The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,11
the dining room. The large, gracious room, seldom used anymore, had been thoroughly turned out, its panelling and furniture polished, curtains aired, and the rugs and carpets shampooed.
Every piece of silverware and crystal had been polished until it gleamed, and in the warm, rich glow of dozens of candles, the table settings glittered like they might have done fifty years earlier. The heady fragrance of fabulous flowers filled the air as the sideboards overflowed with spectacular arrangements of old-fashioned pink roses and white peonies. The centrepieces were scaled-back versions of the same arrangements, placed precisely along the length of the table.
At Meg Wynne’s request, the evening was black tie, and as the guests took their places, everyone agreed that reviving the long-abandoned custom of dressing for dinner had been the right thing to do.
As he looked around the room, Emyr’s father’s face lit up.
“It’s wonderful to have so much life in the old place again,” Rhys Gruffydd said to Meg Wynne who was seated on his right. “Thank you, dear girl, for organizing this. I know it’s terribly old-fashioned of me, but I do miss the days when people used to dress for dinner.”
He looked admiringly around the table and then back at the woman who, by this time tomorrow, would be his daughter-in-law.
“Everything looks so beautiful. And it’s so good to have the house filled with young people and overnight guests again. I just wish that Emyr’s mother could have …” His voice trailed off as he contemplated his water glass. After a few moments, he looked at his companion again and continued. “We’ve been too quiet here, for too long.” A wistful smile softened the angular contours of his face. “I hope all that’s going to change once you and Emyr have settled in. I know you’ll be good for him. No, better than good for him. You’ll be the making of the man. You’ll give him the strength he needs and be his rock.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Meg Wynne replied. “It’s such a beautiful house, and I know it’s seen many wonderful parties. We’ll bring some of that energy and excitement back.”
She smiled at him and lightly touched his hand before turning to have a few words with the guest on her other side.
As the waiters entered to serve the starter, a tomato, red pepper, and orange soup, Meg looked across the table to Emyr who was deep in conversation with David Williams, the old friend he had chosen as his best man.
Suddenly, the sound of Meg’s father’s voice, raised in alcohol-fuelled anger, registered with the guests and the conversational buzz died away as everyone stopped what they were saying and turned their attention to Bill Thompson.
“I’m telling you, no good will come of it!” he was shouting at his wife. “She’s—” He broke off as his wife put her hands to her face in despair and he realized that everyone was watching him.
After a moment of stunned, embarrassed silence, the guests turned back to the person beside them and did their best to pick up conversations where they had left off.
“Take no notice,” Rhys whispered to Meg Wynne’s profile, covering her hand with his. “He’s in his cups and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
But as Meg Wynne sat staring straight ahead, a dark look of undisguised hatred clouded her face.
The meal continued through the fish course of turbot with lobster sauce, champagne sorbet, main course of roast saddle of Welsh lamb, followed by cappuccino mousse, and finally, a cheese board. Out of consideration for Rhys Gruffydd’s failing health and to allow everyone to get to bed by a decent hour, coffee, liqueurs, and Godiva chocolate truffles were served at the table, rather than in the drawing room.
The dinner drew to a close about eleven, chairs were pushed back, and guests gathered up their belongings and made their way to the front entrance where a small van was waiting to give anyone who had been drinking a lift back to the village.
Thank yous and good nights were called back to Emyr and Rhys Gruffydd as they stood in the doorway, lit from behind by the warm glow of the entrance hall, with David standing behind them in the shadows. As the last of the guests departed, Rhys made his way slowly back inside and David and Emyr stepped outside and lit cigarettes.
“Big day tomorrow,” David said, blowing smoke at the stars. “Are you up for it? Sure you want to go through with it? It’s not too