M. Darcy Takes a Wife

© 2006 S. Faith

Standard disclaimers apply: the whole toy chest belongs to Helen Fielding. I'm just playing with her dolls.


Part 7: Is There Something I Should Know?

Sunday 23 Sept (cont.)

By the time Bridget arrived at 192, Shaz had already briefed the troops so Jude and Tom would be fully up to speed. Tom and Jude flanked Bridget at the table and Shaz sat across facing the door, several packets of ciggies, ashtrays, two bottles of chardonnay and four wine glasses on the table in the middle of it all.

Jude looked serious. "You trust him, right?"

"Of course…" Bridget sounded hesitant. She did, but this… this was all very hard to interpret any other way.

"All right."

Ordinarily, summit meetings were acidic and brutal. This one was much different, much kinder than usual, probably because they actually liked and respected Mark, and they were all as perplexed as Bridget was. "Has he ever given you any reason to doubt him?" asked Tom gently, taking her hand, pressing the ring into her skin.

"No, which makes this so puzzling." Blinking, she fought back tears again.

"Bridget, think. What other possible explanation could there be?"

"I don't know." Bridget could not think of anything that would need to be kept so discreet, who else this woman in Edinburgh and on the phone could be. Suddenly her mobile started to ring; it was Mark. Jude commanded her to hand over the phone. When she did, she turned the ringer off, setting it down on the table beside her.

"We are figuring this out first," Jude proclaimed, "before something stupid happens."

"You mean before I do something stupid like chuck my ring back at him," Bridget said, irritated at the implication, but realising Jude was right.

"Anyway," said Shaz, taking the reins. "Would he really fucking have anything to do with her after she shagged Daniel? I mean," she paused dramatically to take a drag off of her cig, "look at how he beats the fuck out of Daniel at every given opportunity!"

"True!" Jude said, pointing her own cigarette at Bridget.

"Maybe he's stopped blaming her… maybe he's seen what a serial womaniser Daniel really is and considers both of us equally victimised…" Bridget grabbed Jude's cig and took a long drag, hating herself for doing it. Exhaling the smoke in a protracted sigh, she said, "I just don't know what to think."

"Don't you dare think that, because it can't possibly be true," scowled Jude. "She had a choice, and so did you. And he knows it. And I'm sure he's not likely to forget it."

"Absolutely," said Tom, with Shazzer nodding vehemently.

They spent a great deal of time analysing and rehashing the situation, but the general consensus was that they all equally refused to accept that Mark would rekindle any sort of relationship with his ex-wife after what she'd done to him, but were at the same time absolutely puzzled about what could be going on. They also planned on how best for Bridget to broach the subject and keep it a rational, calm exchange with absolutely no chucking of rings. During this period of discussion Bridget's phone began to frantically blink with one Missed Call after another. Jude absolutely forbade her to pick up.

As they were nearing the end of wine bottle two, cigarette packet three, and Shaz's sad theory that if there really was no other explanation, perhaps men really couldn't help it, Shaz went silent mid-sentence and her face went paper white as her eyes connected with something behind Bridget. Her voice was barely audible as she said, "Oh my bloody God and fuck." Tom and Jude also turned to look and went similarly wide-eyed.

"What?" Bridget asked.

"Bridget." It was Mark's voice, low and rough.

The bottom of her stomach dropped out. She turned slowly. He looked terrible, probably no better than she did.

"Mark," she said. At least she tried to, but no sound came out.

He looked from Shaz, to Jude, to Tom, then back to Bridget. His voice extremely calm, he asked, "Can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

She nodded. Her friends watched mutely as they walked towards the door.

Once outside, Bridget squinted in the sunlight. Strange things about bars, pubs and clubs: even during the day, it always felt like it was late night whilst inside.

"I have been trying to call you for hours. I finally went to the flat and Jamie told me Sharon had gone to meet you here. Why didn't you answer?"

"I'm sorry," she croaked, her eyes fixed on the pavement.

"Bridget, look at me."

She did. He was unmistakably disappointed - which, she reminded herself, was worse than angry.

"When were you going to tell me?" he asked softly.

"Tell you?" Bridget blinked incomprehensibly. "Tell you what?"

Mark blinked back. "I went upstairs to watch some telly until you came home… and I found a pregnancy test box. So. When were you going to mention that to me?"

Suddenly, her thoughts raced back to Shaz's night of panic during Mark's stay in New York, and the inevitable not-pregnant celebratory evening of Wet White Shirt, wine and Milk Tray. The flattened box must have worked loose and fallen out of the entertainment center, unnoticed until now. She could not suppress an involuntary snort of laughter, then covered her mouth.

"I'm glad you find this situation amusing." He was still very solemn, and impatience had crept into his voice.

"It isn't mine—"

"It certainly isn't mine," he interrupted sharply, "and surely it did not migrate there on its own from the chemist's."

"Shazzer," she explained. "Pregnancy scare. She came over when you were in New York because she wanted moral support. Obviously, not pregnant." She indicated 192. "I guess we were a little careless with the packaging."

He sighed with obvious deep relief and looked back down, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, pacing towards the street then back. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "…And all I could think of was you going through that all alone, afraid to come to me because of… last time." However, whip sharp as he was, he quickly drew the obvious, confusing conclusion: "So why the Dating War Council meeting? Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"Well, first of all, happy birthday," she offered feebly.

He didn't reply.

"It all started… I was trying to find out when your birthday was, just after I got sacked."

She could almost see the wheels spinning. "That was weeks ago. Why didn't you just ask me?"

"Because I felt humiliated, not knowing," she admitted. "And I wanted to surprise you. So I went to sneak a peek at your driving licence. In your wallet." She stopped to collect her thoughts. "There was this poem that came fluttering out. In Japanese."

He furrowed his brow, his eyes working back and forth as he processed what she'd just said. He squinted his eyes, blinked, and then the light dawned. "Ono no Komachi. My God. It's been years since I thought about that poem. It came out of my wallet, you say?"

She nodded slowly.

"I don't understand why that upset y—" He stopped abruptly. "Oh. You thought it was something from— Well. It isn't."

"Well, yes, I actually figured it had been there for some time and that you didn't even know it was still in there. Which is why I never came to you about it. But that, together with what Janey said, what Magda said, and…" She took a steadying breath. "Mark, who's Harumi? Is she your ex-wife?"

Mark blanched, momentarily rendered speechless. "Where did you hear that name?"

Bridget's hands were shaking at the possibility that her suspicions had been correct, and she folded them together to stop them. "I accidentally overheard you… on the phone earlier today. I'm really sorry - I didn't mean to."

He brought his hand to his face, pressing his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes, drawing his brows together. Finally he said, "She's not my ex-wife."

"Then who is she?"

Slowly he brought his hand down, his eyes focused intently on her. "She's… a wedding consultant."

Bridget felt like her brain had just exploded in her head. "What?"

He continued, pacing before her as he spoke: "You kept intimating you wished the wedding to be behind us as painlessly as possible. So I asked Jeremy to ask Magda to look into her connections to find someone who could help us, well, elope to Scotland, and she gave me Harumi Tanaka's name. I rang her up for a brief phone consultation, met her in Edinburgh while I was there and we toured the castle. What you overheard was me scheduling a follow-up meeting while she's in town. Which I was intending to whisk you off to without your knowing." He stopped, then looked to her pointedly. "Surprise."

She prayed for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. She collapsed against the side of the building, covered her face with her hands, tears fresh on her cheek again, unable to bear meeting his eyes. Her voice was the barest of rasps. "Oh my God, Mark. I'm so terrible. You've never given me any reason to doubt you and yet I continue— God. Stupid, stupid, stupid…" She thought for a moment, drying her eyes then dropping her hands down. "After everything today… and then I heard you say you didn't want me to know, setting up secret meetings… and using her first name, which was so familiar of you…"

"She insisted on that." He came closer to where she now was. "My side of the conversation probably did sound pretty damning," he admitted, "and for that I'm sorry. But instead of coming to me straightaway, you go haring off—" He stopped himself as he'd begun to raise his voice, then continued in a tone that made her think how devastating he must be in the courtroom. "What I mean is that I'm sure they—" (he pointed in the general direction of the table inside) "—did everything to feed your fears." He suddenly looked pretty angry.

"No." Bridget was gentle but emphatic. "They were trying to think of anything else it could possibly be. They insisted on working it out before I did something idiotic. They like you and they want me to keep you around."

"Oh." His expression was somewhere between embarrassed and astonished.

She looked to him through her lashes. "So… are we okay?"

He cleared his throat, his face typically inscrutable, almost severe, and for a horrible moment she wondered if she'd cocked it up for the last time… but then he smiled and said softly, "I'm okay with the phantom baby if you're okay with the non-existent affair."

Her relief was immeasurable, washing over her entire being. Returning the smile equally, she grabbed the front of his shirt and got up on tiptoes, salty tears of happiness melding into their kiss as he folded her into his arms. Several minutes later, as she placed her heels on the ground again, she commented breathlessly, "Yeah, I think we're okay." He wiped the tears away from under her eyes with his thumbs, then kissed her on the nose. She still had his shirt firmly in her grip, and stepped backwards towards the door of 192, pulling him with her. "Come on, birthday boy. Let's have a drink."

"What, now?"

"Why not?"

"Well, I thought you might like to return to the Dating War Council and give them a status report, you know… stand down from red alert." He grinned playfully, and she knew it really was all right again.

"You can make it yourself - special appearance by the Enemy Combatant." Her grin was equally wide. "Besides, save for blue soup and orange pudding, you barely know my friends. And since I do plan on keeping you around a long while, you should get to know them." She released his shirt and smoothed it down.

He looked a little self-conscious, straightening his tie. "All right, then."

They re-entered to find the tableau very close to the way they'd left it: the three friends staring at the entry door with bated breath. When they saw Mark's hand firmly in Bridget's, they unfroze and smiled.

"Hello, Mark," said Shaz with exceeding politeness. "Happy birthday."

"Yes. Happy birthday. All sorted out then?" queried Jude.

Bridget and Mark exchanged glances, then smiled and said in unison, "Yes."

"So who is she?" asked Tom boldly as he grabbed a fifth chair and set it next to where Bridget had been sitting.

"First order of business," Mark said as they took their seats; "the number of times my dear Bridget has gone walkabout in the last three months is a bit on the alarming side - so I'd like all of your mobile numbers so I can be better prepared next time."

With a grin, Shaz obliged, as did Tom and Jude. In turn they asked for Mark's number for their own mobiles. Bridget smiled proudly, for even before hearing one word of explanation, the entire episode was forgiven and forgotten on the strength of a single 'yes'. He was truly accepted by the Urban Family.

Bridget fetched a scotch for Mark (her treat) and when she returned they all sat rapt while he explained the entire story, from Edinburgh to that afternoon's phone call. Really, he was a natural storyteller, so at ease and personable, which was perplexing considering how much he'd rather not spend time in the company of large crowds. Probably it was his years of professional training that allowed him to slip into a lawyerly persona and orate in such a comfortable manner when he needed to.

As Mark continued to speak, one of his hands remained on his half-drained scotch glass. The other, out of sight under the table, slid over Bridget's knee, at first squeezing gently, then drifting upwards on her leg, under the hem of her knee-length skirt. Really rather bold for him, even in a dimly lit place like this. She dared to glance at him; he was now explaining why he had a copy of that poem in his wallet, but she barely heard for the pounding of blood in her ears.

"Bridge, you okay?" It was Jude.

"Wha— oh, yes, fine. Little too much chardonnay on an empty stomach." It was a plausible lie. She couldn't remember the last thing she'd eaten.

"Do you want something?" As Mark asked this, he raked his nails along her inner thigh. "Some dinner?" Damn him for looking so calm and smug! And hellaciously sexy.

Shaz looked to her wristwatch. "Fuck! It's six o'clock! I'm supposed to meet Jamie for dinner at six-thirty."

The others concurred that it was time to break things up. Bridget got to her feet and beckoned Shaz to come near for a hug. "Thank you for everything today," she whispered to Shaz as they embraced.

She pulled back, whispering in return, "What are friends for? Now, go take that man home and shag him, for fuck's sake."

Still whispering, she asked, "Is it that obvious?"

Shaz raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on. Between the birthday and the row, he has 'shag me' written all over his face."

Bridget glanced over to him, smiling as she met his intensely communicative eyes: it was quite true.

……………

"At the risk of being accused of hurling a double entendre at you," asked Mark as they scaled the stairs up to the house, his arm about her waist, "what are you in the mood for?"

She stepped through the front door. "It's your birthday, you decide." She turned around to look at him.

"Oh, I already have," he said smoothly.

She began to smile, but pursed her lips together instead. "That was cruel, back there in 192."

Mark didn't reply immediately, but she saw the corner of his mouth turn up wryly. "You bought me the scotch, my dear. And as I've said before, be careful what you wish for," he added quietly.

"Hm?"

"You wanted impulsive, unplanned, unrehearsed, impetuous—"

Chastened, she interrupted, "Yes, yes, you have a very large… vocabulary. It was still very wicked." As they stood there in the foyer, he unexpectedly took hold of her and kissed her roughly. Her knees went weak to feel him so firmly against her. "That was wicked too," she gasped.

"Mmm hmm," he murmured, stepping away.

"What about dinner?" she asked playfully.

"There's a pizza place on Lupus Street that delivers." He reached into his pocket, flipped open his phone, dialed directory assistance and placed an order. He hung up. "Thirty to forty minutes. Now. Shall we fill the time?"

A diabolical plan popped in her head. She thought of the night when she'd come upon him asleep in his office, woozily contemplating shagging him right at the desk. She swiveled her head in the direction of the office, then looked back to him. "Are we alone?"

"We are."

She tipped her head back slightly. "How accommodating is your office chair?"

When he did not respond, she claimed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the office. Without argument he followed. She led him to the chair, sat him down, made the necessary adjustments to certain articles of clothing and straddled his lap, pressing herself against him and kissing him voraciously.

……………

Bridget rested her temple against Mark's cheek, breath still ragged. "Very accommodating," she exhaled, answering her own question.

His fingers raised to caress her cheek, then trailed down to the thumping pulse in her neck. "We shouldn't have done this here," he said darkly.

"What? Why not?" She sat upright to meet his eyes, still feeling a bit woozy.

But he merely chuckled softly. "Do you have any idea how difficult it's going to be to get a minute of work done at this desk ever again?"

"Oh." Flushing pink, she smiled playfully, kissed the tip of his nose, then resumed her embrace of him. "So I was kind of distracted before and missed part of what you said."

His hands traced affectionate paths on her back through her blouse in a gentle caress. "Which part?"

"When you were explaining why you had that poem. I'm afraid I didn't catch a word of it."

"Ah." Again he laughed lightly. "At some point in my long and storied academic career I was studying comparative literature and in the course of researching found this amazing love poem, so sparingly and beautifully real without being overly saccharine."

"Don't tell me you know Japanese as well as Latin and Ancient Greek."

"No. I just painstakingly copied the characters down from the resource, and the translation as well. For all I know I've missed a line or a dot here or there and have instead written an insult against a thousand generations of ancestors." He thought for a moment. "How on earth do you know about the Latin and Greek?"

"Law Council dinner." She sat up, brushing her fingers along his hairline, smiling proudly.

"Right. I'd forgotten." Looking earnestly up to her, he said, "I'd also forgotten how perfect that poem was. Of course, it's been a long time since I could personally relate to its sentiments."

She smiled, smoothing his hair down with her fingers and willing happy tears not to spring to her eyes as she kissed him then held him close again.

They sat for a moment in contented silence until Mark cleared his throat and suggested they make their way out of the office. "As much as I like you where you are, I need to, um, stretch my legs. And the pizza may be here any time."

"Couldn't possibly meet the delivery person in this state," she joked, gingerly rising from her position on the chair. Her own legs felt quite rubbery. "And I still have a gift for you."

"Do you?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Mm-hm."

He towered over her as he stood, brushing her mussed hair back with his fingers. "My darling Bridget," he intoned. She closed her eyes and smiled serenely, reveling in that gentle caress, thinking how close she'd come to losing it all over a misunderstanding, how destroyed it would have left her. And on a sudden, perhaps fueled once more by scotch-inspired friskiness, he was kissing her again, bending to accommodate her height, wrapping his arms around her; falling once more under his spell, she felt herself being lifted ever so slightly, then placed on the edge of the desk. The slight pressure of his fingers persuaded her knees apart, then he was up against her, his hands raising the hem of the skirt…

Suddenly, she heard a light rapping on the door, which they'd at least had the sense to close behind them on their way in. She wasn't sure he heard the knocking, but he certainly heard Sehana's voice: "Mr Mark? Did you and Miss Bridget order a pizza?"

Mark stopped and drew back with a look of abject horror upon his face. "Yes. Yes we did."

Several seconds of silence, then, "All right. I'll bring it to the kitchen."

"Thank you."

Bridget bit on her lower lip to stop herself from laughing.

……………

They went to the kitchen for the pizza (Bridget detouring to retrieve the gift bag from where she'd left it) and sat eating in relative silence, as if they were naughty schoolchildren who had been caught stealing chalk, at least until Sehana called down to the kitchen to bid them good night. Mark called back to wish her a good evening.

"So," Bridget said. "Your present."

He watched in silence as she reached into the bag, and pulled up a relatively small box, handing it to him. "What is it?"

"Just open and find out." Smirking, she added, "Sorry I couldn't arrange a paddling pool."

She caught the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye as he pulled the top from the box to reveal his present, a silver watch with a black leather band and white Roman numerals on a black face. She carefully gauged his reaction and was pleased with what she saw; he turned his smiling eyes to her. "It's not anything I would have ever thought to pick out for myself, but it's very smart. Thank you, darling." He pulled the watch out of the box and made to slip it on his wrist.

"Wait, wait, look at the back."

His eyes met with the miniscule engraving on the back and she swore she saw his eyes gloss with tears as he read it.

Mark,
I didn't have to
sell my hair,
but I would have.
Love,
Bridget

He looked up to her once more. "I…" He set it down and reached to kiss her. "It's the best gift I've ever received." The quiet tone of his voice, the tender expression on his face, told her that he was not hyperbolizing, and she was touched beyond measure.

She, however, did not want to foster mawkishness on his birthday night. That's when she pulled gift number two out of her bag.

He looked very confused at seeing a pink box. "Is that for me as well?"

She grinned. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

He reached for the box, tipped open the lid, saw the black tissue and a bit of satin and turned pink… but smiled. "Ah." Quickly he replaced the lid. "Well. I think this may very well be the best birthday I've ever had. Imagined pregnancy panic notwithstanding."

"It certainly turned 'round for me." She stood from the table, stood and picked up his new watch and the pink box, making her way to the staircase leading to the main floor. At the base of the stairs, she realised he remained at the table, to which she cocked her head and asked innocently, "You coming?"

"Not yet," he replied, perfectly straight-faced in the manner of James Bond.

Monday 24 Sept

"Bridget, I'm so sorry," said Magda, scuttling towards Bridget's table at Coins and taking a seat, coffee in hand. "I'd forgotten Mark stayed in Edinburgh an extra day to— oh, shit." Her hand flew to her mouth. "I didn't fuck this up too, did I? God, I would have called him straightaway after you called me but I didn't have his number and I couldn't get hold of Jeremy…"

Bridget shook her head, inwardly amused to hear Madga rattled enough to resort to using words like 'shit' and 'fuck'. She looked up to her auburn-haired friend. "It's all right. Mark told me all about the wedding consultant last night."

Magda looked mortified. "I do hope I didn't ruin anything. I didn't mean to keep secrets or make you think—"

"There was a bit of a misunderstanding at first, but it's really all right now." She briefly explained the evening at 192, concluding with, "I need to thank you, actually, for the effort you went through on our behalf." She smiled, and Magda relaxed at last.

"So," she said, hunching conspiratorially towards Bridget, "do you really think you'll do it? Run off to Scotland and get married?"

She honestly didn't know.

"What about Shaz? The rest of them? What did they think about it?"

"They didn't really say. They were just happy he wasn't having an affair after all."

Magda grinned. "Your mother would murder you if you did, you know."

"…And that would be on the 'Pros' list," she said matter-of-factly, with a wink.

Magda smiled. "Well. You do what you have to do to be happy, and the rest of us will be happy too."

Ah, the wisdom (and naïveté) of married friends. Bridget sighed. "Do you think it's weird? To want to elope in this day and age?"

Magda looked pensive. "I remember what a nightmare planning my own wedding was like and honestly… I might do it differently if I had it to do over again." Magda sipped her coffee. "Honestly, a whirlwind wedding in Scotland sounds marvelously romantic and all you'd really need is a date and a dress." At Bridget's look, she asked, "You have set a date, haven't you?"

"No," she sighed.

Magda was clearly in her element. "That would be the first thing. It's hard to plan anything with no date set. And how about a dress?"

Bridget shook her head.

"Bridge. Honestly. You've got to promise to get that dress soon."

Boy, the way everyone kept saying these things, she was starting to think they might have a point. "All right."

Magda consulted her watch. "I need to get over to have my highlights done but if you need anything, you be sure to call me."

"I will."

……………

Bridget was typing away at her laptop with 80s pop blaring into her skull when she felt her hair being swept up from the back her neck followed by a kiss there. She smiled and looked back to find Mark behind her. She removed her earbuds and leaned back so that he might properly kiss her. "Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself." He divested himself of his suit jacket then laid it upon the arm of the sofa.

"How was your day?" Inwardly, she smirked at the domesticity of it all.

"Utter shit, but I'm home now." He loosened his tie and sat upon the sofa, sighing heavily.

"Sorry to hear." She stood to join him, taking a position on the sofa behind him, kneading his shoulders through his shirt. "My goodness, you've got rocks back here."

He groaned. "I told you it was a shit day."

She reciprocated the kiss on the back of his neck. "Dinner? Hot bath? Your call."

"Mmm. This is quite nice." She continued working the muscles in his shoulders, rendering him in a certain kind of ecstasy. "How about your day?" he managed between grunts.

"Writing column number two. I can't believe they're paying me for this."

"Excellent."

"Saw Magda too. She confessed her part in the Scotland thing."

He didn't reply; she imagined he was smiling.

"We talked about wedding-type stuff. She thinks running off to Scotland is a great idea."

"What do you think?"

She pursed her lips. "I'm not sure. There's a part of me that still wants the big to-do. But you were right - mostly I wish it was already over and done with. I feel like we're already married."

He was silent for a few minutes. "You know, we could just go the civil route, get the legalities taken care of… and have a big party later."

It was a route she hadn't even considered; leave it to the legal brain to think of it. "Really?"

"We could go register our notices any time. I know exactly where my decree absolute is."

She stopped. "Your what?"

"Divorce decree."

"Ah. Of course you do." She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her nose in his hair. "You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious."

"It is tempting."

"You know, we could give our notices and take it from there. The notice is good for a year."

"Really?"

He turned around and looked to her. "Really."

Still, Scotland seemed awfully romantic.

"You don't look thrilled with this idea," he observed.

"In all honesty… I'm rather fond of the Scotland idea. Except… my mother would kill me."

He smiled. "Tell you what. Why don't we give notice through Harumi and see what happens? You'll need to find your passport and birth certificate, and something that shows your address is here now. Like your phone bill."

The legal brain was at it again. With a sort-of plan coalescing, it was becoming frighteningly Real. And still no dress or date—

"When?" she asked suddenly.

"Wednesday."

Panic stations! "Married on Wednesday? Isn't that too soon?"

"Wait, what? I was talking about the consultation with Harumi."

"Oh. Durr."

He sat back on the sofa, pulling her with him. He was silent for a moment before speaking. "My only requirement is not December."

She wondered why, as his parents' anniversary (as well as her own parents') was December. Then she remembered, and there was no need to ask. She cast her eyes down. "Ah."

"Bridget, don't look so sad. I just would rather you and I have something unique to celebrate, with no parents or spectres of exes looming over our day. On Wednesday we can discuss the possibilities."

"All right."

"Excellent. Now." He laid back, pulling her on top of him. "I'm done with work for the day, I'm home alone with you, the office door's closed." He reached up to kiss her, but it was clear she was not in the present. "Bridget? Is there something wrong?"

"No," she said solemnly. "It just overwhelms me sometimes."

"What does?"

Her bright blue eyes looked down into his brown ones. "That you love me as much as you do."

"I don't say it if I don't mean it," he confided, his hands rounding the curve of her bottom.

"I know, and you've never lied to me. Not once. Yet I keep fucking up and thinking the worst."

"When you should just come to me and ask," he said with a hint of wryness.

"Believe me, in future I will."

"I knew you'd eventually come to your senses," he said.

"Gah, you sound like my mother."

"This'll take your mind off of your mother." He lurched upwards and claimed her mouth with his own.

Thursday 27 Sept

It was now official: the paperwork had been filed the previous day via Harumi, and as Bridget understood it, in as little as fifteen days they could, if they chose to and there were no legal snafus, be married. Jude, Tom and Shaz were thrilled when Bridget told them over coffee and croissants at Coins, and immediately they decided to take her shopping. Bridget didn't tell them of the subsequent meeting with Jeremy, who had been pressed into service to help Mark draw up (in days previous, also a surprise) a very equitable (and hopefully never needed) prenuptial agreement, and Magda, who served as witness to the signing of same. Jeremy might have treated Magda like dirt at times in the past, but he was an excellent lawyer.

Tom shrieked, "Now it's absolutely vital to that find that dress!"

"Where shall we go?" asked Shaz.

"Gah." She combed her fingers through her hair in frustration. "I cannot take one more sugar-frosted wedding dress."

"Why don't we just go see what we find?" suggested Jude. "We can just… flow. Let the dress come to us."

As Bridget expected, Shaz rolled her eyes, but Tom said, "Excellent plan. Let's go!"

They flagged down a taxi and jetted to the usual haunts with no success. It was only as they had admitted defeat and were heading out of Chelsea that Bridget stopped dead in her tracks in front of a little out-of-the-way vintage boutique. There in the window was an ivory dress, short, loose sleeves, a scooped neck with a hem that reached mid-calf… and not in the least bit frilly or lacy. It looked like it was made of silk, with a low waist and a slightly flared skirt, with tiny pearls adorning the collar, sleeves and hems. Her hand went to her mouth of its own accord.

"Bridget?" asked Shaz.

Her voice was a whisper when she spoke. "It's beautiful."

"Let's go inside!" said Tom.

"I hope it fits!" Jude blurted.

The others shot her a scathing look.

"Durr! I meant because it's too perfect!"

……………

"Guess what?" asked Bridget, floating into the house on a cloud of happiness and jumping into his arms.

Kissing her, he asked, "What?"

"I found a dress! And shoes!" she added excitedly to underscore the importance of her find.

"Fantastic. Where did you find these objects of wonder?"

"In Chelsea. Jamie's keeping them for me at the flat so you don't see them," she advised.

Furrowing his brow, he asked, "You have them already? I seem to recall that wedding dresses have to be fitted a million times to perfection."

She pushed thoughts of Ex-Wife out of her mind. "Not this one. It's vintage, silk and pearl, and I love it just as it is."

He grinned. "Then it sounds like it was made for you. What does it look like?"

Bridget effected a serious look. "I've already said too much," she said in a dramatic whisper.

He looked appropriately humbled. "Oh. Right." Then he smiled, kissing her again. "Well. I'm certainly looking forward to seeing them on you."


Reference / Links:

Section title: "Is There Something I Should Know?" by Duran Duran. Durr. :)

If this site allowed links, you'd be able to follow a link to a Pizza Hut UK on Lupus St in London that delivers, and is not far from Holland Park.

Do a Google search on 'Scottish wedding consultants' to see the sorts of services that are offered in the local castles.

I found a cheesy 60s-style drawing of the dress Bridget found, only with a slightly wrong waistline. But you can't get to the pic from here. :)