looked at her. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. He was saying only the other night to Bunty that he thought it was time he settled down.’
‘I know. But he doesn’t mean half what he says.’
‘Well,’ said Venetia, ‘well I’m going to. I really want to, and he really wants me to and I just can’t see why not.’
Adele sensed defeat. She sighed, looked at her sister very soberly, and then got up, went over to her and hugged her.
‘Does that mean it’s all right?’ Venetia said hopefully.
‘No. But it means – anyway, you will at least – won’t you—’
‘Of course. I’m not that stupid. Made the appointment already, actually.’
‘That’s good. I might come with you. Sooner or later I’ll need it too. I hope.’ She smiled with an immense effort and said, her voice quite different, ‘Now let’s telephone the newlyweds and ask if we can take them out to lunch tomorrow. I promised we would.’
Pandora and Sebastian had been married quietly in early September; from Pandora’s own small house in Oxford. Celia and Oliver had offered Cheyne Walk on the evening of the first dinner, but Pandora had refused.
‘It’s sweet of you,’ she said, ‘sweet and generous but Oxford is home and I want our marriage to begin there.’
‘Well, that’s very understandable,’ said Oliver, ‘isn’t it, Celia?’
Celia said that of course it was and enquired whether it might not be possible for Pandora to be married from her mother’s home.
‘Goodness, no. Even smaller than mine. Honestly a cottage. We don’t want lots of people, just our families, of course you are Sebastian’s, and my house will do perfectly.’
It did: on a perfect golden day, they became man and wife in the Oxford registry office – ‘I always forget Sebastian was married once before, he doesn’t look divorced,’ said Adele, speaking for most of the family – and then over a wonderful, long, languorous lunch in Pandora’s garden, the air scented with late roses, and the sunlight as golden as the champagne. There were only twenty people there, half of them Lyttons; it was a delightfully unconventional occasion. The bride looked quite extraordinarily lovely, in a simple white crêpe dress, her arms full of lilies, white roses in her hair, and the groom looked, as always, absurdly handsome. He was dressed in a dark grey suit – not a morning suit, which caused Lady Celia Lytton considerable distress – and a cream silk shirt, and he looked like an illustration from one of his own wonderful books.
Oliver made a charming speech, Kit read a poem he had written for the occasion entitled ‘The Wedding and Why’, which brought tears to several people’s eyes, including his mother’s and the bridegroom’s. Jay Lytton and Gordon Robinson played Mendelssohn’s Wedding March as a duet on Pandora’s piano while the cake was cut, Lily Lytton, in her last appearance before leaving with Jack for Hollywood, sang ‘Mad About the Boy’ quite exquisitely, followed by several other songs from her latest show by way of encore.
Pandora’s mother, who was dressed rather unexpectedly all in white and bore a more than passing resemblance, several of the guests could not help thinking, to Miss Havisham, insisted on making a speech as well, and reciting ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds’ rather badly, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Celia, dressed dazzlingly in blue and looking exceptionally beautiful and young, was at her most brilliant and amusing; only Barty noticed that as Sebastian raised his glass a trifle unsteadily to toast ‘my perfect bride’ LM reached out for Celia’s hand and held it tightly, but, as she had had a great deal of champagne herself, thought very little of it anyway.
They left at sunset in Sebastian’s car for a honeymoon in Ireland.
‘That was utterly wonderful,’ said Venetia happily. ‘Giles, race you back to London. Last one home’s a cissy.’
‘I’m going
‘I know. But he doesn’t mean half what he says.’
‘Well,’ said Venetia, ‘well I’m going to. I really want to, and he really wants me to and I just can’t see why not.’
Adele sensed defeat. She sighed, looked at her sister very soberly, and then got up, went over to her and hugged her.
‘Does that mean it’s all right?’ Venetia said hopefully.
‘No. But it means – anyway, you will at least – won’t you—’
‘Of course. I’m not that stupid. Made the appointment already, actually.’
‘That’s good. I might come with you. Sooner or later I’ll need it too. I hope.’ She smiled with an immense effort and said, her voice quite different, ‘Now let’s telephone the newlyweds and ask if we can take them out to lunch tomorrow. I promised we would.’
Pandora and Sebastian had been married quietly in early September; from Pandora’s own small house in Oxford. Celia and Oliver had offered Cheyne Walk on the evening of the first dinner, but Pandora had refused.
‘It’s sweet of you,’ she said, ‘sweet and generous but Oxford is home and I want our marriage to begin there.’
‘Well, that’s very understandable,’ said Oliver, ‘isn’t it, Celia?’
Celia said that of course it was and enquired whether it might not be possible for Pandora to be married from her mother’s home.
‘Goodness, no. Even smaller than mine. Honestly a cottage. We don’t want lots of people, just our families, of course you are Sebastian’s, and my house will do perfectly.’
It did: on a perfect golden day, they became man and wife in the Oxford registry office – ‘I always forget Sebastian was married once before, he doesn’t look divorced,’ said Adele, speaking for most of the family – and then over a wonderful, long, languorous lunch in Pandora’s garden, the air scented with late roses, and the sunlight as golden as the champagne. There were only twenty people there, half of them Lyttons; it was a delightfully unconventional occasion. The bride looked quite extraordinarily lovely, in a simple white crêpe dress, her arms full of lilies, white roses in her hair, and the groom looked, as always, absurdly handsome. He was dressed in a dark grey suit – not a morning suit, which caused Lady Celia Lytton considerable distress – and a cream silk shirt, and he looked like an illustration from one of his own wonderful books.
Oliver made a charming speech, Kit read a poem he had written for the occasion entitled ‘The Wedding and Why’, which brought tears to several people’s eyes, including his mother’s and the bridegroom’s. Jay Lytton and Gordon Robinson played Mendelssohn’s Wedding March as a duet on Pandora’s piano while the cake was cut, Lily Lytton, in her last appearance before leaving with Jack for Hollywood, sang ‘Mad About the Boy’ quite exquisitely, followed by several other songs from her latest show by way of encore.
Pandora’s mother, who was dressed rather unexpectedly all in white and bore a more than passing resemblance, several of the guests could not help thinking, to Miss Havisham, insisted on making a speech as well, and reciting ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds’ rather badly, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Celia, dressed dazzlingly in blue and looking exceptionally beautiful and young, was at her most brilliant and amusing; only Barty noticed that as Sebastian raised his glass a trifle unsteadily to toast ‘my perfect bride’ LM reached out for Celia’s hand and held it tightly, but, as she had had a great deal of champagne herself, thought very little of it anyway.
They left at sunset in Sebastian’s car for a honeymoon in Ireland.
‘That was utterly wonderful,’ said Venetia happily. ‘Giles, race you back to London. Last one home’s a cissy.’
‘I’m going
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