The reception was to be held in Miss Mason’s studio by special request from Paul and Sara. Sara felt that already the house on the Embankment was hers no longer.
There were to be few guests at the wedding—only the other artists of the courtyard, Bridget, Christopher, Andrew, and the two executors of Giuseppe’s will, who would bring with them the important letter whose secret would be at last disclosed. The journey and the fatigue of the ceremony, however quiet, would have been too much for Mrs. Treherne. Sara’s own father and mother had been dead several years. Christopher was to give away the bride, and Barnabas was to be best man.
And so the day dawned, a still, November day of soft mists and a pale blue sky—a tender day full of peace and happiness.
Christopher went to the house on the Embankment to fetch Sara. She was waiting in the drawing-room for him, in a sapphire-blue dress, a large black hat, and her soft sable furs.
“Ready?” said Christopher, smiling. And they went down the stairs together.
Pietro was in the hall. His face was radiant with pleasure. Paul and Sara had arranged to keep him in their service.
“Good-bye,” said Sara. “We’ll let you know when we return to London. You will of course hand over the keys of the house to the executors when they ask for them.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Good fortune and happiness to your Grace.”
“Thank you, Pietro,” said Sara. And then she passed through the door he held open for her, and went down the steps to the taxi, Christopher following.
“Christopher,” said Sara a moment or two after they had started, “you’ve been a very good friend to me, and I’d like to thank you.”