been a particularly bad thing to say, but he had met them and didn’t like what they stood for, even though they were perfectly pleasant (extremely pleasant, in fact) and Jago – yes, that was the name of the groom – was a harmless type (he had brothers Lollo and Waldo – go figure), although he had a bit too much charm and polish for Jackson to feel he was trustworthy. He was ‘something in the City’, a phrase that always baffled and irritated Jackson in equal measure.
‘We can’t possibly let you pay,’ the in-laws said when they were introduced to Jackson. ‘The kids want an enormous do and it would be our pleasure to foot the bill.’ Jackson had demurred, but to no avail. He had only met them the once and was finding it hard to believe his blood was going to flow with theirs – in ‘union’ – for the rest of eternity, or however long the planet lasted. They came from an ancient and aristocratic lineage, with a huge country pile outside Helmsley and a townhouse in Belgravia. They had the kind of serious and discreet old money you never hear about.
There had been a ‘small party’ – champagne and strawberries – in the garden of the London house to celebrate the engagement. Jackson had asked Julia to come with him for moral reinforcement, and even though it was her only weekend off from filming she had agreed quite cheerfully. She wanted to ‘see how the rich lived’, she said. Jago’s parents seemed to be under the misapprehension that Jackson and Julia were still a couple. Jago’s mother was a fan of Collier and was quite excited at the idea of welcoming a ‘celebrity’ into the family.
Jackson was contemplating a plate of tiny canapés when Jago came up behind him, put his arm around Jackson’s shoulder and said, ‘I can’t keep calling you Mr Brodie. Shall I call you Jackson? Or’ – he laughed at this point – ‘should I call you Dad?’
‘You could try,’ Jackson said. ‘But I wouldn’t advise it.’
‘I know my timing’s awful,’ Marlee said. ‘I didn’t intend to jilt him, Dad. And certainly not at the altar.’
‘And yet you did.’
‘I know, poor Jago. It’s such an awful thing to do to someone. I’m a complete cow. Is this the debrief now? Are you going to castigate me for leaving a trail of destruction in my wake, or congratulate me on regaining my freedom?’
‘Well, actually, I was going to commiserate with you for marrying someone called Jago.’
‘Posh boy?’
‘Yeah, posh boy,’ Jackson said. After a couple of miles he glanced at her and said, ‘Shouldn’t you be more upset?’
‘Time enough for that,’ Marlee said. She laughed again and said, ‘And after Julia went to all the trouble of buying a fornicator.’
‘A fornicator?’
‘It’s what I call a fascinator. They’re so stupid, I hate them,’ Julia said.
‘And yet you’re wearing one?’
‘Oh, well, you know, it’s not every day that your son’s half-sister gets married.’
Actually she looked rather fetching. The fascinator wasn’t ludicrous, not a royal-wedding one, but a discreet little black cap with an alluring net veil that made her look old-fashioned and French, especially as she was wearing a two-piece suit that ‘shows I still have a waist’. Time had been called on her role in Collier – the ‘popular pathologist’ had met a grisly end in her own mortuary after being dragged around a lot of East Coast scenery, which viewers always appreciated seeing. Julia had let slip to Jackson that she was going to the gym on a regular basis. It was such an unlikely thing for Julia to be doing that Jackson could only presume she had answered the call from Strictly Come Dancing. He hoped it wasn’t because of Callum. ‘It’s nothing, just sex,’ she said airily when questioned. Jackson wondered if he was supposed to take comfort from that.
She definitely looked more stylish than Josie, who had opted for a floral dress and jacket that screamed ‘mother of the bride’. (‘Jacques Vert,’ Julia murmured. ‘Very ageing on her.’) No fascinator for Josie, instead a large ornate hat. She looked uncomfortable. Perhaps she knew her daughter was about to make the mistake of her life. Not that Jackson had had much more than a glimpse of the wedding party from the church door. The church was near the groom’s home, and was Norman and pretty, full of the same pink roses that made up Marlee’s bouquet.