Chapter 27

Bing, Richard and I are standing together, to the left of a gleeful Errol, who happens to be a licensed celebrant, amongst his many other relevant qualifications. Autumn has just begun, and we are down south again. A small army of waitstaff and caterers and event coordinators have spent 2 days dressing up the youth camp site, which became completely available after generous offers to relocate the few family campers to alternate luxurious accommodation for the weekend, except for a sweet old couple who have rented one of the caravan sites for this weekend every year for the last 45 years. They were married here on the first weekend in March 45 years ago and return every year to celebrate it. We all agreed they had to have front row seats for our double wedding, so they were duly invited and graciously accepted.. In fact, they have some of the only seats, a few metres away from us, reserved for the guests who need to sit, while the rest of our guests are arrayed around us along the beach, dressed in wedding finery, like us, and barefoot.

We have a wedding photographer and what feels like an entire film crew, documenting the day, but they are obeying our strictures and just documenting what is happening, rather than interrupting everyone to set up the perfect shots. The most irritating element are the 2 sanctioned, and 4 unsanctioned drones flying around, but I can already see Dan sending his most menacing security team straight for the operators, who must be hiding in the scrub further down the beach. This was only fair as the official photographer was engaged to share some of the wedding footage and photographs with the WA media to ensure they respect our desires to keep back behind the media line that Dan's beefed-up security team have made real. This very public "private" ceremony is planned to be blessedly brief.

I proposed to Elizabeth at the end of that week down south. It wasn't planned. We were taking a long walk on the beach, and we must have been close to where she had rescued me last summer. We talked about that afternoon, our first kiss, and the journey we had taken since then. I told her she had rescued me in so many different ways and that my life was so materially different as to be unrecognisable to me, though on the surface, it all looked the same. She never took her eyes off me, shining with love, trust, devotion, mischief and all manner of things that I couldn't bear not to have the chance of discovering for the rest of my life. So, I just blurted it out, "Marry me, Elizabeth. Make me the happiest man alive." It wasn't even a question. And her response was so typical. "It took you long enough, Fitz." A searing kiss, returned with fervour and all the faith, hope and love I could imbue followed, and then 3 months of wedding planning to lead us to this day.

Richard chuckles at my left and I know he has surmised the direction of my thoughts, presumably because of the goofy look that has replaced my habitual mask of indifference. I can never be indifferent when thinking about Elizabeth. Richard has captured that face on his phone many times in the last three months, just to mock me with it. Variations have turned up on my profile page of DG's website, and he somehow managed to put it onto my LinkedIn profile before I tasked Dan with securing those pages from my CFO. I hear a click and a smattering of laughter ripple through the watching crowd at his antics. I ignore him and smile at the guests, who are mostly watching with surprised warmth at my uncharacteristic good humour.

The weather is perfect this morning, with clear blue skies and a gentle breeze to accompany the rolling waves at our back. The crowd begins to turn and look behind them. One of Elizabeth's oldest friends is leading the procession along the path from the campsite, playing a tune on his violin that I don't recognise at first, but which morphs into the classic Canon in D by Pachelbel, when he arrives at the edge of the assembled guests where the rest of the string quartet have been waiting. Lydia was a few steps behind him, alternately beaming and then remembering to sprinkle the frangipani blossoms from her basket. Our ladies are attended by all of their sisters, and Charlotte Lucas, who is Elizabeth and Jane's closest friend and maid of honour for both. Charles realised, after much deliberation, that while he had many acquaintances, he had very few close friends, apart from me, so I was his best man, and Richard was mine.

I know she is walking down the aisle with Jane, on the other side of her father, only because that was the plan. In truth, I see nothing and no one but her. She is my vision, radiant in her simple silk gown, following a loose line along her curves down to her ankles, the red polish on the toes of her bare feet peeking out as she walks. She is carrying a single red rose and her head is covered by a translucent, loose scarf which flutters in the breeze. Her smile is incandescent, and I assume mirrors the one on my face. I spare a glance at her father, still an enigma to me, as he hands me his daughter. His face is a little stiff, his smile a little forced, as he looks down and says goodbye to his two eldest baby girls and entrusts them to our safekeeping. They both kiss his cheeks, Errol speaks, and I assume I respond in the right places, and say the right thing, though occasionally Elizabeth has to squeeze my hands to prompt me. I have no idea how Charles fares as I am completely entranced by Elizabeth. I can tell she is a little embarrassed at my intensity by her rapid blinking, but she does not look away. Then I hear the magic words, "You may now both kiss your brides."

By the sound of the clapping and hollering, I can tell Charles hasn't skipped a beat, but I take my time. Releasing her hands, I cup her face and smooth my thumbs over her soft cheeks before I slowly lower to kiss her reverently at first and then more passionately as she hums against my lips and leans into me. If it was possible to raise the roof at an outdoor wedding, our assembled guests make a valiant effort. The look in her eyes when I let her go, the promise of passionate warmth freely given and received, is all the reward I need. I kiss her forehead as I crush her to me and whisper forever into her ear.

"I now present to you, Mr and Mrs Bingley, and Mr & Mrs Darcy!"

Errol taps me on the shoulder and the spell breaks. We are directed to follow the guests back into the campsite and eventually end up in the hall to the table set aside for the official paperwork and signatures, while the guests are mingling, being served drinks and canapes, and waiting for the opportunity to congratulate us. We linger together, accepting refreshments and greeting all and sundry with mostly patient aplomb on my behalf, genuine warmth and gratitude on Elizabeth's. She will always be my better half.