Chapter 36: A WEDDING WITH A TWIST
Still Saturday… manure waits for no man...
"If two weeks ago anyone had told me what I'd be doing today…" Ducky shook his head.
"Wishing you were back in your nice clean morgue?" Illya quipped.
"Not at all. Wouldn't have missed this for the world."
They were mucking out stalls. The stable seemed as good a refuge as any from the chaos in the house. They snuck out directly after breakfast.
"I do not know if I will have the energy to go through this two more times with Aisling and Olivia," Illya said, pushing the barrow along to the last stall.
"You've already survived two… what's two more?" Ducky grunted, forking up another pungent pile. "You should know the drill by now."
"Katie and Maria both eloped. We did not meet our sons-in-law until after the fact."
"Think of all the money you saved," Ducky chortled.
"There is that," Illya agreed. "Chris did come for a visit to present Sarah, but they married in Australia. We were unable to attend as Elise was ill and travel forbidden."
"Did you approve of their choices?"
"Not at first but we did come to accept them. It has worked out well for Katie and Chris. Maria's marriage did not fare as well. They divorced shortly after Aisling was born. Were you ever tempted to marry?"
"More than once… however, it wasn't to be."
"What about children?"
"I don't know that I would have made a good father. No decent role model, you see."
"I believe we are done here," Illya declared, trundling the barrow out the back door while Ducky hung up his fork. Pulling off their gloves, they straightened and stretched, grinning ruefully.
" 'That is no country for old men,' " Ducky quoted, groaning.
" 'An aged man is but a paltry thing,'" Jack quoted back, startling both men as he strolled out of the tack room with a saddle. Yeats was the last thing they would have expected to come out of the mouth of an ancient cowboy. Gibbs was right behind, also equipped with a saddle.
"How long have you two been in there?" Ducky demanded. "We could've used some assistance."
"Long 'nough ta see y'all didn't need no help," Jack said. "An' a little bit a hard work never kilt no one. 'Sides, me an' Jethro here was havin' us a good palaver 'bout life, the universe an' everythin'."
"So you're an Adams fan, too?" Ducky was bemused.
"Ah read everythin'. Done read all t'books in t'liberry back in Goat Rock."
"Surely you are not going riding now… and miss the wedding?" Illya queried.
"Been there, done that," Gibbs said. "Four times and never again."
"Twicet fer me an' 'at were two times too many," Jack said. "Ah done got me a allergy to weddins."
"Well said, old man," Gibbs slapped him on the back with his free hand. They pushed past and headed out to the pasture to catch up some horses. With their mouths hanging open, Illya and Ducky watched them go just as Eli and Aidan came through the front door, carrying between them a large cooler.
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1:10pm… caught in flagrante…
The boys toted the cooler into the tack room without comment until all four were inside.
"One hopes that vessel contains food," Ducky ventured, famished after hours of unaccustomed physical labor.
"Yup. Grub. Vittles. Comestibles. And some soft drinks to wash it down with," Eli grinned. "We did a smash and grab at the lunch line and bar and got away before anyone caught us."
"It is noon already?" No wonder he was feeling peckish, Illya thought.
"Way past. They were running behind," Aidan said.
"We'd better eat quietly and quickly before they send the dogs out after us," Eli suggested.
"Or worse yet… Grandma," Aidan added, flipping up the lid. "If we're not back in the house by two, our asses'll be grass and she'll be the lawnmower."
The cooler yielded—in addition to an assortment of plastic-wrapped sandwiches—a family-sized bag of vinegar and salt potato chips, a jar of cold-pack garlic dill pickles, a handful of plastic plates, a tube of plastic cups, a six-pack of Coors, and one bottle each of Stolichnaya and Macallan.
The sandwiches were gone, the pickle jar half-empty, the liquor bottles had substantial dents in them, and the boys were down to the last two beers before the tack room door was wrenched open. Elise's face was pink.
"Ruh roh," Eli squeaked through a mouthful of chips as Aidan choked on a mouthful of beer.
Illya and Ducky froze, each with a bottle in one hand and a cup in the other.
Elise's roar of fury reverberated off the walls.
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3:00pm… an unusual ceremony unfolds…
In the serried ranks of white wooden chairs facing the front portico, nearly a hundred guests—mostly relatives and friends of the Garcías—fidgeted and murmured among themselves. Although the afternoon was by no means uncomfortably warm, the small folding Oriental fans that had been provided were fluttering like so many peach and teal butterflies. The quartet—two violins and two cellos—filled the air with softly played largos.
The floral arch, under which the nuptials were to be performed by a secular officiant, had been erected on the top step of the portico before the open double doors. There was no center aisle, leaving the guests wondering from which direction the elements of the bridal party would advance. They'd been amply forewarned by humorous flourishes in the otherwise formal invitation that this would not be a conventional ceremony. Dress: Casual and comfortable with footwear suitable for walking on grass.
From the open doors emerged a Latino woman clad in entirely in black—an elegant brocaded tunic over flowing patio pants—carrying an iPad instead of a bible. Bob and Eva had written their own vows, which Justice of the Peace Magdalena Delgado skillfully integrated into the customary phrasing required by law to unite a couple in matrimony. The digitized version resided in her iPad for handy reference. Positioning herself under the arch, Justice Delgado nodded to the quartet, who serenely segued into Bach's famous prelude for cello. A hush came over the crowd as the bride's and groom's entourages processed in stately formation from around opposing corners of the house.
The observers were enthralled in suspense—should they stand or continue sitting? Where were the bridesmaids? The groomsmen? The ushers who normally conducted parents and grandparents to their seats? And where the heck was the groom, who normally would be standing front and center awaiting his bride?
The two columns converged in a baroque passepied as they fanned out on either side of the arch. Eva's multiple ladies of honor included Katie, Elise, Tessa, Maria, Sarah and Aisling—each in a distinctive style suiting her frame but all in teal blue. Bob's best men were Carlos, Dennis, Illya, Chris, Eli and Aidan—each in teal guayaberas and black trousers.
A tense few moments passed with no sign of the bride or groom. Breaths were held and then let out in a collective whoosh as Bob—in a white guayabera—strolled around from one corner, preceded by Noah the ring bearer. Approaching the arch, he pantomimed looking around for his bride-to-be and mugged the tittering audience, shrugging and holding his hands palm up as if to say, 'Where could she be?'
The quartet broke into 'She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain When She Comes,' Mozart-style. Amusement yielded to laughter as the congregation realized what they were hearing. Decorum was swiftly restored as, from around the other corner, Eva made her grand entrance behind flower girl Olivia.
The traditional veil having been eschewed, the bride's head was crowned with a circlet of flowers matching the peach gerberas and blue asters of her bouquet. She wore an ankle-length halter-top sundress in candlelight silk charmeuse, with a side slit revealing a tantalizing glimpse of shapely tanned leg. Evidently 'who gives this woman' wasn't to be part of this ceremony. As she reached the arch, she shot the onlookers a wide grin and a thumbs-up. Eva Roman was boldly and proudly giving herself away.
The couple met and turned to face the judge and—for the time being—solemnity prevailed over levity as Roberto Miguel García and Evaluna Tatiana Roman were officially made man and wife.
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3:30pm… the post-wedding retrospective…
After all the clapping and cheering subsided and guests began breaking off into groups for après-nuptial retrospection, caterers surreptitiously gathered chairs and moved them to the tables. A buffet line was quickly set up and servers bearing trays glided out of the house.
Elise collapsed into a chair at one of the tables with a placard designating it as reserved for members of the wedding. Fanning herself vigorously, she accepted a flute of champagne from an attentive server, one of the vineyard workers' daughters.
"Is this table taken?" Illya humbly appealed as he and Ducky cautiously approached. Elise had been giving both the cold shoulder since apprehending them skiving off in the tack room.
"You may sit," came the icy response.
The server hastily filled two more flutes.
"We'll take it from here, Gina," Elise addressed the young woman pleasantly. "Please do go attend the guests." The girl backed away with a curtsy as the two men seated themselves.
"May we expect to be forgiven in the not too distant future?" Ducky asked. He'd declined his brother's request that he join the lineup of best men. He didn't know all that much about wedding protocol but he understood his inclusion would have upset the balance in the numbers of attendants… and that women were funny about such details. However, yielding to Elise's pleas that he put aside the sober suit and wear the same garments as the best men, he and Illya were dressed alike.
"At least your brother wasn't too inebriated to do his part," Elise allowed in a slightly thawed tone. "So I'll think about it."
"Thank you, my love." Illya contrived to look appropriately contrite. "I shall endeavor to do better next time."
"Do you think it went well, all things considered?" Elise queried. In the course of many months of planning, there had been frequent disagreements between grandmother and daughter, mother and daughter, and grandmother and granddaughter over traditional versus non-traditional rites.
The biggest hurdle had been religious in nature. The stolidly Catholic Garcías and Elise were pushing for a proper wedding mass but Eva balked at the six months of instruction required for conversion. Not to mention, she argued, she had nothing from which to convert, having never been baptized in any faith. Dennis had been brought up Russian Orthodox, more or less, as had Illya in his brief time with the gypsies. That had come to an end once he'd passed into the hands of Soviet bureaucracy, which promulgated scientific atheism. The Bauers and Romanovs weren't churchgoers so held no strong views either way, and Bob was willing to buck his family on the issue. Eva was determined their wedding would be unique, non-conformist and secular. There would be no speeches. She got her way in the end.
"It was absolutely beautiful," Illya assured his wife, secretly relieved he hadn't been forced to spend hours on his knees—and clouds of incense gave him headaches. "If Eva is happy, then I am happy."
"I thought it was quite… er… entertaining," Ducky commented. "Well received if a trifle unorthodox compared to the rather stuporous fêtes I have been compelled to endure in the past."
They were raising their second rounds in a toast when they became aware of Tessa shepherding two couples in their direction.
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3:30pm… the dance of disingenuity
The threesome automatically got to their feet as the oncomers drew within facial recognition distance. Ducky caught Illya's look of surprise and Elise's panicked countenance. Not only that, he actually felt his brother's shock as clearly as if he'd touched a live wire. Ducky didn't know these people but clearly three of the guests had been expecting to engage with a particular individual and had been thrown off by the presence of a duplicate. It was impossible to miss their fleeting expressions of disbelief… or the way their eyes flickered in confusion from one man to the other.
Sensing pre-existing if not immediately acknowledged links among this group, the consummate event planner adhered to protocol. "Doctor Mallard, Professor Bauer, Mrs Bauer… I'd like you to meet friends of mine… April and Robert Hart—newlyweds themselves, incidentally—and their in-laws Mark and Alice Slate, visiting from England. April and I sit on the boards of the William Holden Wildlife Foundation and several other environmental conservancies." Tessa then tactfully excused herself to mingle with other guests.
As his coworkers could attest, the medical examiner possessed a mischievous streak that from time to time manifested itself at the most inopportune moments. Ducky could prank with the best of them, especially with a tank of high octane alcohol under his belt. Suckering Gibbs with the guessing game had been so much fun he was moved to try it on again with these folks. He sidled close to Illya so they stood shoulder to shoulder.
Obviously Ducky's deviltry communicated itself to Illya, who played along while offering his hand to Mark. "Elijah Bauer. You seem familiar. It is possible we may have met before although I do not immediately recall the time, place or occasion."
Ducky also shook hands with Mark. "Donald Mallard. Not good with faces, I'm afraid… but your name rings a bell."
"Mark Slate. Used to do a bit of security consulting in various overseas government sectors… perhaps that's where we've crossed paths?"
Intuiting a game was afoot, Robert heartily exchanged handshakes with Illya and Ducky in turn. "Robert Hart, semi-retired actor. I'm sure I've never met any of you but you might recognize me from film and television," he supplied smoothly.
With a fake smile plastered to her face, Elise's handclasps went to April and Alice and their husbands. "And I'm Lisa. Any friends of Tessa's are friends of ours. We're so pleased you were able to join us on this happy occasion."
Old habits and ingrained training never fade away. The three couples and odd man out embarked on the sort of disingenuous exchange with which Ducky was very familiar. It was a well-established rite in the social circles of Washington's Foggy Bottom, when previously-introduced partygoers couldn't remember one another's names. Fishing expeditions disguised as pleasantries were bandied about until some commonality was achieved. With names, ranks and/or connections restored to memory, the parties could retreat with embarrassment averted and pride intact.
The guests were obviously employing this maneuver in an attempt to catch out the real Illya.
Alice squeezed Mark's arm. "Oh, I know where we met, honey. It was at the Beldons' anniversary bash at Claridge's, remember? Back in the sixties?" Harry Beldon, a confirmed bachelor, had been Illya's superior at UNCLE's London headquarters. As for Claridge's, Illya had never set foot in that august edifice.
"Ah yes," Ducky interpolated brightly, "though I seem to remember it was the Ritz-Carlton in New York City… a birthday party for a beloved uncle, was it not, Lisa?"
Lisa simpered. "You expect me to remember? It was a very long time ago."
"Gosh," April batted her eyelashes, "I haven't been to the Big Apple or a decent couturier in simply ages. Alice… what was the name of that one we used to visit… house of something?"
"House of Vanya, darling," Alice simpered. "Bought out by Ralph Lauren, I believe."
"Nice suit," Illya directed at Mark. "Brioni?"
"Gieves & Hawkes, London," Mark said. "Unfortunately, it's in need of attention. Can you recommend a good drycleaner in the area?"
"You would have to ask Tessa about that. Establishments one can trust to treat one's bespoke suit with the care its expense deserves are rather thin on the ground in northern California," Illya said.
Mark continued. "When I worked in New York in the sixties, I patronized a little one-man shop called Del Floria's. There wasn't a spot the old man couldn't eradicate. Wonder if he's still in operation?"
"Not likely but one never knows." Illya shrugged. "You might want to try the internet for a website."
3:45pm… the guided tour…
Noting perambulating clusters of guestsmoving nearer, Elise decided it would be prudent to retreat to more private territory. "Would you care for a tour of the premises?" She gestured toward the house and began walking away without waiting for an answer. "The hacienda itself dates back over two hundred years. Completely renovated, of course, but retains many of its original features."
"Capital idea!" Mark exclaimed, taking Alice's arm. "Come, my dear."
"Love to!" April exclaimed, taking Robert's arm.
As they moved off after the others, he whispered in her ear. "So which one is the dead spy… and did you know he had a twin?"
"No idea on both counts," she whispered back. "I almost peed my pants when I first saw them."
"And I thought Ronnie would pee hers when she recognized her little Russian friend up there among the groomsmen." He coughed to cover up a chuckle.
"Where has she got off to, anyway?"
"Not sure but I thought I saw her following him inside."
"This is going to be interesting," April said.
"No shit," Robert replied cheerfully.
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3:50pm… hell hath no fury…
April's printed invitation, delayed enroute by having to be forwarded, had arrived the same day Ronnie received hers via text message. At first they hadn't grasped they were being invited to the same wedding. However, after laughing over the coincidence, Veronica Slate arrived at a realization which she chose not to share with her grandmother.
First of all, Ronnie had forgotten that Eva's last name was Roman. Second, the address on her grandmother's invitation matched the directions given by Eva in the text message—the same address Ronnie had snooped on Eli Roman's driver's license. Third, prior to leaving Montana she'd managed to extract from Jack Harper that Eli's abrupt departure was occasioned by an obligation to return home for a family event. Ergo, Eva and Eli had to be either siblings or cousins and the man himself would most certainly be in attendance.
Robert rented a Ford Skyliner luxury motorcoach for the hour and a half journey from Bodega to Angwin. He drove with Mark riding shotgun while April and Alice chatted in the back seats. Ronnie had the third row to herself, where she brooded in vengeful silence during the entire trip. Arriving at their destination, they parked and made their way to the seating area for guests, choosing a row of empty chairs toward the back.
As the two arms of the wedding party took their places, Ronnie missed her grandparents' agitation. Her attention was zeroed in on that one individual among the groomsmen.
April leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Isn't that your Russian pianist from the recital?"
"Ukrainian." Ronnie ground her teeth.
With the ceremony over and guests beginning to sort themselves, Ronnie furtively detached herself from her relatives, eyes locked on the prize as he slipped into the house. Eeling her way through the crowd, she pursued her prey with the single-minded tenacity of a beagle running a rabbit to ground.
Eli wasn't hard to locate. Directly she entered the foyer, Ronnie heard the strains of Chopin's nocturne opus nine pouring through the open doors of the great room to her left. The baby grand was positioned in such a manner that Eli had his back to the door. He didn't hear her come in or gently close and lock the doors behind her. Ronnie stewed silently for several minutes in an attempt to compose herself, but—in this case—music had no charms to soothe a savage breast. Red mist rising, she tiptoed up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.
As Eli twisted around, Ronnie clocked him with a haymaker worthy of Muhammad Ali, knocking him over along with the bench.
"You bastard! That's for running out on me…"
"Ronnie? What the… ow!" A sandaled foot connected painfully with his thigh. "OW!"
"… without saying goodbye or even kiss my ass. You sorry sack of Siberian snake shit!"
Availing herself of a large vase of flowers from the top of the piano, Ronnie dumped the contents on Eli's head. Being in an indefensible position—flat on his back with his legs entangled with those of the upended bench—he could only plead with his assailant to calm down.
"I can explain…"