voice.
‘Darling, we’ve learned a pretty important lesson here. If we’re going to be offering weddings, we needed to know how mad people can get about details. And you’ve been
pretty mad about details.’
‘My fault, though,’ Sian reached across, squeezing Kate’s hand. ‘I’ve been just as bad.’
‘I think I got a bit caught up in the whole thing,’ admitted Kate. ‘But it’s not just about the wedding, really, is it?’
‘It’s about the marriage, Kate.’ Jean, married herself for forty years, looked at her oldest friend, Morag, who nodded.
‘We don’t have to work hard to make this place look good in photographs. Adam’s already got some amazing shots. Duntarvie House is just beautiful,’ said Sian.
‘Well, that’s the house sorted.’ Morag put both hands down on the table. ‘Now all we need to do is sort out everything we need for this wedding.’
Kate looked at her with panic.
‘I’ll have none of that expression from you, young lady. We’ve got this under control.’
8
Sealed with a Christmas Kiss
As it happened, there wasn’t another ferry until after Christmas. High winds made the seas rough and the crossing too dangerous. Kate’s perfect dress sat in the
shop in Glasgow, sheathed in a protective cover, as the last-minute Christmas shoppers hurried past Bonny Brides. The order for dozens of deep-red roses couldn’t make it to Helen’s
florist shop, so the perfectly coordinated Christmas-themed table settings didn’t happen. And somehow, Kate realized, it all worked out just perfectly in the end.
Morag had found her 1970s lace wedding dress in the attic. It sent Sian into raptures of delight with its vanilla-ice-cream fabric, maxi skirt with frilled hem, and pintucked bodice with a
cut-out lace insert. Jean had found a long, midnight-blue velvet evening cloak (‘I used to have a fine time in this,’ she’d smiled, remembering, ‘and there’s your
“something borrowed” and your “something blue” in one package’). Morag’s dress had fitted surprisingly well, especially if Kate didn’t breathe too often or
make any sudden movements. The morning of Christmas Eve, they’d woken to find the island sparkling with a thick hoar frost. The storm had dropped, and ferries were running again. By
lunchtime, though, the blue skies were clouding over, the sky filling ominously with violet-grey clouds.
They’d clattered along from Morag’s stables in the early afternoon. Kate, deciding to be traditional, spent the night before the wedding in Morag’s guest bedroom. They spent
the morning cosy in Morag and Ted’s kitchen, warmed by the Aga, toasting the future with champagne for breakfast and a constant supply of cakes. Kate, who’d insisted she couldn’t
eat a thing, found that Morag’s baking was tempting enough to surprise her into managing quite a bit.
Once she was dressed, they headed out into the stable yard. Thor, Kate’s favourite Highland pony, was in harness, the shining leather woven through with red tartan ribbon which looked
beautiful against his pale coat. The little two-man carriage had been decorated by Helen, and every surface was wrapped in ivy and ribbons.
‘Come on, then, you’ve got a wedding to get to.’ Ted held out his hand to help her up onto the seat, which was lined with a thick woollen fleece. He climbed up beside Kate,
gently placing a fake-fur-trimmed cloak around her shoulders.
Morag, dabbing her eyes, handed Elizabeth a tissue. ‘You look beautiful.’
With a sudden jolt, they were off. Thor’s head was high, his ears pricked forwards, as he stepped carefully along the narrow road that led down to Duntarvie House.
As they arrived in the icy courtyard of Duntarvie House Kate looked up for a moment, realizing what she was taking on. The turrets sparkled in the winter sunlight, and in the windows she could
see hundreds of Christmas lights twinkling out, a galaxy of winter stars.
‘Come on, my love. You get
‘Darling, we’ve learned a pretty important lesson here. If we’re going to be offering weddings, we needed to know how mad people can get about details. And you’ve been
pretty mad about details.’
‘My fault, though,’ Sian reached across, squeezing Kate’s hand. ‘I’ve been just as bad.’
‘I think I got a bit caught up in the whole thing,’ admitted Kate. ‘But it’s not just about the wedding, really, is it?’
‘It’s about the marriage, Kate.’ Jean, married herself for forty years, looked at her oldest friend, Morag, who nodded.
‘We don’t have to work hard to make this place look good in photographs. Adam’s already got some amazing shots. Duntarvie House is just beautiful,’ said Sian.
‘Well, that’s the house sorted.’ Morag put both hands down on the table. ‘Now all we need to do is sort out everything we need for this wedding.’
Kate looked at her with panic.
‘I’ll have none of that expression from you, young lady. We’ve got this under control.’
8
Sealed with a Christmas Kiss
As it happened, there wasn’t another ferry until after Christmas. High winds made the seas rough and the crossing too dangerous. Kate’s perfect dress sat in the
shop in Glasgow, sheathed in a protective cover, as the last-minute Christmas shoppers hurried past Bonny Brides. The order for dozens of deep-red roses couldn’t make it to Helen’s
florist shop, so the perfectly coordinated Christmas-themed table settings didn’t happen. And somehow, Kate realized, it all worked out just perfectly in the end.
Morag had found her 1970s lace wedding dress in the attic. It sent Sian into raptures of delight with its vanilla-ice-cream fabric, maxi skirt with frilled hem, and pintucked bodice with a
cut-out lace insert. Jean had found a long, midnight-blue velvet evening cloak (‘I used to have a fine time in this,’ she’d smiled, remembering, ‘and there’s your
“something borrowed” and your “something blue” in one package’). Morag’s dress had fitted surprisingly well, especially if Kate didn’t breathe too often or
make any sudden movements. The morning of Christmas Eve, they’d woken to find the island sparkling with a thick hoar frost. The storm had dropped, and ferries were running again. By
lunchtime, though, the blue skies were clouding over, the sky filling ominously with violet-grey clouds.
They’d clattered along from Morag’s stables in the early afternoon. Kate, deciding to be traditional, spent the night before the wedding in Morag’s guest bedroom. They spent
the morning cosy in Morag and Ted’s kitchen, warmed by the Aga, toasting the future with champagne for breakfast and a constant supply of cakes. Kate, who’d insisted she couldn’t
eat a thing, found that Morag’s baking was tempting enough to surprise her into managing quite a bit.
Once she was dressed, they headed out into the stable yard. Thor, Kate’s favourite Highland pony, was in harness, the shining leather woven through with red tartan ribbon which looked
beautiful against his pale coat. The little two-man carriage had been decorated by Helen, and every surface was wrapped in ivy and ribbons.
‘Come on, then, you’ve got a wedding to get to.’ Ted held out his hand to help her up onto the seat, which was lined with a thick woollen fleece. He climbed up beside Kate,
gently placing a fake-fur-trimmed cloak around her shoulders.
Morag, dabbing her eyes, handed Elizabeth a tissue. ‘You look beautiful.’
With a sudden jolt, they were off. Thor’s head was high, his ears pricked forwards, as he stepped carefully along the narrow road that led down to Duntarvie House.
As they arrived in the icy courtyard of Duntarvie House Kate looked up for a moment, realizing what she was taking on. The turrets sparkled in the winter sunlight, and in the windows she could
see hundreds of Christmas lights twinkling out, a galaxy of winter stars.
‘Come on, my love. You get
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