Ian Tregillis - Bitter Seeds

Heike deflated. She unleashed a long sigh as she set down her cutlery.

Reinhardt crossed the room to lay a hand on Heike's shoulder. “I'm disappointed. I'd hoped that to night we'd dine alone together.”

Heike tossed the dishes of her unfinished meal back on her tray. She stood, and with another brief nod to Klaus, swept out of the hall. Reinhardt crossed his arms, leaning back against the table as he watched her go.

After she was gone, he said, “You know, Klaus, we're uniquely positioned to help each other, you and I.”

“Is that so?” Klaus almost preferred Reinhardt when he wasn't trying to be charming. The artifice was both irritating and unconvincing.

“Oh, yes. It's no secret that things are changing here. I'll wager even stupid Kammler can see it.”

“Hmmmm.”

“It's only a matter of time before I'm promoted. But I'm afraid your career faces certain—” He cleared his throat, with a meaningful glance at Gretel. “—handicaps.”

Klaus looked at his sister, who didn't react to the insult. “What's your point?” he asked.

Reinhardt spread his hands in the air. “All I'm saying is that you could use friends in high places. And when I've moved on, I won't forget the friends I've left behind.” He shrugged. “Heike respects you, though I can't imagine why. Put in a good word for me, talk her out of this silly and frankly tedious resistance, and I'll return the favor when the time comes.”

You pig , thought Klaus. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“It's true,” chimed Gretel. “He'll get what he wants, eventually. She won't resist him forever.”

Reinhardt nodded, pleased by Gretel's prediction. “Listen to your sister, Klaus.” He waved a finger in the air as he walked away. “My offer stands.”

Gretel flipped through her magazine, still reading. “I like flowers very much,” she said to nobody in particular. “I think I'd want to be married in a garden.”

4 August 1939

St. Pancras, London, England

Marsh brought a bouquet of forget-me-nots and red carnations when he took Liv to dinner a week after meeting her at the Hart and Hearth. A month after that, she sneaked him into her garret at the boarding house, where they made love during a window-cracking hailstorm. A day after that, Marsh finagled a two-month advance out of Stephenson, added it to the cash he'd already saved, rode the Tube to Knightsbridge station, and bought a ring at Harrods.

He presented it to Liv on her birthday. They set the wedding for Marsh's birthday.

Liv, like Marsh, preferred a small ceremony. She was visibly moved when Stephenson and his wife, Corrie, offered to host it in their garden; she understood the significance of that place in her future husband's life.

Although he wasn't particularly religious, Marsh had taken to attending Sunday services with Liv. The Church of England vicar who had baptized Liv and eulogized her father agreed to preside over the nuptials.

The day had dawned gloomy and overcast, but the good fortune that had attended their courtship from the start saw fit to give them a blue sky by early afternoon. Corrie had draped the garden wall with ivy garlands and streamers of crepe paper. Marsh sucked in a sudden breath when Stephenson escorted Liv into the garden under an arbor strewn with hyacinths and roses. The sunlight on her milky skin and simple white gown made her luminous.

Will gasped. “You've outdone yourself,” he whispered.

“You have it, right?” said Marsh.

“Have what, Pip?”

Marsh turned. Will winked.

“You're terrible,” said Marsh as he turned back to admire his approaching bride. The Stephensons' tiny garden seemed ten leagues long. He'd never seen the old man move so slowly. But he knew he'd forever hold behind his eyelids the image of Liv under roses with daffodils in her hair.

“One of us has to be. Your bride is a perniciously civilizing influence.”

Marsh cast about for a retort, but then Liv and Stephenson joined them, and all he could think was, I'm getting married. This is real. I'm marrying this amazing, stunning woman. She's marrying me.

It was a simple ceremony, brief as it was small. Liv, like Marsh, had little in the way of family. In addition to Will and the Stephensons, the only guests were Liv's mother and a maiden aunt from Williton. Liv's auntie didn't approve of Marsh, but she teared up and tossed rice just like the rest.

Marsh and Liv took their first dance barefoot in the grass while listening to a scratchy recording of Vera Lynn. He kissed his wife, touched her, inhaled her.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he said.

“Hold me, fool,” she said, head on his shoulder.

Stephenson produced a bottle of champagne and seven flutes. Will waited until everybody held a glass before raising his own.

“Raybould and I first met at university, meaning I've known him longer than most, with two notable exceptions.” Will nodded at the Stephensons as he said this.

Then he turned to Liv's mother. “Mrs. Turnbull, I imagine you find yourself wondering, 'Who is this charming, clever, handsome, and fascinating man?'” She nodded meekly, looking delighted but nervous. “It is my great plea sure to put your mind at ease, madam.” Will took her hand, kissed it, and said, “My name is William Edward Guthrie Beauclerk, and I am pleased to be at your service.” Laughter. “But perhaps you also wonder about this strange man who has stolen your daughter's heart.” Nervous smiles from mother and auntie. “My first impression of Pip was that he was coarse, neither handsome nor clever, utterly lacking in passion, rudderless, and without direction in life. But I give you my solemn word, madam, that I was utterly mistaken in every regard. Well, most.” More laughter. Marsh's face ached as he struggled not to grin like a fool.

Next, Will turned to address Liv. “Now, Olivia, all joking aside. I've known your husband for more than a decade, but in all that time I've seen him speechless exactly once. And that was when he met you, my dear. It takes a remarkable person to defeat Pip's quicksilver mind. You're more than a match for him, and in that, you've won him forever. Trust me. I know the man.”

Then it was Stephenson's turn for a shorter and gruffer toast: “This is the second time you've made a mess of my garden, lad. I trust you won't make a habit of this.” Marsh laughed, looking at his feet to hide the blush creeping into his face.

Stephenson turned to Liv. “You're a delightful lady, Olivia, and far too good for him. I only wish he'd met you sooner. Much, much sooner.” She laughed, too, her face shimmering with tears.

They drank. Will barely touched the champagne to his lips, and spit it back in the flute when he thought nobody was looking. He shrugged awkwardly when he caught Marsh watching him. But Marsh was too preoccupied to feel anything other than amusement.

The little garden party stretched into evening. Marsh danced with his mother-in-law, and Liv's auntie, and Corrie, but mostly with his wife. As the sky turned pink in the west, Will offered to take Liv's bleary-eyed mother and yawning aunt back to their hotel. Corrie took Liv inside to wrap up a watercolor of her choosing.

Alone in the garden, Stephenson and Marsh clinked their glasses together. “You've done well,” said Stephenson.

“I know,” said Marsh, staring after his wife as she entered the house.

Stephenson drained his champagne in one gulp. When Corrie shut the door, he said quietly, “You've had a lot on your mind, but I hope you haven't forgotten about Milkweed.”

Inwardly, Marsh sighed. “No.”

“Good. Because the film's ready for an audience.”

“Took long enough.”

Stephenson agreed. He nodded toward the back gate, where Will had departed with Liv's family. “Still think your specialist will shed some light for us?”