The Cold Light of Mourning

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Authors: Elizabeth J. Duncan
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Jennifer. “No news. Have you ever heard of this happening before?
    “Hmm, I don’t think so,” Alberto replied. “Not the bride just up and disappearing, although I did have a bride cancel the wedding at the last minute, once. It was terrible. One of the bridesmaids had heard from the best man, who thought it absolutely hilarious, that the groom had had it off with some tart the night before, and she decided to tell the bride all about it. Thought she would want to know. The poor woman was hysterical, as you can imagine, and said she couldn’t marry the man because if he would do that on the night before they got wed, how could she trust him after they were married?”
    As Alberto reached for his hair dryer, a knock on the door signalled the arrival of tea and sandwiches. While he looked around for the nearest electrical outlet, Jennifer opened the door, brought in the tray, and set it down on the dresser. With his hair dryer in one hand and styling brush in the other, he added shape and volume to Anne’s hair as he continued his story.
    “I’ve often thought about that whole scenario. Would it have happened if the groom hadn’t been drunk? Did the bridesmaid do right to tell the bride? I think so. If it had been me, I would have wanted to know. Should the bride have called off the wedding? I think it took a lot of courage to do that. There’s the whole issue of everything already paid for, and what people will say.”
    Anne and Jennifer were silent, lost in their thoughts.
    “You know, I could murder for a cup of tea. Why don’t we take a break now and we’ll sort out Jennifer in a few minutes. Shall I be mother?”
    Alberto poured the tea, handed it around, helped himself to several sandwiches, and then gingerly lowered himself into the most comfortable chair in the room.
    “What happened to that bride afterward?” asked Anne.
    “I don’t know,” said Alberto. “If she changed her mind and married the bloke later, or if she married someone else, I wasn’t invited back to do her hair a second time. The really interesting thing was, she made up her mind to call it off when I was only halfway finished with her, and told me to get my hands off her head and leave her alone. So I did, and she spent the rest of the day with only half her hair done. It was the strangest thing. Made her look very wild.”
    “She must have been past caring,” said Anne.
    “Oh, she was that, all right,” agreed Alberto. “At least about the hair.”
    Twenty minutes later Jennifer’s hair was done and Alberto was packing up his things and getting ready to leave.
    “Look,” he said, “I’m sure your friend will turn up, but I’ve got other appointments booked, and I need to move on. Here’s my card so just call me on my mobile if you want me to come back later to see to her. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a call later anyway, telling me what this is all about.”
    The girls thanked him and showed him out.
    “Well,” said Anne, “I’ll leave a message for Meg Wynne downstairs with reception and on her room phone that we’re waiting here for her.”
    She closed the door behind her, leaving Jennifer contemplating the little bowl of fruit.

Seven
    E myr drove slowly through the town before reaching the turnoff that would take him to Ty Brith. He knew that his next task on this terrible, confusing day would be to tell his father that Meg Wynne was missing, and he was absolutely dreading it.
    In the final stages of pancreatic cancer, Rhys was so frail, and going downhill so rapidly, that Emyr was afraid of the effect this news would have on his much-loved father. He wondered if he should ask the doctor to be present when he told him, and then decided there wasn’t time.
    As he drove up the final stretch to the Hall, he pictured the candlelit scene from the night before. How happy Dad had been, he thought. Everything reminded him so much of the good old days—the women in their evening dresses, the men in black

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