LITMIR.BIZ

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the amateur experience she had gathered over the years. She quietly chastised herself for the unkind thought and reminded herself that Aliceon did not deserve her animosity.

      ‘Congratulations, Mrs Hart,’ Trudy said cordially.

      She put the mini carrot cake down and embraced Aliceon. It took an effort of willpower not to wipe the oily residue from her fingers on the back of Aliceon’s flawless wedding dress. But Trudy figured she was mature enough to resist such impulses. She would wait to wipe her hands clean until she was politely hugging Bill in his pristine morning suit.

      ‘You look absolutely beautiful,’ Trudy told Aliceon.

      ‘I know,’ Aliceon admitted. She twirled in her dress and said, ‘It’s a Caroline Herrera. Who couldn’t look gorgeous in a dress like this?’

      Trudy smiled and nodded. Imogen, Aliceon’s daughter, had been sufficiently impressed with the dress’s design to talk enthusiastically about it when Trudy last saw her. It was a smooth flow of ice-white satin, set with snowy white lace and shiny white pearls. Regardless of how she felt about the woman, Trudy had to agree that Aliceon did look sensational.

      ‘Imogen looked very lovely as your maid of honour,’ Trudy said. ‘Where is she?’

      ‘I think she was getting the baby to rest in Bill’s office.’

      Trudy thanked her and started toward the kitchen.

      Aliceon placed a hand on Trudy’s arm, stopping her. She fixed her with a solemn stare and said, ‘Thank you, Trudy. It is appreciated.’

      Trudy shook her head. ‘You have no need to thank me.’

      Aliceon’s knowing smile creased the corners of her eyes. She released her hold on Trudy’s arm and stepped away.

      An elderly, bearded man stepped in front of her. His expression was kindly. His eyes sparkled behind his small, wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘Are you holding one of Kali’s mini carrot cakes?’

      ‘Finlay,’ she smiled.

      She hugged him harder than was needed. His was one of the few friendly faces she had seen today that wasn’t studying her with an expression of pitying dismay. Finlay, always the professional, seemed more concerned with the dessert she held.

      ‘Is it?’ he asked. ‘Is it one of Kali’s mini carrot cakes?’

      She nodded. ‘Have you tried one yet?’

      ‘I’ve tried six,’ he admitted. ‘I’m still trying to work out some of the ingredients.’

      They talked their way through the flavours, each interrupting the other in their haste to be the first to identify all the ingredients. Both of them had detected nutmeg and allspice. Trudy mentioned the walnuts whilst Finlay talked about the pecans.

      ‘I could have sworn I tasted cardamom in there,’ Trudy said.

      Finlay slapped himself on the forehead. ‘Cardamom,’ he muttered. ‘Of course. Now that you’ve said it I know that’s what it is.’

      She nodded, pleased she had named a spice that had eluded him.

      Finlay’s grin faltered as he studied her face. He shook his head and considered her with sudden solemnity. ‘I don’t understand what’s wrong with that man.’ He nodded towards the centre of the room where the wedding vows had been blessed. Trudy knew he was talking about Bill. ‘I don’t understand why he’s let someone as special as you slip through his fingers.’

      Trudy blushed and looked away.

      Finlay cleared his throat and glanced toward the buffet stand. She could see he had decided to change the subject, away from the uncomfortable area of personal matters and back to safer exchanges about flavours. ‘I’ll go and get myself a couple of those mini carrot cakes whilst there’s still some left,’ he said. ‘It appears some greedy sod has been eating them faster than they can be put out here.’

      Trudy gave him a rueful grin.

      ‘I’ll order you a consignment of the spices you’ll need,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I can tell you’re desperate to try making these for Sweet Temptation.’

      She was not surprised he had guessed her motives. She watched his formidable bulk meander easily back to the buffet table and Nikki’s resigned greeting.

      ‘That would be great,’ she whispered.

      It pained her to know that Finlay was thinking of her as the wronged woman.

      She pushed the back of her hand against the corner of her eye, trying to stop the threat of tears before there were any streaks in her mascara. Moving purposefully, she hurried towards the kitchen, desperate to find Imogen and baby Bill. She hadn’t wanted to come to the wedding but she had known it would look churlish if she simply declined the invitation.

      She almost made it without being stopped. She kept to the sides of the room, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Her single mission was to see Imogen and then make an escape from the whole nightmare scenario of the wedding.

      A pair of blondes stepped in front of Trudy, blocking her way.

      Trudy tried hard not to groan.

      ‘Are you ready to blow this joint?’ Daryl asked.

      Beatrice laughed. It was not a pleasant sound and Trudy thought she could detect an edge of cruelty beneath the mirth. ‘“Blow this joint”?’ Beatrice repeated. ‘Are you trying to make yourself sound butch and macho?’

      ‘Do you want me to be butch and macho?’ Daryl asked.

      Within an instant they were kissing again.

      Beatrice had a way of kissing Daryl, holding her face with both hands. Daryl pulled the woman into her embrace and rested one hand on Beatrice’s yin-yang tattoo. It was an intimate way to deliver a kiss and Trudy could see it was enough to capture all of Daryl’s attention.

      She took the opportunity to step quietly past the pair.

      ‘I’ll catch up with you in a minute,’ she said. She wasn’t sure they heard. By way of explanation she added, ‘I need to see Imogen before I leave.’

      Daryl broke her kiss with Beatrice and called after her, ‘Don’t leave without us. I’ve got a date organised for you when we get home.’

      Trudy shuddered. Daryl’s attempts at matchmaking were fast becoming a problem. She stumbled into the kitchen, relieved to have escaped the sound of ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ and the clatter of shouted conversations.

      The kitchens were all but empty, manned by a solitary plongeur wiping down surfaces. He nodded a polite greeting to her. Trudy said hello as she walked towards the office in the centre of the kitchen. She was hoping to find Imogen so she could give her a quick hug and tell her how splendid she had looked as maid of honour. Stepping into the office she saw Imogen was just resting her baby on the couch.

      ‘Trudy,’ Imogen said carefully. ‘I thought I saw you earlier.’

      She didn’t smile. Her behaviour seemed a little stilted. Her eyes were wide and she was staring unhappily. At first Trudy thought she’d done something to upset her friend. It was only when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her that she realised Imogen was staring unhappily at a figure in a shadowy corner of the room.

      Trudy didn’t dare follow the line of the woman’s gaze. In truth, she didn’t need to. She already knew who would be standing there.

      ‘Trudy?’

      She recognised his voice immediately.

      He looked resplendent. His jacket was currently wrapped around his grandson, Imogen’s baby, but its absence only made him look more dashing. He wore a silver waistcoat over a crisp white shirt and it hugged his broad physique. His hair, the colour of polished steel, shone almost as brightly as the glint in his diamond-blue eyes. When his gaze met hers a smile

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