Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 06

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.

Tom dragged his attention back to his best man who was relaxing into his speech now that it was nearly over.

"No one has been told where the honeymoon will be and Tom's PA is certainly not letting on." He looked pointedly across at Angela White who pretended, not very convincingly, that she was entirely innocent of knowing anything about anything.

"Please be up standing for the toast."

Chairs scraped on the painted floor panels and glasses clinked in unison.

"I give you the Bride and Groom."

It was Fiona's day and she enjoyed it to the full. To be here on the lawn that she had only seen when her mother came to gossip with the housekeeper, or on her illicit visits to Tom's bed, was magic enough, but to be married to the man who would one day own Tremaine Place was everything that an outwardly cool but inwardly very unsure young woman could want.

She stood up with Tom to lead out the first dance.

"I feel like a princess at her first ball. Everything is so perfect."

Later Tom drew her away and up to his suite. There the housekeeper helped Fiona out of the wedding dress before leaving.

Standing dreaming while dressed in only her underwear and high heeled shoes the erotic sight was became too much for her brand new husband. His desire for Fiona had been building all that day, every time he looked at the bride he seemed to see right through the clothes to the delights concealed beneath, and having been denied sex for a month or more he was not going to wait a moment longer.

"It's a fucking wonder," he said advancing on Fiona, "that I lasted this long."

She opened her arms in welcome.

"God you look gorgeous today," he groaned as he crushed her body to his. With hands wound in her hair, now released from its binding, his elbows pulled her body against a rampant erection. Fiona merely threw her head back and gave him his orders in no uncertain terms.

"Do it now Tom, I want you in me now."

And with that anguished appeal Fiona fell back dragging Tom with her. Mouth locked to mouth they consummated the marriage there and then careless of the discarded wedding dress being crushed beneath their writhing bodies. On this occasion he took Fiona for the first time ever without using a contraceptive and she had purposely left her cap in the bedside drawer back at her mother's home.

In the bathroom later they compared notes on the day.

"I didn't know most of the people that I was introduced to."

"Don't worry neither did I," replied Tom although he had known rather more of the guests than his bride. "But at least you knew those who matter, and it is the bride's day," continued Tom thoughtfully as he tenderly wrapped Fiona in a fluffy bath sheet, "but I suppose in the end the guest list is mostly dictated by what the families expect." He smiled ruefully. "No wonder some couples just bugger off to a register office with a couple of witnesses."

"Oh no Tom," she was horrified, "that's not what you really wanted was it?"

She looked so crestfallen that Tom gathered her in his arms. "Of course not, it was a lovely day but now I suppose we must get dressed and go down to rejoin our guests."

...

The sound of a helicopter drew closer until the noise was drowning the music but as it settled on the pad and the engine was cut the band continued unabated.

Fiona was now wearing a ravishing going away outfit which was later reported in the society magazines as being by the same royal designer who had provided her wedding dress. She was carrying a simple bouquet when she left the marquee clutching Tom's arm who was immaculate in one of his understated Savile Row suits.

They were followed across the lawn by the guests who gathered around the couple as Fiona turned her back and in time honoured tradition threw the bouquet over her shoulder and high in the air. But there was no time to see who caught the flowers because she was immediately swept up into the helicopter to take off in a maelstrom of rushing air.

In fact Christine had forcibly elbowed her way into a position where the bouquet had dropped neatly into her outstretched arms and once caught was clutched to her bosom in an unconsciously protective action.

...

The newly married couple landed at the city centre airport where a car was waiting on the tarmac. They were to spend their first married night in Tom's lofty apartment.

"Good evening Mrs Cassavettes," Fiona was surprised by the first use of her new title by the commissionaire, but the second time when she was welcomed by the housekeeper sounded like music to her ears.

"I have taken the liberty madam of laying out a light supper in your sitting room and I have already unpacked your overnight bag."

There was now no question of the housekeeper deferring to Tom. Fiona was, as of today, Mrs Thomas Cassavettes and Mrs Fielding would look to her for instructions in the future. So when the woman had gone Fiona felt two feet taller and it began to dawn on the new bride that the marriage had changed much more than just her name. But how much it had altered would take far longer than this one day to discover fully.

"What overnight bag?" she said to Tom.

...

After an extended romp in the bedroom followed by a leisurely breakfast then coffee, the chauffeur took Tom and Fiona Cassavettes to Waterloo Station where they boarded the Eurostar for Paris. For a girl who had been brought up on the relative poverty of a vicar's stipend she was beginning to love her life spent with Tom, first as his on and off girlfriend, then fiancée and now in total bliss as his wife.

The late luncheon service in the first class coaches was deferential and efficient, the seats were large and comfortable and the ride was smooth as silk. Even at the slower speeds on the English side of the tunnel they seemed to be rushing along.

Later the couple made the short transfer from the Gare du Nord to the Gare de l'Est and then boarded the Orient Express. The Blue and Gold carriages of the Continental Wagon Lits were luxurious and sumptuously elegant right down to the smallest of the art deco fittings. Tom had tipped their personal steward lavishly on arrival at their coach and they were shown to a suite of plush, if cramped, refinement.

Fiona had still not seen any luggage and despite her new aunt Julia's reassurances was becoming slightly distressed at having no clothes to wear other than those she stood up in. However once they were in the compartment Tom was able to relieve her every doubt.

The honeymoon wardrobe had in fact been put together by Julia Montrose aided by an overwhelmingly impressed personal buyer at a major department store. After an initial series of mistakes when the young lady had misread the taste of both her eventual client and of the international model everything had suddenly clicked and the buyer's commission from that one day alone was enough to pay for a fancy holiday.

The new bride found that she had four matching Globe-Trotter cases of differing sizes labelled 'TRAIN', 'VENICE', 'FERRY', and 'YACHT'. There was a fifth matching but much smaller vanity case which she opened first to reveal a complete array of Kiehl cosmetics and other essentials, and clipped in the lid, a hairbrush with her new initials FC" chased into the silver back.

On the tiny dressing table was what she assumed to be a jewel box but was afraid to touch it.

"Go on, open it," said Tom delighted by her hesitation.

She lifted the lid and gasped as light was reflected off the precious stones now revealed to her wide eyed gaze. He had personally chosen a selection of modern jewellery directly from the Cartier designers whom he had visited long before the wedding. They had looked good on the model but on Fiona, when she reverentially tried each in turn, they seemed beyond price.

He then opened with a flourish the smallest case labelled 'TRAIN' and she found a delicious little Valentino peach coloured dress in crepe de chine with a short skirt and a plunging back. Underneath the tissue wrapping were lacy tights and Roberto Cavalli apricot coloured silk underwear and beneath all the night clothes were Jimmy Choo shoes in individual cotton travel bags which when revealed were simply something to die for.

"Oh Tom," she was now almost breathless from excitement, "come and kiss me." And then when locked in his embrace, "is there time for me to thank you before dinner?"

There was and she did, but on the way to his orgasm Fiona had two of her own a fact that pleased her new husband.

...

Tom woke in the middle of the night. Their compartment was lit only by the repeater light of a stop signal directly outside the window. Fiona was sound asleep in his arms and as the light changed from red to green and the train rolled on he drifted off to sleep again feeling happier than ever before.

The honeymoon couple finished their breakfast as the train rolled through the Swiss Alps and they were dressed and in the observation car when it called at Innsbruck. They spent a leisurely morning mostly holding hands before sitting down to a three course lunch and then without a word being spoken returned to their compartment which in their absence had been changed to a sitting room. But the absence of a bed presented no problem for anywhere private would have suited their needs.

In their hurry Tom took her first with her bottom on a hastily cleared table and with her legs locked around his waist. Later she stripped and they made full use of the banquette seating.

"To what do I owe this overpowering need for my body?"

Fiona was delicately circling Tom's nipple when she asked.

"I was going mad in those months up to the wedding."

"That's when men grow hairs on their palms, or so I hear?"

"Very funny!"

But the arrival of the train at Verona forced a gathering of possessions and they were finally ready to disembark as in the evening light the carriages slowly crossed the long viaduct and came to rest in Santa Lucia station.

If she discounted the oblique view from the carriage window Fiona's first proper sight of Venice was from the broad steps of the railway terminus looking down the Grand Canal. She was instantly enchanted and gripped Tom's arm convulsively as they followed the luggage down to a water taxi.

She sat, with eyes not knowing where to look first, on a cushioned seat in the front of a varnished wooden launch as Tom distributed wads of Euro's to the porters. Then the driver zig zagged down the sinuous curves of the canal expertly avoiding the whole array of vaporetti, rubbish collection barges, delivery boats and shiny black gondolas with their curious prows.

But to Fiona's eyes the view from the windows of their Hotel suite surpassed everything that had gone before. To her right was the entrance to St Marks Square and the Grand Canal and half right from her was the church of Santa Maria della Salute and the old custom house. Over the masts of the yachts in a marina opposite she could see the church and tower of San Giorgio Maggiore on its own little island and by venturing out onto the balcony she could lean on the balustrade and see out as far as the Lido and the open sea beyond.

Tom turned away from the porter who had needed two trips with his ornate trolley to deliver all their bags only to catch his breath at the sight of Fiona silhouetted against the evening light which was being reflected upwards from the waters of the San Marco Basin.

With brushed out hair backlit like a halo around her head it was a sight to inspire a Pre-Raphaelite painter let alone a love-struck new husband. She in turn saw the familiar look of arousal which quickly appeared and slowly, using the light from behind, performed a very indelicate bump and grind routine while he stood like a rabbit caught in powerful headlights.

There was so much about this wife that clearly remained to be discovered. He could still see the eighteen year old girl who had first attracted his love, then the twenty plus woman who had nearly backed out of their skinny dip, but those memories were rapidly being overlaid by this much more complex lady who was now being revealed to his gaze.