The Secret Wife. Gill Paul

helped her ashore at a little mooring.

      ‘I’m sure.’

      The door of the chapel was open and Father Oblonsky was waiting in his vestments of rich red and gold pattern, with a gold mitre on his head and a heavy gold cross around his neck. He ushered them in, quickly blessed the rings Dmitri handed over, then began the age-old rituals to bind them for life. They were each given a candle to hold. Tatiana’s hand was trembling and she looked dazed but incredibly beautiful in her chaste white gown with throat-hugging neckline. The sweet fog of incense rising from the censors, the priest’s deep lilting voice, the glittering gold icons of the chapel interior made it seem like a dream.

      ‘Eternal God that joinest together in love them that were separate, who hast ordained the union of holy wedlock that cannot be set asunder …’

      They followed instructions as the priest asked Dmitri to put his larger ring on Tatiana’s finger, then her smaller one on his own little finger, and signed them with the cross.

      ‘O Lord, our God, who hast poured down the blessings of Thy Truth according to Thy Holy Covenant upon Thy chosen servants, our fathers, from generation to generation, bless Thy servants Dmitri and Tatiana, and make their troth fast in faith, and union of hearts, and truth, and love …’

      This was the moment at which they officially became man and wife, and they caught eyes shyly: Tatiana smiled but Dmitri was too overawed to react. His ears were buzzing, his legs like jelly, his brain on fire: it was the most precious moment of his life and yet he felt he was barely conscious. He wanted time to slow down so he could savour each second, analyse each word of the service, live this moment to the full. They both took sips from the proffered cup of rich altar wine then the priest wrapped his stole round their joined hands, to unite them till kingdom come.

      All too soon it was over and they embraced, letting their lips graze the other’s, the most delicious sensation Dmitri had ever experienced.

      ‘May God bless you and keep you safe for the rest of your lives,’ Father Oblonsky said in farewell. ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world.’

      They did not have time to linger as it was already three in the morning. Back on the river, Dmitri had to strain to row against the current. Black trees waved their branches against the moonlit sky. Tatiana was silent and he wondered what she was thinking. Even at this moment when they should be closer than any two people in the world, he was frustrated by the ultimate unknowability of another person. Was she regretting their actions? Did she feel he had forced her into it?

      ‘Are you all right?’ he asked tentatively.

      She sighed, sounding blissfully happy. ‘I am going over the priest’s prayers in my head. I never want to forget a single detail of this night. No grand state wedding could ever compare to the beautiful simplicity of the promises we have made.’

      A sob escaped from Dmitri’s throat and he lifted an oar from the water so he could wipe his eye with his sleeve. His father used to chide him for crying, saying he was like a silly chit of a girl who needed to learn to control his emotions. A few moments later a bend in the river brought his face into the moonlight and he knew Tatiana would see that his cheeks were glistening with tears, but he also knew it didn’t matter because she would understand.