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“Call me Buck.”
23
“MRS. KATHY FRAMPTON.”
“Who’s she?” asked Virginia.
“A distant cousin of Ellie May Campbell,” replied Trend.
“Then someone at the wedding is certain to know her.”
“Unlikely. Her invitation was returned from Seattle unopened, with ‘Not known at this address’ stamped across the envelope.”
“But surely someone who works for the wedding planners will know Mrs. Frampton didn’t reply to her invitation.”
“Yes, and that person just happens to be in charge of the guest list, and also the place settings for lunch at the ranch. And I can promise you, she won’t be telling anyone.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Virginia, sounding unconvinced.
“Let’s just say she was delighted with the divorce settlement I negotiated for her.”
Virginia smiled. “So how do I get hold of Mrs. Frampton’s invitation?”
“I slipped it under the door of your room an hour ago. Didn’t want to disturb you.”
Virginia dropped the phone, jumped out of bed, ran to the door and picked up a large cream envelope. She ripped it open, to find an invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Larry Campbell to the wedding of their only daughter, Ellie May Campbell, to Cyrus T. Grant III.
Virginia picked the phone back up. “I’ve got it.”
“Be sure to make it a memorable occasion for Cyrus,” said Trend. “I look forward to hearing all about it when we meet up again tomorrow morning.”
* * *
“Ellie May, will you take this man to be your…”
Virginia was seated in the eighth row of the congregation, among the cadet branch of the Campbell family. She had an excellent view of the nuptials, and had to give Ellie May some credit because Cyrus looked almost acceptable in morning dress, and may even have shed a few pounds. And from the look on his face, he clearly adored the about-to-be-pronounced Mrs. Grant. Although, in truth, even a devoted mother would have been hard pressed to describe the bride as anything other than plain, which gave Virginia some satisfaction.
Virginia had taken a seat as close to the aisle as possible, in the hope that Cyrus would spot her as he and his bride left the church. But at the last moment, a family of three rushed in and edged her toward the center of the pew. Despite her staring fixedly at the groom as the new Mr. and Mrs. Cyrus T. Grant proceeded down the aisle together, Cyrus appeared oblivious to anyone other than his bride and marched happily straight past her.
After Virginia had left the church, she checked the instructions neatly
printed on the back of her invitation card. She was on coach B, which, along with seven other buses, countless limousines and even the odd car, stretched as far as the eye could see. She climbed on board and selected a seat near the back.
“Hello,” said an elegant white-haired old lady, offering a gloved hand as Virginia sat down next to her. “I’m Winifred Grant. Cyrus is my nephew.”
“Kathy Frampton,” said Virginia. “I’m a cousin of Ellie May.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” said Winifred as the bus moved off.
“No, I hail from Scotland, and I don’t get over to the States that often.”
“I see you’re expecting.”
“Yes, in a couple of months.”
“Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?”
Virginia hadn’t given a moment’s thought to any questions she might be asked about being pregnant. “Whatever the good Lord decides,” she said.
