Chapter Eleven

The day of the Garden Party dawned and Molly was as nervous as a bride – and for so many reasons. She awoke early and slipped out of bed to avoid disturbing Sherlock, and went into the sitting room to put on the kettle for a cup of coffee. She used the bathroom and, looking at her image in the mirror, could only see dark shadows under and the beginning of wrinkles around her eyes. She hoped this beautician had a good supply of concealer.

She took her mug of coffee out to the balcony and stood leaning on the balustrade, lost in the view and enjoying the calming effect of the ocean sounds. She must have stood there for nearly an hour, sipping her cooling coffee and hoping that the day would end as peacefully as it had begun.

Hearing the boys' bedroom door open, she moved back inside and greeted her sleepy sons as they emerged, rubbing their eyes and thinking about breakfast. Freddie was still in night nappies so she took him to the bathroom to remove his, while William used the toilet. Freddie was fascinated by watching his brother take a 'big boy pee'. When Freddie used the toilet, he still sat on the seat but Molly could see that it wouldn't be long before he was copying William's more mature style of urination.

Toilet duties completed and hands washed, Molly and the boys returned to the sitting room and she rang room service to order breakfast. She was feeling so nervous, she wasn't sure if she would be able to eat but she knew she must boost her blood sugar or she would never last the day. Her hair and makeup appointment was booked for ten thirty so she had plenty of time to have breakfast, take a shower and get the boys sorted before then. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm the fluttering butterflies in her stomach.

ooOoo

Caro, in her study at her private house in the suburbs, re-read for the umpteenth time the account she had written of what Violet had told her all those years ago. Looking back, the memories were as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday. She recalled the frantic phone call in the middle of the night, the incoherent voice on the other end of the line – her best friend who needed her so badly right then but was so many thousands of miles away. Caro had told her husband she needed to return to the UK, urgently. He was such a kind, considerate man. He arranged everything and she was on a plane within a few hours, rushing to her friend's side.

On arrival at the Holmes residence, Caro was shown to Violet's room and was deeply shocked by the state in which she found her. Violet was only twenty five and a celebrated beauty but the woman that Caro found curled in her bed was a mere shadow of her former self. She was painfully thin and had deep blue shadows under her eyes. The hand with which she reached out was trembling and claw-like. When Caro gathered her into a hug, she felt so light and fragile - a mere bag of bones.

The next few months had been intensely emotional. Violet see-sawed between the heights of near-manic euphoria and the depths of the darkest depression. Caro feared for her friend's sanity, whichever way the situation resolved itself. And then, the day came….

Caro folded the closely typed document and pushed it into an envelope, writing Molly's name on the front. She sealed it and propped it up on her desk. She then picked up a larger envelope, which was quite thick and heavy. These were things Violet had entrusted to her, not with any intension that she might one day give them to her youngest son but more because she didn't want anyone else to find them and, perhaps, show them to the world. No one had any right or need to see these documents except the man whose name was written on the outside, Sherlock Holmes.

ooOoo

Sherlock had shooed Molly out of the suite at ten twenty-five, assuring her that he was perfectly capable of entertaining the boys and keeping them clean and that he would make sure they were all dressed in their Sunday best by the time she returned, like Cinderella, ready to go to the ball. Rachelle and Rosa were meeting her in the spa, where the style make-over was to take place.

True to his word, Sherlock kept the boys occupied with an indoor treasure hunt, the treasure in question being his pocket magnifying glass which he hid and then gave verbal clues to help William find it. Freddie alternated between the hunting team and the hiding team although, in the latter role, he did have a tendency to give the game away by pointing to the secret location and yelling 'Dere!'

At twelve noon, Sherlock took the boys into the master bedroom to get them and himself dressed in their 'party clothes' and they emerged just in time for Molly's return.

When she walked into the sitting room, wearing a rather self-conscious smile, Sherlock almost gasped. William was less circumspect.

'Mummy! You look lovely!' he exclaimed and she certainly did.

Caro had been right about the beautician. She had taken one look at Molly's flawless completion and, having cleansed, exfoliated and toned, she just applied a light dusting of powder with a little concealer under the eyes. She then recreated a classic 1950's look with blends of gold and neutral eye shadow and brown eyeliner and mascara, which accentuated Molly's deep brown eye colour. She then applied a peach blusher and a similar shade of lip colour.

The hair stylist, in keeping with the 50's theme, styled her hair in a loose French plait, with two little tendrils to frame her face. The pancake hat was fixed in place and she was handed over to Rachelle and Rosa, who completed the look by helping her into her dress, gloves and shoes. They had also brought along a vintage clutch bag in beige leather which matched the shoes perfectly.

'You will need somewhere to keep your handkerchief for all those tears of happiness you will cry when your husband tells you how beautiful you are,' Rachelle explained through the hair stylist, acting as interpreter.

In fact, she almost cried when she saw herself in the long mirror for the first time. She could hardly believe it was her! Standing in the sitting room, she looked at the expression on Sherlock's face and felt a warm glow spread outwards from her heart. He crossed the room in two strides and, taking her gloved hand in his, brought it to his lips and dropped a gently kiss on her fingers, never taking his eyes from her face.

'You look stunning,' he whispered.

ooOoo

The warm glow stayed in place all the way to Caro's home, in the chauffeur-driven car, and they were greeted on arrival by Caro and her husband, Henrique. He was everything Molly had imagined – tall, grey-haired, moustachioed and very distinguished-looking. He greeted Molly by kissing her hand and declaring himself extremely honoured to meet her. Caro, on the other hand, almost squealed with delight,

'Molly, my dear girl, you look delightful, like a young Audrey Hepburn! What did Sherlock say?' she whispered, conspiratorially.

'Not much,' Molly whispered back, 'I think he was a bit stunned.'

'And well he might be. I'm sure that to him you are the most beautiful woman in the world but now every other man will know this, too. He'll need to keep a close eye on you to make sure no one tries to steal you away.'

Molly giggled and moved on with the children, leaving Sherlock still chatting animatedly with Henrique in Portuguese. There were already quite a few guests standing around in couples and small groups in the large open space, mostly laid to lawn but with several tall trees strategically placed to provide pleasant shade from the tropical sun. In the far corner was a rustic Jungle Gym climbing frame and there were already a few children playing on and around it. William was eyeing it with interest.

'Do you want to go and play, William?' Molly asked. He nodded enthusiastically so she waved him away and he ran off in that direction, leaving her just with Freddie. He was looking around at this new environment and looked as though he might have exploration on his mind so she plonked him on his feet and he toddled off, with her following along.

He made a bee line for a group of ladies standing together in the shade of a broad Copaifera tree. When Molly looked at these women, she was instantly reminded of Irene Adler. They were tall and elegant, beautifully coutured and coiffured and made up like manikins. Their movements were graceful and haughty and Molly felt a little intimidated by them but Freddie had no such qualms of confidence. He waddled straight up to them and began a conversation with the first one who looked at him.

Catching up with him, Molly stood by, smiling inanely and trying not to fidget with her hands. A waitress came by with a tray of canapés and offered it to her. She gratefully accepted and, removing one of her gloves, helped herself to a tasty looking item – a date wrapped in something that looked like streaky bacon. She was just about to bite into it when one of the women spoke to her.

'Excuse me, dear, those are for guests. There is a table over there for your sort.'

Molly was thrown into a panic of confusion. She had obviously committed some terrible social faux pas. She looked in the direction in which the woman was pointing and saw, over by the Jungle Gym, a table spread with snacks and jugs of fruit juice. She apologised profusely and, taking Freddie's hand, hurried off in that direction. Behind her, she heard the woman say to one of her companions,

'Who's she with?'

'Sherlock Holmes, the founder of the Rocky Foundation,' came the reply.

'Mr Holmes really should have instructed her more thoroughly, poor girl.'

'Lucky girl, though,' the other woman replied, 'travelling the world with that gorgeous man. She landed on her feet there, didn't she?'

'Oh, yes, my dear, but an English nanny is like gold dust. I would love to have one myself. I wonder if she would be interested in a change of position.'

Molly had to giggle to herself. They thought she was the boys' nanny! As she approached the buffet table, she saw that nearly all the adults standing near it were young local girls, wearing some kind of nanny uniform. Freddie toddled off to introduce himself to some of the other little children, playing nearby. Molly smiled, shyly at the 'other' nannies but was dying of embarrassment inside. Her mouth was dry but she didn't feel she could help herself to a drink from the buffet since she was not actually staff but neither did she feel able to take a glass from one of the waiters and waitresses who were circulating with trays of champagne, fruit juice and water.

She stood alone in the shade of the trees for several minutes and then spotted Sherlock striding across the lawn toward her. She wrung her hands and fidgeted, wondering what he was going to say.

'Molly, don't desert me! I need you to keep me from insulting the wrong person. Remember, we discussed this. If I look like I'm about to say something a bit not good, you're supposed to poke me in the back? Why are you standing over here on your own, anyway?'

Molly smiled awkwardly and tried to think of a good excuse but her imagination failed her and he was already scrutinizing her features, intensely.

'What? Has someone said something? Has someone upset you?'

'No,' she insisted, 'it was just a mistake.'

'What was a mistake?'

'Those women over there,' she pointed at the ladies under the Copaifera tree. 'They thought I was your nanny. They told me to come over here with the other nannies. But they weren't being nasty, they just made an assumption. Let's face it, I don't look like them, do I? I can understand why they thought that.'

Sherlock's face had darkened and his lips pursed to a thin line. He looked at her then across at the group of ladies then he took Molly by the hand and began to march across the lawn in their direction.

'Sherlock, don't be angry with them. They didn't mean to be rude and I don't want you to upset them. Sherlock, I am poking you in the back, RIGHT NOW!' She dug in her heels and forced him to stop and look at her.

'Please, Sherlock, don't make a scene,' she pleaded. He breathed in sharply, then out slowly and smiled his most charming smile. Turning again, he continued to lead her back to the group who were now all looking in their direction, curious to know why Mr Holmes was dragging his nanny over to see them.

'Good afternoon, ladies,' he purred, in his most upper class accent, bowing slightly from the hip. 'To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?'

The ladies smiled and giggled a little as they introduced themselves and Sherlock shook hands with them, graciously. Then he intoned,

'I'm Mr Sherlock Holmes and this is my wife, Dr Molly Hooper,' indicating Molly with his free hand while she smiled shyly and mouthed the word 'hello'.

'Your wife, Mr Holmes?' repeated the first lady.

'Indeed, madam,' he confirmed, 'not, in fact, my children's nanny but their mother.'

'But she has no wedding ring! How were we to know she was you wife?' the woman squawked, defensively.

Sherlock's face darkened again.

'Madam, Dr Hooper and I have made a personal commitment to one another. We haven't felt the need to participate in the archaic ritual of a formal matrimonial contract but having been together for in excess of two years we are, under British common law, entitled to term ourselves husband and wife.' He paused for a fraction of a second.

'Are you married, madam?' he enquired, with what Molly recognised as malice aforethought.

'I am, sir, to Mr Donahue, over there!' the indignant woman declared, imperiously. Sherlock looked toward the man she indicated. He was chatting to a third man, oblivious to the hole his wife was inadvertently digging for them both.

'Sherlock….' Molly warned, under breath.

'Well, madam, if you wish to remain in that happy state, can I suggest you lock your husband's liquor cabinet and wean him off the Havana cigars – oh, and cut down on his red meat consumption - before he smokes, drinks and eats himself into a myocardial infarction and you into widowhood.'

The woman stared at him, open-mouthed, for a full ten seconds then huffed and stalked off in the direction of her poor, unsuspecting husband. Molly breathed a sigh of relief, smiled demurely at the other ladies and dragged Sherlock away.

'See, I can be tactful, occasionally,' he gloated.

'Tactful?' Molly exclaimed. 'That was not very tactful, Sherlock.'

'Believe me, Molly, it was the epitome of tact. I kept my mouth shut about the affair he's having with his young secretary, his young male secretary,' he grinned. Molly snorted and they both giggled as Sherlock helped himself to two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and handed one to her.

'To the kindest, sweetest, most beautiful woman in the world, Molly Hooper, and the luckiest man, too,' he declared and raised his glass to her.

ooOoo