Free Blue Bedroom and Other Stories by Rosamunde Pilcher

the rest of my life.”
    He smiled. He said, “That wouldn’t do anybody any good. And it wouldn’t bring the Admiral back. And you know, you’re mistaken. He did want the wedding to go ahead. He said as much. He went to see my father about two weeks before he died. I think he’d probably been feeling a little unwell, or perhaps he had some sort of a premonition, but they were talking about the wedding, and the Admiral told my father that if anything did happen to him, then he didn’t want it, under any circumstance, to make any difference to Jane’s wedding.”
    Laurie wiped her eyes again. After a little: “Is that really true?” she asked him.
    â€œI give you my word, it’s true. Isn’t it typical of the old boy? He always liked everything cut and dried, shipshape and Bristol fashion. And I’ll tell you something else, too, although I shouldn’t jump the gun. It’s a confidence, so you’ll have to keep it to yourself.” Laurie frowned. “He’s left this house to you. He wanted you to have it. His favourite grandchild and his best friend. Now, don’t start crying again, because if you do, your face will go all red and blotchy and you’ll be a hideous bridesmaid instead of a beautiful one. This is a very happy day. Don’t look back over your shoulder. Think about Jane and Andrew. Keep your chin up. The Admiral will be so proud of you.”
    She said, “I’m so afraid of making a fool of myself.”
    â€œYou won’t,” William told her.
    *   *   *
    And now it was time. In the porch of the ancient church, the bride and her father and the bridesmaid arranged themselves. Above, the clangor of the wedding bells was stilled. From inside the crowded nave came the small whispers and rustles of an impatient and festive congregation. Laurie gave Jane a kiss, and stooped to arrange the skirts of her dress. Jane’s bouquet was heavy with the scent of tuber roses.
    The vicar, in his starched white surplice, waited to lead the small procession. The church warden gave a signal to Miss Treadwell, the village schoolmistress who played the organ. The music started. Laurie took a deep breath. They moved forward, through the doorway, down the two wide shallow steps.
    Inside, the church was dim, awash with flowers and drowned in their scent. Sun shone through stained-glass windows as the congregation, in all its finery, surged to its feet. Laurie did not think about Grandfa’s funeral, but instead concentrated on her mother’s pink hat, her brother’s broad shoulders, the sweetly brushed heads of his children. One day, she thought, when they’re bigger, I’ll tell them about the Phoenicians. I’ll tell them all the marvellous things that Grandfa ever told me.
    It was a good thought to hold on to. It was looking ahead. Suddenly, Laurie realised that the worst was over. She had stopped feeling nervous and miserable. She simply felt wonderfully calm, making her way down the flagged aisle behind her sister, stepping in time to the music.
    The music. The music Miss Treadwell was playing. It was resounding, triumphant, exactly right for a wedding. It had probably never been played before on just such an occasion, but it bore them up towards the altar on a tide of glorious, joyous sound.
    Spanish ladies
    A lump swelled in Laurie’s throat. I never knew. I never knew they were going to use Grandfa’s music for a wedding march.
    But how could she have known? She had refused to come to the wedding rehearsal, and probably none of her family had had the heart or could summon the nerve to tell her.
    Goodbye and farewell to you, fair Spanish ladies …
    Grandfa. He was here. He was here in the church, revelling in the tradition, the ceremony, encouraging all of them. Still part of the family.
    Goodbye and farewell to you, ladies of Spain.
    Andrew and William stood waiting at the end of the