helped. No one could have expected a week of torrential rain atthe beginning of June which had made the area around themarquee a veritable quagmire.A sudden breeze brought her hand to her head to secure thewide-brimmed straw boater and with her other hand plucking jthe hem of her skirt out of the mud, she became aware that shewas being observed with some amusement by a man standing just inside the entrance to the marquee.She knew who the man was. She had been introduced to himearlier. He was Matthew Lawford, Susan's eldest brother, who,together with his wife, had come up from London for the
wedding. But Darrell had heard about him before then.
Susantalked about him a lot. She was very proud of her brother whohad succeeded in getting to Oxford and was now one of theyoungest financiers in the city. A tycoon, Susan called him,although Darrell suspected that was a word coined by her familyand not by Matthew Lawford himself.Her initial impressions of him were mixed. Physically, he jwas a very attractive man, with, straight brown hair, brown eyes,and the kind of tan not associated with summers in Sedgeley.She guessed his age to be around thirty-two or thirty-three, andalthough his beginnings were not in doubt, several years livingin London had smoothed out most of his accent. He was tall,without an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones, and hisclothes, obviously out of the class of those of his father, and brothers, fitted him with ease and elegance. And yet elegantwasn't a word Darrell would have used to describe him. Hisface was too hard for that, his manner occasionally exhibiting a toughness which would not be out of place in the wrestling ring. It was the sinuous way he moved