This story is entirely fictional.
*****
Francis tapped the microphone and seemed startled that it was working at all. Tom Cassavettes had sent his own newly acquired plane to bring his cousin Francis over from Harvard. Tom had already been Francis's best man at a recent ceremony in Boston and was pleased that Francis could return the favour at his marriage to Fiona Napier.
"Most of you assembled here will have probably realised by now that I am the Best Man..." there was a polite titter of amusement at this first laboured attempt at humour but undaunted he ploughed on. "...I don't know Fiona very well but from my short acquaintance with the lady I think that Tom is a very lucky man."
The groom and most of the other men present in the marquee were clearly in complete agreement and responded with a rumble of stamping feet. Tom looked in wonder at the radiant young woman beside him wearing the wedding dress that had caused so much controversy and leant closer to whisper.
"They have no idea how lucky I really am. You look absolutely ravishing."
...
Tom had avoided the worst of the wedding preparations having been in the Far East on extended business and for this escape he was thankful. On his occasional and short visits home he had been immediately caught up in the infighting taking place between his mother and Jean Napier.
His mother, Margaret Cassavettes, had been persuaded against her will to take charge of the wedding arrangements but Fiona's mother found it very hard not to interfere although always doing so in a spirit of wanting to be helpful, or so she claimed.
It was difficult for Margaret because there were inevitably occasions when she was absent during which Jean would, predictably it seemed, counter some instruction already given. And doubly difficult for his mother because Tom had inconsiderately but specifically asked Margaret to prevent Jean from sanctioning anything that might ruin Fiona's day.
But Margaret had soldiered on while frequently being forced to bite her tongue although in one thing at least she was in full agreement with her son. It was Tom who was paying for everything, not the bride's family, so he was entitled to make the decisions.
"It's alright Tom for you to issue your orders..." Margaret had cornered him on a rare visit to Tremaine Place, "...however softly phrased you might make them, and then expect them to be obeyed without question. You behave more and more like your father but in his case he has me to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Hopefully Fiona will rise to that task once you are married."
The wedding reception was being held in a marquee erected on the manicured croquet lawn of Tremaine Place. Caterers were employed, a pop group who had a plethora of platinum discs and also a number in the current pop charts were to play for the dancing later on, and enough pink champagne by the crate or Guinness by the barrel was to be constantly available.
Margaret's sister Julia had ended all the arguments over
The Dress
by sweeping Fiona off to London. She had then virtually frog marched the bride into a fashion house which was currently very much in vogue following a recent royal wedding and where it helped that Julia was a top fashion model.
And it was a good job that Tom had bottomless pockets because the soon to be Mrs Thomas Cassavettes was treated like royalty and innumerable fittings later was provided with a gorgeous confection in cream figured silk which showed off her splendid shoulders and high bust line but was without a train for there were to be no attendants.
...
Fiona had woken on her wedding morning and promptly rushed into the bathroom to check her complexion. No spots or zits visible thank the lord not that she had ever suffered from them, at least not since puberty, but there was always a first time. No sign of her period either. Fortunately all was well so she could begin looking forward to the day.
Her morning was pre-planned like a military operation and was under the supervision of Julia who had moved into Glebe House on a temporary basis. She had assembled what seemed like an army of professional dressers, make-up artists, and hairdressers all of whom had already arrived for the great day.
On Julia's instructions Jean was to be deterred from interfering and by force if required. Therefore the mother was adroitly intercepted whilst already on her way to her daughter's room and steered back to her own bedroom there to receive the administrations of her own trio of experts, much to her secret delight.
Time went by in a haze of pleasure for both women who only a trifle behind schedule found themselves being escorted into large shiny limousines and on their way to the church.
In the absence of Fiona's father Nicholas Cassavettes had volunteered his services to give away the bride who he was slowly getting to know better and was enchanted when she finally appeared. To find that this stunning confection would soon be on his arm was a great pleasure and although she had hardly uttered a word in the car being totally overawed by the occasion, Fiona had blossomed as they entered the church. Her mouth, just visible under a half veil, was curved upward in a smile of unalloyed pleasure.
What might have been a dark moment took place later on the receiving line. It was an unfortunate encounter between Fiona and Tom's second cousin Maria which was overheard by both Tom and Margaret. The bride, having completely forgotten about the hatred felt by the two sisters for their male relative, had been ingenuously friendly in her welcome only to be met by studied rudeness when Maria had tried to put Fiona in her place.
"Well just look at you, aren't you the cat that got the cream, but it should have been my sister so you'll not be surprised if I don't wish you any happiness."
But to her evident frustration this spiteful greeting fell totally flat. Fiona thanked her sweetly for coming while giving no sign of the blow she had actually received.
Margaret actually felt like applauding her new daughter-in-law but Tom vowed revenge for he knew that Fiona had grown up suffering the veiled insults of those who considered themselves superior to a poor vicar's daughter and moreover one who was often forced to wear jumble sale clothes. However, and unknown to Maria, Fiona had learnt long ago how to effectively deflect such hostility and the outsmarted woman was forced to retire in defeat.
Maria and Christine, ungracious guests of the Groom, seemed in Tom's opinion to have tried their level best to mar the day. Mrs Maria Bentley and her prematurely balding husband were at their sneering best backed up as always by sister Christine with her newly acquired fiancée. Eleni believed that she had finally achieved her goal as Christine was now engaged to a "title". His name, which Eleni delighted in repeating to anyone not already driven off by Oswald, was the Honourable Gerald Smythe, and he was the son of a genuine Baron who was also a member of the House of Lords. Far superior to Mister Thomas Cassavettes for all his riches was what she was actually implying.
All these three women were ostentatiously dressed in over the top Parisian haute couture and dripping in jewellery more suitable for a state occasion than a private family wedding. Tom had gone through a charade of welcome but maintained a reserve bordering on disdain from then on.
Unfortunately they were difficult people to ignore for at one point during Francis's speech Tom heard Oswald's braying voice in the distance. He was hectoring his sister-in-law and her husband to be, evidently giving them financial advice which seemed to Tom to be drawn merely from an inflated sense of his own worth.
