulsion of air from Lauren’s lips and saw the smirk around her mouth. She swapped a grin with her friend. Freya adored being the centre of attention, had been milking every opportunity to loiter in the limelight. It was inconceivable that she would hide away for even a second. Rosie had been genuinely concerned that, despite her promises, her sister would be unable to resist a quick visit to Jacob’s suite in her bridal gown. Indeed, she suspected that was where she was now.
She shooshed Lauren and her father out of the French doors. Her eyes swept the congregation assembled on the lush, manicured lawn of Stonington Meadows Country Park Hotel, the venue Freya had dreamed of during her childhood forays into planning her perfect wedding celebrations. It had been an incredible surprise to Rosie when Freya had shunned Jacob’s offer to pay for their wedding to be held at the Plaza, but then, as Freya explained, everyone had their wedding there. To her right, in neat white picket chairs, every seat was occupied by Jacob’s extended family, friends and business connections. Their elegant attire, like the car park, oozed dollars. To her left sprawled a more eclectic gathering of those connected to the bride. Rosie spotted Arnie and Dot, her parents’ closest and dearest friends, along with a smattering of Stonington Beach friends invited to share his daughter’s special day.
She turned on her heels – a pair of five inch, ivory silk Louboutins that had cost almost a month’s salary but which she planned to mount in a glass case to appreciate as a true work of sculptural art after the wedding – and headed up the stairs to the bridal suite.
She knocked and when there was no reply, she pushed open the door. Gosh, her sister could bring chaos to an empty room! Her belongings were strewn on every available surface, she had even opened