“I ought to go and apologise to her,” he said.
“Yes, you bloody well should. I’m so glad she could make it. I’ve missed Mary-Ann.”
“Roof gardens are great, but December might not be the best month for them,” remarked Milan, shivering and pulling his long wool coat further around him.
“Come on, I’m going over to say hello to her.”
Lydia, in deep red velvet sheath and fake-fur cape, tottered unsteadily on still-unaccustomed heels over to her former conductor and friend.
“Mary-Ann!” she cried.
There was a wholehearted embrace, while Milan and Karl-Heinz looked on indulgently, and a fast five-minute catch-up, leaving both women clearly breathless.
“And I’d like to introduce Shona,” said Mary-Ann, blushing and bringing forward a smiling sandy-haired woman in a Chanel suit. “My very own bride-to-be.”
Lydia squealed and they embraced again, a complicated three-way affair. But then, Lydia was used to those now.
“Congratulations,” said Milan, speaking for the first time.
“Thank you,” said Mary-Ann, civilly but guardedly, looking him up and down. “And congratulations to you, on your new solo career.”
He nodded. “I am a better violinist than a conductor,” he said. “I know that now. And I owe you an apology. You were badly treated and it was my fault. I’m sorry.”
“That’s, well, that’s good of you to say so,” said Mary-Ann, clearly rather surprised at this new and humble version of her old adversary. “Good luck with your concert tomorrow night. I’ll be in the audience, cheering you all on.”
“You must come backstage,” said Karl-Heinz. “Have a drink with us all. The orchestra will be so happy to see you again.”
“Really? That’s sweet. I’m touched. But you’re obviously doing a bang-up job with them.”
“Half of it is keeping control,” he said with a rueful smile.
“Only half?” said Mary-Ann, laughing.
“Well, Milan left, of course, so that cut it down a lot.”
And now they were all grinning together, the old bad feeling melting away in the crucible of this beautiful new beginning.
“Ah, the bride and groom!” announced Karl-Heinz, looking to the roof garden door, and cheering and clapping rose in the muffling winter air.
Ben and Vanessa walked slowly down the steps, he resplendent in three-piece dove-grey morning suit with blue-and-gold brocade waistcoat, she in a cream strapless dress with full skirt and sweetheart neckline, crimson velvet wrap about her shoulders, matching with her high-heeled shoes.
Photographs ensued, the endless family groupings, then friends and finally the whole crowd of fifty guests together, trying not to shiver by the fountain.
“Does anyone know where Dafydd is today?” asked Karl-Heinz in an undertone of Lydia as they paraded, rather thankfully, indoors to the reception room.
“Leonard says he texted him from New York. He’s got interviews lined up with one of the orchestras there.”
“Okay, that’s a safe distance,” said Milan.
* * * *
The reception room was a handsome, venerable hall with wood-panelled walls, over which Italianate frescoes of medieval appearance looked down on the guests, lit by three great arched windows at the far end. The pillars at the entrance were wound around with twinkling fairy lights and each circular table bore a huge centrepiece of crimson hellebores with gold-sprayed ferns.
Vanessa, standing at the end of the reception line with Ben, her own elderly parents and Ben’s somewhat younger counterparts, felt as if she might be dreaming.
Everything was so beautiful, so perfect, after it had all almost crashed down around her ears. She was here, in this beautiful room, wearing this beautiful dress, with her gorgeous new husband and all her closest friends and family.
She’d been blinking back tears for hours, but she was determined not to ruin her makeup and she kept her chin high and her stomach sucked in as she accepted the warm greetings of each passing guest.