He stooped and lifted the pot.

"No damage," he commented.

"I hope not. It's one of the church's best."

"It's rather fine. Where do you want it?"

"On the altar. But I shall have to fill it with water now and put the roses back."

"I shouldn't try carrying it up three steps full again if I were you."

"It was silly of me but I had done it before I thought."

He put the pot on the altar and I stooped to pick up the pail of water. He took it from me and carried it up to the altar. I stuck in the flowers in a manner which would have completely shocked Sally Summers.

"There's going to be a wedding here tomorrow," I said. "I'm decorating the church. I'm not very good at it, as you can see, but it will all be adjusted properly before the day. I suppose you came in to look at the church?"

"Yes, it's a fine old place."

"Norman. Part of it anyway. My father would be pleased to show you round. He's got all the history at his fingertips."

He was studying me intently. "So you're the vicar's daughter."

"Yes."

"Well, I'm glad to meet you. I am only sorry that my arrival caused you such inconvenience."

"You can put it down to my carelessness."

"Do you feel all right now?"

"Quite all right, thanks."

"A little shaken?"

"No. I've fallen many times in my youth."

He smiled. "Have you much more to do to the flowers?"

"Lots, but I'll have to go. The dressmaker is due at any moment and I daren't keep her waiting. She's so much to do and she is the local flower arranger too, so she does not only have to assure herself that I shall be right for The Day, but she has to make my dismal handiwork presentable."

"Well," he said, "I must not detain you."

"I should have loved to show you the church," I said regretfully, for I had not at this stage learned to disguise my feelings and I was tremendously stimulated for some reason which I did not understand then; although he was attractive in looks, I had seen other good-looking men, and our conversation had not been particularly sparkling. In fact I felt more tongue-tied than I ever had before. I only knew that I was excited and so glad that he had come into the church.

"Perhaps some other time," he said.

"Do you often come this way?"

"This is the first time," he told me. "But I shall come again. And when I do I shall find you and keep you to your promise."

We came out of the church together. He bowed and put on his hat, which he had taken off when he came into the church. He was in riding kit and he went to his horse, which was tethered by the lych gate.

I went into the vicarage. Sally Summers was already there fidgetingly looking at the clock.

"It's all right, Sally," I said. "I've been to the church. I've got the water for you and put some of the flowers into the containers. Not the right way, of course, but it will be easier for you."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Anabel. Now just let me make sure that this dress is right. I was at the Manor yesterday to see to Miss Jessamy. A regular picture she looks."

I was stripped of my overall and old clothes and put into the blue silk chiffon.

"Why, bless us, Miss Anabel, there's blood on your hands," cried Sally.

"I pricked them on the rose stems. I stumbled up the steps and dropped the pot and flowers and all."

Sally tut-tutted and said: "I don't want any blood on this dress, miss."

"I've stopped bleeding now," I answered dreamily.

And there I was resplendent in my bridesmaid's dress and wishing the strange man could see me now.

I looked into the future and saw him arriving at the church.

"Is the vicar's daughter here? She promised to show me the church."

And we would walk round together and he would come again and again.

I could imagine what it would be like at the Manor that morning. Everyone would be running to and fro and Aunt Amy Jane would be like a captain on the bridge of his ship seeing that orders were carried out.

And Jessamy? She would awaken early, if she had slept at all.

They would bring a tray in to her. The wedding dress—pride of Sally Summers' heart—would be hanging in the wardrobe. The ritual of dressing would begin and little Jessamy would be transformed into a beautiful bride.

I should have been there. It was mean of Aunt Amy Jane to keep me shut away. I was Jessamy's natural confidante. I had shared her childhood secrets. It was natural that she should want to talk to me. And there was so much I wanted to know. I was sure that Jessamy was entirely ignorant of the duties of marriage. I was not very knowledgeable on these subjects myself, but I did keep my ears and eyes open and I had gleaned a good deal of information.

The morning wore on. My father was nervous. He was to have the important task of conducting the service and performing the ceremony.

"It's only a wedding like any other," I consoled him. I remembered those words afterwards.

I was gratified to see myself in the mirror. The bridesmaid's dress was most attractive. I had rarely had a dress which had been made just for me. I felt quite important.

At last it was time to go to the church. I was to be waiting there for the bride to arrive. And there she was with Uncle Timothy looking—yes, the only word is radiant—in her white satin gown and the long veil, with orange blossoms in her hair.

She caught my eye and smiled as I stepped out of the back pew to follow her and Uncle Timothy to the altar.

The guests were arriving—the bride's one side, the bridegroom's the other. Our little church was going to be full with very important people.

Then the bridegroom came. And I don't need to tell you, Suewellyn, who he was, for you have guessed. He was the man I had met in the church the day before. He was Joel Mateland, who was to be Jessamy's husband.

I could not understand my emotions then, but I was to analyze them later. All I was aware of was a heavy cloud of depression descending on me. Whenever I smell roses I shall remember that moment in the church when he came forward to stand beside Jessamy. I shall hear their voices taking their vows.

And from then on I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

I remember vaguely seeing him go down the aisle with Jessamy on his arm. I can remember the wedding reception at the Manor. All the people, all the splendor; and Jessamy standing there looking lovely and happy; and everywhere the overpowering scent of roses.

He came to me and said: "No ill effects?"

"Oh, the fall," I stammered. "Thank you, no. I'd forgotten."

He stood looking at me—not smiling, just looking.

"Your dress is very becoming," he said.

"Thank you. Rather different from my overall."

"That was becoming too," he said.

It was a strange conversation between a bridegroom and a bridesmaid.

I heard myself say: "I had no idea you were the bridegroom."

"I had an unfair advantage. I knew who you were."

"Why didn't you introduce yourself?"

He didn't answer, for Jessamy had come over.

"Oh, you're meeting each other," she said. 'This is my cousin Anabel, Joel." She spoke his name rather shyly, I thought.

"Yes, I know," he replied.

"I do hope you are going to like each other."

"We already do. But perhaps I should not speak for Anabel."

"You may," I said. "It's true."

Aunt Amy Jane was bearing down on us. "Now, you two ..." She was arch, the mother-in-law, a new role for her. Instead of being mildly amused by her as I usually was, I disliked her heartily.

It was unfair, I thought. No, it wasn't. She should have let me go to the castle. I should have met him before. What was I thinking? What had happened to me? I knew, of course. Such things did happen sometimes. There was something about him which drew me to him and made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. It was something which happens now and then if rarely. And to me it had happened too late.

The days dragged after the wedding. I felt depressed. I missed Jessamy more than I had thought possible. I went to my father's library and read a book about Florence. I imagined myself there ... with him. I tried to picture Jessamy there. She had never been greatly interested in works of art. I imagined them walking along the Arno where Dante had met Beatrice. I imagined their shopping for chunky stone-encrusted bracelets on the Ponte Vecchio.

"What's the matter with you all of a sudden?" said Janet. "You look like a month of wet Sundays."

"It's the heat," I said, for it had turned warm.

"First time I've known it affect you," she replied. "I believe you're jealous."

Oh dear, trust Janet to put her finger on the truth and not hesitate to give voice to it.

"Don't talk nonsense," I snapped.

August passed. The church fete took up a good deal of time. It was held in the gardens of Seton Manor.

"Last year," said Aunt Amy Jane complacently, "Jessamy was here to help."

I tried to throw myself into the life of the village, but my heart wasn't in it. Not that it had ever been, but in the past everything had seemed comical. Now it was just infinitely boring.

At the beginning of September Jessamy came home for a week. I knew she was coming and I could scarcely wait to see her. I wondered what I should feel when I saw Joel again.

I was not invited to Seton Manor. "Jessamy will want to be with her parents for a while," said Aunt Amy Jane. "No intruders ... not even family."

She was coyly delighted with the marriage.

But it was like Jessamy to seek the first opportunity to come over and see me. She rode over looking very pretty in a dark blue riding habit and a jaunty hat with a tiny blue feather in it.

There was no doubt that she was happy. We hugged each other.

"Oh, Jessamy, it's been so miserable without you."

She was surprised. "Really, Anabel?"

"Here have I been stuck, doling out cups of tea from the urn at the garden party ... one penny a cup, but all in a good cause, and there have you been in romantic Italy with your fairy prince. Let me look at you, my sleeping beauty, who was awakened by a kiss."

"You talk such nonsense, Anabel ... you always did. I was wide awake, I do assure you. I was glad. Otherwise I should not have seen Joel."

"And he is all your fancy painted him?"

"Oh, he is ... he is."

"Why didn't you bring him over to see us?"

"He's not here. He has his work, you see, Anabel."

"Of course. And he doesn't mind your coming?"

"Oh no. He suggested it. He said: 'They'll all want to see you, your father and mother and your cousin... .' He mentioned you, Anabel. I think you made quite an impression on him. It was falling down the altar steps. Trust you."

"Yes, trust me. I must have looked rather peculiar in one of Sally's aprons, rather wet, my hair falling down and myself surrounded by roses."

"He told me about it. He laughed over it. He said he thought you very ..."

"Very what?"

"Amusing and ... attractive."

"I see you have married a man of discernment."

"He must have been, to have chosen me." Oh yes, Jessamy had changed. She had poise and confidence. He must have given her that. Oh, lucky Jessamy!

"There is so much I want to hear," I said. "I want to hear about Florence and honeymoons and life in the enchanted castle."

"You are interested, Anabel."

"Of course I'm interested."

"I'm going to suggest something."

"What?"

"When I go back, you come with me."

"Oh, Jessamy!" I cried. It was as though lights were flashing round me. Joy ... indescribable joy and then warnings. No, no. You must not. Why not? You know why.

"Don't you want to come, Anabel?" Her voice was blank. "I thought you were so interested."

"I am but ..."

"I thought you would love to come. You were just saying what a bore it was here... ."

"Well, it is just that ... Do you think I should?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Newly married and all that. The third party intruding. Two's company ..."

She burst out laughing. "It's not like that at all. We are not alone in a house of our own. We're at the castle and there are the rest of them there. It's not that I see Joel very much."

"Oh, you don't see much of him?"