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‘Mum? What are you doing here?’
Seb couldn’t help smiling at Daisy’s face. She looked exactly as he felt: surprise mixed with wariness and shock.
‘Darling, we have a wedding to plan and no time at all. Where else would I be? Now hurry up and eat that. We’ll get you some nice fruit while we’re out. Page five, Seb.’
Seb glanced down at the tabloid newspaper Sherry had handed him and opened it slowly, his heart hammering. Surely not, not yet...
He dropped it on the table, a huge picture of Daisy and himself smiling up from the smudged newsprint. ‘Hot Prof Earl and Wild Child to Wed’ screamed the headline. He stepped back, horror churning in the pit of his stomach, his hands clammy.
‘I knew it.’ Daisy’s outraged voice cut into his stupor. ‘They mentioned the expulsion. Why not my first in photography or my successful business?’
‘I expect they also mentioned my parents’ divorces, remarriages, drinking, drug taking and untimely deaths.’ He knew he sounded cold, bitter and inhaled, trying to calm the inner tumult.
‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded small and Seb breathed in again, trying to calm the swirling anger. It wasn’t her fault.
Although if she wasn’t who she was then would they be so interested?
‘I’m sorry,’ she added and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to lay a hand upon her shoulder.
‘Don’t be silly, Daisy, of course they’re interested. Seb is just as big a draw as you, more so probably.’ Sherry’s blue eyes were sharp, assessing.
‘Yes,’ he agreed tonelessly. ‘We knew there would be publicity. I just thought we would have more time.’
If Daisy hadn’t gone to Huntingdon Hall, hadn’t involved her parents...
‘The best thing to do is ignore it. Come along, darling. Show me the wedding venue. I don’t have all day.’
Daisy sat for a moment, her head still bowed, cheeks pale. ‘We have appointments at ten, Mum, so I only have half an hour. If you’d warned us you were coming I could have told you this morning was already booked up.’
‘You two head off, I’ll be fine here. There’s plenty to do, just show me the venue.’
‘Honestly, Mum. I can organise this quite easily. I really don’t need you to do it.’ There was a hint of desperation in Daisy’s voice as she attempted to reason with her mother.
‘I know very well that you prefer to do everything alone, Daisy. You make that quite clear.’
Daisy pushed her half-eaten breakfast away and, with an apologetic glance at Seb, took her mother’s arm. ‘Okay, you win. Seb, I put your breakfast back in the pan to keep warm. Come along, Mother. I don’t think even you can fault the Tudor Hall.’
Seb watched them go before sliding his gaze back to the open newspaper. He focused on the picture. He was driving and Daisy was looking back, smiling. It must have been snapped as they left the hall. How hadn’t he noticed the photographer?
Was this how their lives would be from now on? Every step, every conversation, every outing watched, scrutinised and reported on.
With one vicious movement he grabbed the paper and tore the article from it, screwing it into a ball and dropping it in the bin, his breath coming in fast pants. He wouldn’t, couldn’t be hounded. Cameras trained on him, crowds waiting outside the gate, microphones thrust into his face. He had been five the first time, as motorcycles and cars chased them down the country lanes.
His father had driven faster, recklessly. His mother had laughed.
The tantalising aroma of cooking bacon wafted through the air, breaking into his thoughts. Seb walked over to the stove, his movements slow and stiff. The frying pan was covered, the heat set to low and inside, warmed through to perfection, was his breakfast. Saved, put aside and kept for him.
When was the last time someone had done something, anything for him that they weren’t paid to do?
It was just some breakfast, food he had actually cooked, put aside. So why did his chest ache as he spooned it back onto his plate?
* * *
Daisy had to work hard to stop from laughing at the look on Seb’s face. He stood in the Great Hall, staring about him as if he had been kidnapped by aliens and transported to an alternate universe.
And in some ways, he had.
Her mother had wasted no time in making herself at home, somehow rounding up two bemused if bedazzled volunteers to help her set up office in the Great Hall. Three tables in a U-shape and several chairs were flanked by a white board and a pin board on trestles with several sticky notes already attached to each. A seamstress’s dummy stood to attention behind the biggest chair, a wreath of flowers on its head.
