Always and Only You

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Present Day

I hardly pay attention to where the bridal car is taking us until we reach the crossroads in the centre of Lower Hadwell. I expect the car to turn right, towards the main road that will take us further down the river to Dartmouth, but when it turns left, I sit up straight and frown. I shoot a look across at Gil and realize he’s not perturbed in the slightest, which only makes me irritated.

Where are we going? The reception is supposed to be at the Royal Marina Hotel. But I realize I can’t ask questions without getting embroiled in an exhausting conversation about why I don’t know where my wedding reception is being held, and even though this is only a dream, I can’t be bothered. I feel stressed enough already.

But then my substitute groom glances across at me and I see a playfulness in his eyes. He suppresses a smile. It’s as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking and he’s finding it amusing, which makes me want to whack him on the head with my bouquet.

Great job, Erin! Why this dream? Why this man? Are you trying to make yourself have a breakdown before you get down the aisle for real?

The Rolls slows to navigate both the narrow road and the steep hill leading towards the river. We pass within inches of stone cottages painted in ice-cream colours, and then the road widens and turns near the Ferryboat Inn, coming to a halt by a jetty jutting out over the narrow stony beach and then across the deep green water of the River Dart.

My groom gets out and goes around the back of the car, before opening my door and holding out his hand. From the glimmer in his eyes, I can see that he’s waiting for me to ask a question. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I’m so confused I can’t help myself. ‘Where…?’ I begin as I mindlessly take his hand, forgetting that usually, I’d rather stroke a slug than touch him. The only possible venue in Lower Hadwell would be the village hall, but there’s no way it could hold a hundred and twenty people.

‘You always knew this bit was going to be a surprise,’ he says as he leads me towards the wooden ramp with rails that connect the road to the pontoon.

I did?

Now I know I’m dreaming. There’s no way I would let anyone else loose on arrangements for this day. ‘I let you plan our wedding?’

He stops at the top of the ramp, looking bemused. ‘No, you know I didn’t.’

‘But … We were supposed to have the reception at—’ I shut my mouth. No. That’s not right. There is no ‘we’ for me and Gil. I have to remember that, no matter how real this all seems. And, as if to remind me of that fact, the breeze from the river curls around me, lifting the fine hairs on my bare forearm and I shiver.

I try again. ‘I thought the reception was going to be at the Royal Dart Marina …’

A wicked little glint appears in Gil’s eyes and I shiver a second time. The two things are not connected. They’re not. ‘I may have let you believe you’d guessed correctly, but actually, that was a tiny red herring I planted. I always told you the reception venue was going to be a surprise, even if you insisted on overseeing how each table would look, down to choosing every last bit of china and cutlery and obsessing over the seating plan.’

I want to say something but my head is empty of words.

Gil gives me a knowing look. ‘You had to give me something to plan, E. I couldn’t let you have the whole thing to yourself as your private control-freak project.’

Coming from Gil, this would usually be fighting talk, and I’m about to pull myself up to my full five-foot-four and let him have it, but then I catch the look in his eyes. There’s humour there. Not the biting, caustic kind of humour he usually hurls at me – the way he did in the hotel garden less than a day ago – but a warm, indulgent humour, suggesting he not only sees this side of me but quite enjoys it. I’m not sure what to say in response, so he makes the most of my uncharacteristic silence and leads me down the pontoon.

I know this village well. Simon’s parents live in Lower Hadwell, and we’ve spent many lovely weekends here over the years. It’s why we chose to get married here – a no brainer compared to my home patch in south-east London. I’m utterly charmed by the chocolate-box cottages, the steep hills covered with fields and ancient woodlands, the changing moods of the river. But now I stand and stare at the passenger ferry sitting at the end of the pontoon, a vessel I’ve climbed aboard many times, and I know I’ve never seen it like this. I’m completely astonished.

The local ferryman runs this service all year round using the same repurposed crabber his father sailed before him. It’s a wooden boat, about twenty feet long. Usually, brightly coloured nautical flags are strung between a small mast at the front of the boat and a post at the hull, but today they’ve been replaced with white bunting. Ribbons and posies of white roses to match my bouquet are fastened at strategic points around the boat.

I turn to Gil, my mouth open. ‘We’re getting on this?’

He’s looking carefully at my face, assessing my reaction. ‘We are.’

‘But what about the guests? How will they …?’ I trail off, noticing the larger vessel waiting thirty feet away from the jetty, similarly decorated, engine idling. I’m so gobsmacked that all thoughts of Simon and finding some way to get to him leave my head.

Gil climbs aboard the ferry, and then with one foot on the floor of the boat, the other on the bench nearest me, he extends his arm and offers me his hand.

I don’t know if it’s because of his smart dark suit and waistcoat, or the wind that is ruffling his too-long hair, but he looks like he just stepped out of a period drama. I mutely place my hand in his without argument or resistance. I’m unprepared for the jolt of energy that shoots up my arm – like electricity, but sweeter. Maybe that’s why I don’t tell him I can manage very well on my own, thank you very much, and allow him to help me into the boat.

The sharp wind whips around us as the boat pulls away, heading across a narrow point at a bend in the river to the centuries-old stone quay on the opposite bank. Before I’m even aware I’m shivering, Gil’s jacket is around my shoulders. I don’t know why, but that one simple action causes my eyes to fill. I turn and lay my head on his shoulder to hide my tears. I don’t want to see the half-smile that’s been playing on his lips all day fade, to see his eyes darken with concern.

As we prepare to dock, waiting for fenders to be dropped and ropes to be fastened, my curiosity kicks back in. Where are we going? I take Gil’s hand and step from the boat onto the stone jetty and then follow him up the narrow stairs to where yet another car decked out with white ribbon is waiting. I’ve been so bamboozled by the whole nightmare … dream … whatever it is … that I forgot to think about that. This side of the river is mostly farmland and winding lanes. Where on earth could we be …?

My eyes snap wide open and I freeze. The seconds tick loudly inside my head and then I turn to my groom to find a smile I’ve seen on his lips a million times before in my waking life; I’d just never been able to interpret it. I’d always thought it was a sneer of some sort, but now I realize it’s merely his way of hiding something he doesn’t want anyone to know. This smile hides Gil’s secrets.

‘No …’ I begin, trailing off as my eyes scan the wooded hillside, searching for the roof of a whitewashed building that peeks from the trees high above the river, even though I know I can’t see it from this spot. ‘Not there … You can’t have!’