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  Harvey bustled forward and took Anne’s hand and gave it to the priest.

  “I James Clarence Spencer, take thee, Rosalie Arlene, to my wedded wife…”

  “And what’s more, why should he recognize us when he’s only seen each of us once, and not as we really are,” continued Stephen.

  “And thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  “I, Rosalie Arlene, take thee, James Clarence Spencer, to my wedded husband…”

  “But he must have a chance of working it out if we hang around,” said Robin.

  “Not necessarily,” said Stephen. “No need to panic. Our secret has always been to catch him off home ground.”

  “But now he’s on home ground,” said Jean-Pierre.

  “No, he isn’t. It’s his daughter’s wedding day and it’s totally strange to the man. Naturally, we avoid him at the reception, but we don’t make it too obvious.”

  “You’ll have to hold my hand,” said Robin.

  “I will,” volunteered Jean-Pierre.

  “Just remember to act naturally.”

  “…and thereto I give thee my troth.”

  Anne was quiet and shy, her voice only just reaching the astonished three at the back. James’s was clear and firm:

  “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow…”

  “And with some of ours too,” said Jean-Pierre.

  “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  “Let us pray,” intoned the priest.

  “I know what I’m going to pray,” said Robin. “To be delivered out of the power of our enemy and from the hands of all that hate us.”

  “O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind…”

  “We’re near the end now,” said Stephen.

  “An unfortunate turn of phrase,” offered Robin.

  “Silence,” said Jean-Pierre. “I agree with Stephen. We’ve got the measure of Metcalfe, just relax.”

  “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

  Jean-Pierre continued mumbling to himself, but it didn’t sound like a prayer.

  The blast of Handel’s Wedding March from the organ brought them all back to the occasion. The ceremony was over and Lord and Lady Brigsley walked down the aisle watched by two thousand smiling eyes. Stephen looked amused, Jean-Pierre envious, and Robin nervous. James smiled beatifically as he passed them.

  After a ten-minute session for the photographers on the steps of the church, the Rolls Royce carried the newly married couple back to the Metcalfes’ house in Lincoln. Harvey and the Countess of Louth took the second car, and the Earl and Arlene, Anne’s mother, took the third. Stephen, Robin and Jean-Pierre followed some twenty minutes later, still arguing the pros and cons of bearding the lion in his own den.

  Harvey Metcalfe’s Georgian house was magnificent, with an oriental garden leading down to a lake, great beds of roses and in the conservatory his pride and joy, his collection of rare orchids.

  “I never thought I’d see this,” said Jean-Pierre.

  “Nor me,” said Robin, “and now that I have, I’m not too happy.”

  “Let’s run the gauntlet,” said Stephen. “I suggest that we join the receiving line at well-separated intervals. I’ll go first. Robin, you come second, at least twenty places behind, and Jean-Pierre, you come third, at least twenty places behind Robin, and act naturally. We’re just friends of James’s from England. Now, when you take your places in the queue, listen to the conversation. Try and find someone who’s a close friend of Harvey’s and jump immediately in front of them. When it comes to your turn to shake hands, Harvey’s eyes will already be on the next person because he won’t know you and will want to talk to them. That way we should escape.”

  “Brilliant, Professor,” said Jean-Pierre.

  The queue seemed interminably long. A thousand people shuffled past the outstretched hands of Mr. and Mrs. Metcalfe, the Earl and Countess of Louth, and Anne and James. Stephen eventually made it and passed with flying colors.

  “So glad you could come,” said Anne.

  Stephen did not reply.

  “Good to see you, Stephen.”

  “We all admire your plan, James.”

  Stephen slipped into the main ballroom and hid behind a pillar on the other side of the room, as far as he could be from the multi-story wedding cake in the center.

  Robin was next and avoided looking Harvey in the eyes.

  “How kind of you to come all this way,” said Anne.

  Robin mumbled something under his breath.

  “Hope you’ve enjoyed yourself today, Robin?”

  James was obviously having the time of his life. After being put through it in the same way by Anne, he was relishing the Team’s discomfiture.

  “You’re a bastard, James.”

  “Not too loud, old fellow. My mother and father might hear you.”

  Robin slipped through to the ballroom and, after a search behind all the pillars, found Stephen.

  “Did you get through all right?”

  “I think so, but I don’t want to see him ever again. What time is the plane back?”

  “8 P.M. Now don’t panic. Keep your eye out for Jean-Pierre.”

  “Bloody good thing he kept his beard,” said Robin.

  Jean-Pierre shook hands with Harvey, who was already intent on the next guest as Jean-Pierre had, by shameless queue-barging, managed to secure a place in front of a Boston banker who was obviously a close friend of Harvey’s.

  “Good to see you, Marvin.”

  Jean-Pierre had escaped. He kissed Anne on both cheeks, whispered in her ear, “Game, set and match to James,” and went off in search of Stephen and Robin. He forgot his original instructions when he found himself face to face with the chief bridesmaid.

  “Did you enjoy the wedding?” she asked.

  “Of course. I always judge weddings by the bridesmaids, not the bride.”

  She blushed with pleasure.

  “This must have cost a fortune,” she continued.

  “Yes, my dear, and I know whose,” said Jean-Pierre, slipping his arm around her waist.

  Four hands grabbed a protesting Jean-Pierre and unceremoniously dragged him behind the pillar.

  “For God’s sake, Jean-Pierre. She’s not a day over seventeen. We don’t want to go to jail for rape of a juvenile as well as theft. Drink this and behave yourself.” Robin thrust a glass of champagne into his hand.

  The champagne flowed and even Stephen had a little too much. They were all clinging to their pillar for support by the time the toastmaster called for silence.

  “My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Pray silence for the Viscount Brigsley, the bridegroom.”

  James made an impressive speech. The actor in him took over and the Americans adored it. Even his father had a look of admiration on his face. The toastmaster then introduced Harvey, who spoke long and loud. He cracked his favorite joke about marrying off his daughter to Prince Charles, at which the assembled guests roared heartily as they always do at weddings, even for the weakest joke. He ended by calling the toast for the bride and groom.

  When the applause had died down, and the hubbub of chatter had struck up again, Harvey took an envelope from his pocket and kissed his daughter on the cheek.

  “Rosalie, here’s a little wedding present for you, to make up for letting me keep the Van Gogh. I know you’ll put it to good use.”

  Harvey passed her the white envelope. Inside there was a check for $250,000. Anne kissed her father with genuine affection.

  “Thank you, Daddy, I promise you James and I will use it wisely.”

  She hurried off in pursuit of James, whom she found besieged by a group of American matrons:

  “Is it true you’re related to the Queen…?”

  “I never met a real live lord…”

  “I do hope you’ll invite us over to see your castle…?”

  “The