Back to Bristol Ch. 21

Molly thought for a moment, "We'll be there for Ben's birthday."

I must have looked guilty, "Yes. I was going to have a word with you about that. Our tickets were open ended, in case you wanted him back earlier, and I had to get him back for his birthday, but I was hoping it'd be OK to stay longer."

She smiled, "Well, it doesn't matter now." There was going to be no rain on her parade.

The Company Annual Dinner and Dance was held at a big hotel just out of Bristol. Molly looked fabulous, and she couldn't stop smiling every time she looked at me, but when she wasn't looking at me she looked strained and nervous.

We made our entrance, and I saw Piers and Jeanette. I held up Molly's left hand, and both of their faces lit up. But as they congratulated us, Piers said "So what was the problem?"

"Something she said, quite minor, in her original confession. That at that time when she succumbed to his ploys she said that she forgot about me. And buried deep in me was my memory and hatred of that phrase. Once we got over that, I was never more certain of anything in my life. I feel that I'm walking on air, that a five year nightmare is over."

He smiled, "Then at some stage I must finish your education and make sure that you get the worse hangover for five years to match."

Molly rather clung to my arm through the reception bit, except when we found Carole and Rick. And Carole's sheer joy as she hugged me, helped Molly feel more confident. But even then, she stayed close by me, until we got near to having to go into dinner, when she excused herself to go to the Ladies.

I caught sight of Peter Davies. He was with a group from the Abbey, and they all seemed happy enough, laughing and joking. He saw me, and our eyes met for a second, and his face clouded.

But then Molly came back and she looked ashen and shaken. "What's wrong?"

"Just the stony silence as I went into the Ladies. And everyone just seems to be staring at me, and whispering. You wanted this, but not only is it horrid for me, but some of it will rub off on you."

I thought for a moment as we went into dinner. I noticed that there was a small stage set up at one end, which I knew was for some sketches that some of the staff put together to pull the legs of the executives in a short, after dinner revue. Apparently it was a tradition, and Carole had already warned me to take it in good humour. After that I was meant to make the Managing Director's speech, and then the dancing could begin.

I turned to Molly, "Trust me." And I strode onto the stage, picked up the microphone and asked, "Can I have sound please."

That caught the stage crew unawares, but within a minute I not only had a working mike, but a spotlight trained on me.

"I'm sorry, Ladies and Gentlemen, but I understand that by tradition I'm meant to do my bit at the end of the Revue. But that would mean I can't have a drink until then. And I can't go without a drink that long, after all I've got a lot to make me drink - being your boss...."

And I gave them a pretty straightforward Managing Director's Christmas speech. I did a couple of good jokes, and told them how professional and good they all were, and what an exciting future we all had, and all the usual crap. But then I paused, and became personal.

".... A year is a long time in anyone's life. For some of us the last year has been the year that a dearly loved parent may have died. Or the year that our first child is born. Or the year that we see a child grow up and go off to college. For me, this has been a pretty exceptional year. A year ago I was Managing Director of our sister company, NDF in Apeldoorn in Holland. And I was hundreds of miles away from Bristol, the city where I was born and brought up, the city where I got married, and the city where my two sons still lived. I had no idea that I would be returning in February.....

And I went on with a fairly accurate but sanitized, and I hope heart-warming account of coming back to meet the woman I'd lost, lost to one of their good and well respected colleagues. And how we had re-found our love, and the years of pain and loneliness had rolled away. And then I told them that I was so pleased to announce that my ex-wife had agreed to become my new wife just last night. You could have heard a pin drop for a second, and just before the thunderous applause, you could here a door slam. I suspected that Peter Fucking Davies had just left the building.

I went on to ask them to be kind to Molly, it was her first public outing since our reconciliation. And then I went on to profusely thank Carole for putting up with me and all my mood swings, and got the spotlight to swing round onto her as she took a bow.

After that, Molly went from being the subject of scurrilous gossip, to the star of the show. And she rose to the occasion and shone.

We were just coming off the dance floor, as we had led off the dancing after dinner, when Piers sidled up to me.

"Nice speech. But you may not have noticed, but when you announced your engagement, Peter walked out."

"I heard the door and I assumed it was him."

Piers looked at me, and I could see concern in his eyes, "He's in the bar and making a valiant attempt to single-handedly drink it dry. He didn't eat, and it's all on an empty stomach. Do you think some of us should put him in a taxi and send him home?"

I considered that, "Maybe getting drunk is what he needs to do. Give me ten minutes and I'll come and see for myself." And I turned back to receiving the handshakes and congratulations from a long line of colleagues.

Molly wasn't doing much better. She was sitting at our table, and as one person vacated the chair on her left, another would arrive on her right. Later she told me that everything was fine, except for those who wanted to know the details of how I proposed. They wanted to hear about me on one knee at the top of the Eiffel Tower, or at least at a candlelit dinner. And she couldn't really tell them it was crouching on the floor of a back street tattoo parlour, with her cringing in fear, on a rainy night in Bristol.

After about twenty minutes of bonhomie, I managed to find Piers and we went into the bar. It was surprisingly empty, just a few couples and one large group of young men, and Peter. He was standing alone at one end of the bar, next to the space for the waiters to come and go as they collected their orders for the main ballroom. In front of him he had a glass with what looked like a double brandy.

I stood with Piers, just looking at him, and wondering what to do or say, when he noticed us. He turned, with his glass in hand, and took two steps towards us. Then he clicked his heels, gave us a very deep bow, with a flourish of his hand, raised his glass in silent salute, and sipped his drink in a silent toast. Then he turned back to the bar.

I turned to Piers, "Let's hope that that was him bowing out."

"You reckon? I told you, if at first he doesn't succeed, he tries, tries and tries again."

I smiled grimly, "Well, then I really will have to be a fucking bastard."

Piers smiled, "In which case, I saw a bottle of Glenfiddich behind the bar......"

To be continued...