Shopaholic Ties the Knot (by Sophie Kinsella) 5 page

‘You’re making Becky’s wedding dress?’ Christina turns to me. ‘I thought you were wearing Richard Tyler?’

‘Richard Tyler?’ echoes Danny blankly.

‘I thought you were wearing Vera Wang,’ says Erin, who wandered over to the little scene two minutes ago and has been staring agog ever since.

‘I heard you were wearing your mother’s dress,’ chips in Lisa.

‘I’m making your dress!’ says Danny, his eyes wide with shock. ‘Aren’t I? You promised me, Becky! We had an agreement!’

‘The Vera Wang sounds perfect,’ says Erin. ‘You have to have that.’

‘I’d go for Richard Tyler,’ says Tracy.

‘What about the dress your mother was married in though?’ says Lisa. ‘Wouldn’t that be so romantic?’

‘The Vera Wang would be divine,’ says Erin deter­minedly.

‘But how can you pass up your own mother’s wedding dress?’ demands Lisa. ‘How can you set aside a whole family tradition like that? Becky, don’t you agree?’

‘The point is to look good!’ says Erin.

‘The point is to be romantic!’ retorts Lisa.

‘But what about my dress?’ comes Danny’s plaintive voice. ‘What about loyalty to your best friend? What about that, Becky?’

Their voices seem to be drilling into my head, and they’re all staring at me avidly, waiting for an answer... and with no warning I feel myself snap.

‘I don’t know, OK?’ I cry desperately. I just... don’t know what I’m going to do!’

Suddenly I feel almost tearful – which is completely ridiculous. I mean, it’s not like I won’t have a dress.

‘Becky, I think we need to have a little chat,’ says Christina, giving me a shrewd look. ‘Erin, clear all this up, please, and apologize to Carla, would you? Becky, come with me.’

Extract 9

Robyn’s offices are in a plushy building, right up on 96th Street. As I knock on the door I can hear her gurgling laugh, and as I cautiously open the door I see her sitting at her desk, champagne glass in one hand, telephone in the other, and an open box of chocolates on the desk. In the corner, tapping at a computer, is a girl with bobbles in her hair, who must be Kirsten.

‘Becky!’ says Robyn. ‘Come in! I won’t be a second! Jennifer, I think we should go with the devore satin. Yes? OK. See you soon.’ She puts down the phone and beams at me. ‘Becky, sweetheart. How are you? How was England?’

‘Fine thanks. Robyn–’

‘I have just been to a delightful thank-you lunch given to me by Mrs Herman Winkler at the Carlton. Now, that was a fabulous wedding. The groom gave the bride a schnauzer puppy at the altar! So adorable...’ Her brow wrinkles. ‘Where was I going with this? Oh yes! You know what? Her daughter and new son-in-law just left for England on their honeymoon! I said to her, perhaps they’ll bump into Becky Bloomwood!’

‘Robyn, I need to talk to you.’

‘Absolutely. And if it’s about the dessert flatware, I’ve spoken to the Plaza–’

‘It’s not about the flatware!’ I cry. ‘Robyn, listen! While I was in England, I cancelled the wedding. I left a message! But you didn’t get it.’

There’s silence in the plushy room. Then Robyn’s face creases up into laughter.

‘Hahaha! Becky, you’re priceless! Isn’t she priceless, Kirsten?’

‘Robyn, I’m serious. I want to call the whole thing off. I want to get married in England. My mum’s organizing a wedding, it’s all arranged–’

‘Can you imagine if you did that?’ says Robyn, with a gurgle. ‘Well, of course, you couldn’t, because of the prenup. If you cancelled now, you’d be in for a lot of money!’ She laughs gaily. ‘Would you like some champagne?’

I stare at her, momentarily halted.

‘What do you mean, the prenup?’

‘The contract you signed, sweetheart.’ She hands me a glass of champagne, and my fingers automatically close round it.

‘But... but Luke didn’t sign it. He said it wasn’t valid if he didn’t sign–’

‘Not between you and Luke! Between you and me! Or, rather, Wedding Events Inc.’

‘What?’ I swallow. ‘Robyn, what are you talking about? I never signed anything.’

‘Of course you did! All my brides do! I gave it to Elinor to pass along to you, and she returned it to me... I have a copy of it somewhere!’ She takes a sip of champagne, swivels on her chair and reaches into an elegant wooden filing cabinet.

‘Here we are!’ She hands me a photocopy of a docu­ment. ‘Of course, the original is with my lawyer...’

I stare at the page, my heart pounding. It’s a typed sheet, headed TERMS OF AGREEMENT. I look straight down to the dotted line at the bottom – and there’s my signature.

My mind zooms back to that dark, rainy night. Sitting in Elinor’s apartment. Indignantly signing every single sheet in front of me. Not bothering to read the words above.

Oh God. What have I done?

What have I signed?

Feverishly I start to scan the contract, only half taking in the legal phrases.

The Organizer shall prepare full plans... time frame to be mutually agreed... the Client shall be consulted on all matters... liaise with service providers... budget shall be agreed... final decisions shall rest with the Client... any breach or cancellation for any reason whatsoever... reimbursement... 30 days... full and final payment... Furthermore...’

As I read the next words, slugs are crawling up and down my back.

‘Furthermore, in the case of cancellation, should the Client marry within one year of the date of cancellation, the Client will be liable to a penalty of a hundred thousand dollars, payable to Wedding Events Inc.’

A hundred-thousand-dollar penalty.

And I’ve signed it.

‘A hundred thousand dollars?’ I say at last. ‘That... that seems a lot.’

‘That’s only for the silly girls who pretend to cancel and then get married anyway,’ says Robyn cheerily.

‘But why–’

‘Becky, if I plan a wedding, then I want that wedding to happen. We’ve had girls pull out before.’ Her voice suddenly hardens. ‘Girls who decided to go their own way. Girls who decided to use my ideas, my contacts. Girls who thought they could exploit my expertise and get away with it.’ She leans forward with glittering eyes, and I shrink back fearfully. ‘Becky, you don’t want to be those girls.’

She’s mad. The wedding planner’s mad.

‘G-good idea,’ I say quickly. ‘You have to protect yourself!’

‘Of course, Elinor could have signed it herself – but we agreed, this way, she’s protecting her investment, too!’ Robyn beams at me. ‘It’s a neat arrangement.’

‘Very clever!’ I give a shrill laugh and take a gulp of champagne.

What am I going to do? There must be some way out of this. There must be. People can’t force other people to get married. It’s not ethical.

***

OK. The really vital thing is to keep a sense of proportion. I mean, let’s face it, every wedding has the odd glitch, doesn’t it? You can’t expect the whole process to go smoothly. I’ve just bought a new book, called The Realistic Bride, which I’m finding very comforting at the moment. It has a huge chapter all about wedding hitches, and it says: ‘No matter how insurmountable the problem seems, there will always be a solution! So don’t worry!’

So the example they give is of a bride who loses her satin shoe on the way to the reception. Not a bride who has arranged two different weddings on the same day in different continents, is hiding half the invitations in a cocktail cabinet and has discovered her wedding planner is a litigious nutcase.

But you know. I’m sure the principle’s broadly the same.

The other thing which is keeping me sane is an invaluable tip which I would recommend to all brides-to-be. In fact, I’m surprised they don’t mention it in any of the bridal magazines. It’s to keep a small bottle of vodka in your bag, and take a sip whenever anyone mentions the wedding.

I’ve been back in New York for a week now, and during that time I’ve been to see about seventeen different lawyers about Robyn’s contract. All of them have looked at it carefully, told me they’re afraid it’s watertight, and advised me in future to read all docu­mentation before signing it.

Actually, that’s not quite true. One lawyer just said, ‘Sorry Miss, there’s nothing we can do,’ as soon as I mentioned that the contract was with Robyn de Bendern. Another said, ‘Girl, you’re in trouble,’ and put the phone down.

I can’t believe there isn’t a way out, though. As a last resort, I’ve sent it off to Garson Low, the most expensive lawyer in Manhattan. I read about him in People magazine, and it said he has the sharpest mind in the legal world. It said he can find a loophole in a piece of concrete, and is revered by all. So I’m kind of pinning all my hopes on him – and, meanwhile, trying very hard to act normally and not crumple into a gibbering wreck.

‘I’m having lunch with Michael today,’ says Luke, coming into the kitchen with a couple of boxes in his arms. ‘He seems to have settled into his new place well.’

Michael’s taken the plunge and moved to New York, which is fantastic for us. He’s working part-time as a consultant at Brandon Communications, and the rest of the time, as he put it, he’s ‘reclaiming his life’. He’s taken up painting, and has joined a group which power-walks in Central Park, and last time we saw him he was talking about taking a course in Italian cookery.

‘That’s great!’ I say.

‘He said we must come over soon...’ He peers at me. ‘Becky, are you all right?’

Abruptly I realize I’m drumming a pencil so hard it’s making indentations in the kitchen table.

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ I say, with an over-bright smile. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

I haven’t said a word about anything to Luke. In The Realistic Bride it says the way to stop your fiance getting bored with wedding details is to feed them to him on a need-to-know basis.

And, on balance, I don’t feel Luke needs to know anything just yet.

***

‘I received your letter yesterday,’ says Garson Low. ‘And I was intrigued by your dilemma. That’s quite a bind you’ve got yourself in.’

‘I know it is,’ I say. ‘That’s why I came to you.’

‘Is your fiance aware of the situation?’

‘Not yet.’ I lower my voice. ‘I’m hoping I’ll be able to find a solution first – and then tell him. You under­stand, Mr Low.’

‘I certainly do.’

This is great. We’ve got rapport and everything.

‘In that case,’ says Garson Low, ‘let’s get down to business.’

‘Absolutely!’ I feel a swell of relief. You see, this is what you get when you consult the most expensive lawyer in Manhattan. You get quick results.

‘First of all, the contract has been very cleverly drawn up,’ says Garson Low.

‘Right.’ I nod.

‘There are several extremely ingenious clauses, covering all eventualities.’

‘I see.’

‘I’ve examined it thoroughly. And as far as I can see, there is no way you can get married in Britain without incurring the penalty.’

‘Right.’ I nod expectantly.

There’s a short silence.

‘So... what’s the loophole?’ I ask eventually.

‘There is no loophole. Those are the facts.’

‘What?’ I stare confusedly at the phone. ‘But... that’s why you rang, isn’t it? To tell me you’d found a loophole. To tell me we could win!’

‘No, Miss Bloomwood. I rang to tell you that if I were you, I would start making arrangements to cancel your British wedding.’

I feel a stab of shock.

‘But... but I can’t. That’s the whole point. My mum’s had the house done up, and everything. It would kill her.’

‘Then I’m afraid you will have to pay Wedding Events Inc. the full penalty.’

‘But...’ My throat is tight. ‘I can't do that either. I haven’t got a hundred thousand dollars! There must be another way!’

‘I’m afraid–’

‘There must be some brilliant solution!’ I push back my hair, trying not to panic. ‘Come on! You’re supposed to be the cleverest person in America or something! You must be able to think of some way out!’

‘Miss Bloomwood, let me assure you. I have looked at this from all angles and there is no brilliant solution. There is no way out.’ Garson Low sighs. ‘May I give you three small pieces of advice?’

‘What are they?’ I say, with a flicker of hope.

‘The first is, never sign any document before reading it first.’

‘I know that!’ I cry, before I can stop myself. ‘What’s the good of everyone telling me that now?’

‘The second is – and I strongly recommend this – tell your fiance.’

‘And what’s the third?’

‘Hope for the best.’

Extract 10

OK. Don’t panic. This is going to work. If I just keep my head and remain calm, it’ll work.

‘It’ll never work,’ says Suze’s voice in my ear.

‘Shut up!’ I say crossly.

‘It’ll never work in a million years. I’m just warning you.’

‘You’re not supposed to be warning me! You’re supposed to be encouraging me!’ I lower my voice. ‘And as long as everyone does what they’re supposed to, it will work. It has to.’

I’m standing at the window of a twelfth-floor suite at the Plaza, staring out of the window at Plaza Square below. Outside, it's a hot sunny day. People are milling around in T-shirts and shorts, doing normal things like hiring horse carriages to go round the park, and tossing coins into the fountain.

And here am I, dressed in a towel, with my hair teased beyond recognition into a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ style, and make-up an inch thick, walking around in the highest white satin shoes I’ve ever come across in my life. (Christian Louboutin, from Barneys. I get a discount.)

‘What are you doing now?’ comes Suze’s voice again.

‘I’m looking out of the window.’

‘What are you doing that for?’

‘I don’t know.’ I gaze at a woman in denim shorts sitting down on a bench and snapping open a can of Coke, completely unaware she's being watched. ‘To try to get a grip on normality, I suppose.’

‘Normality?’ I hear Suze splutter down the phone. ‘Bex, it’s a bit late for normality!’

‘That’s not fair!’

‘If normality is planet Earth, do you know where you are right now?’

‘Er… the moon?’ I hazard.

‘You’re fifty million light years away. You’re... in another galaxy. A long long time ago.’

‘I do feel a bit like I’m in a different world,’ I admit, and turn to survey the palatial suite behind me.

The atmosphere is hushed and heavy with scent and hairspray and expectation. Everywhere I look there are lavish flower arrangements, baskets of fruit and chocolates, and bottles of champagne on ice. Over by the dressing table the hairdresser and make-up girl are chatting to one another while they work on Erin. Meanwhile the reportage photographer is changing his film, his assistant is watching Madonna on MTV and a room-service waiter is clearing away yet another round of cups and glasses.

It’s all so glamorous, so expensive. But, at the same time, what I’m reminded of most of all is getting ready for the summer school play. The windows would be covered in black material, and we’d all crowd round a mirror getting overexcited, and out the front we’d hear the parents filing in, but we wouldn’t be allowed to peek out and see them...

‘What are you doing now?’ comes Suze’s voice again.

‘Still looking out of the window.’

‘Well, stop looking out of the window! You’ve got less than an hour and a half to go!’

‘Suze, relax.’

‘How can I relax?’ It’s all fine. It’s all under control.’ And you haven’t told anyone,’ she says, for the millionth time. ‘You haven’t told Danny.’

‘Of course not! I’m not that stupid!’ I edge casually into a corner where no-one can hear me. ‘Only Michael knows. And Laurel. That’s it.’

‘And no-one suspects anything?’

‘Not a thing,’ I say, just as Robyn comes into the room. ‘Hi, Robyn! Suze, I’ll talk to you later, OK–’

I put the phone down and smile at Robyn, who’s wearing a bright pink suit and a headset and carrying a walkie-talkie.

‘OK, Becky,’ she says, in a serious, businesslike way. ‘Stage One is complete. Stage Two is under way. But we have a problem.’

‘Really?’ I swallow. ‘What’s that?’

‘None of Luke’s family have arrived yet. His father, his stepmother, some cousins who are on the list... You told me they’d spoken to you?’

‘Yes, they did.’ I clear my throat. ‘Actually... they just called again. I’m afraid there’s a problem with their plane. They said to seat other people in their places.’

‘Really?’ Robyn’s face falls. ‘This is too bad! I’ve never known a wedding have so many last-minute alterations! A new maid of honor... a new best man... a new officiant... it seems like everything’s changed!’

‘I know,’ I say apologetically. ‘I’m really sorry, and I know it’s meant a lot of work. It just suddenly seemed so obvious that Michael should marry us, rather than some stranger. I mean, since he’s such an old friend and he’s qualified to do it and everything. So then Luke had to have a new best man...’

‘But to change your minds three weeks before the wedding! And you know, Father Simon was quite upset to be rejected. He wondered if it was something to do with his hair.’

‘No! Of course not! It’s nothing to do with him, honestly–’

‘And then your parents both catching the measles. I mean, what kind of odds is that?’

‘I know!’ I pull a rueful face. ‘Sheer bad luck.’

There’s a crackle from the walkie-talkie and Robyn turns away.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘What’s that? No! I said radiant yellow light! Not blue! OK, I’m coming...’ As she reaches the door she looks back.

‘Becky, I have to go. I just needed to say, it’s been so hectic, what with all the changes, there are a couple of tiny additional details we didn’t have time to discuss. So I just went ahead with them. OK?’

‘Whatever,’ I say. ‘I trust your judgement. Thanks, Robyn.’

As Robyn leaves, there’s a tapping on the door and in comes Christina, looking absolutely amazing in pale gold Issey Miyake and holding a champagne glass.

‘How’s the bride?’ she says with a smile. ‘Feeling nervous?’

‘Not really!’ I say.

Which is kind of true.

In fact, it’s completely true. I’m beyond nervous. Either everything goes to plan and this all works out. Or it doesn’t and it’s a complete disaster. There’s not much I can do about it.

‘I just spoke to Laurel,’ she says, taking a sip of champagne. ‘I didn’t know she was so involved with the wedding.’

‘Oh, she’s not really,’ I say. ‘There’s just this tiny little favour she’s doing for me–’

‘So I understand.’ Christina eyes me over her glass, and I suddenly wonder how much Laurel has said to her.

‘Did she tell you... what the favour was?’ I say casually.

‘She gave me the gist. Becky, if you pull this off...’ says Christina. She shakes her head. ‘If you pull this off, you deserve the Nobel Prize for chutzpah.’ She raises her glass. ‘Here’s to you. And good luck.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Hey, Christina!’ We both look round to see Erin coming towards us. She’s already in her long violet maid-of-honor dress, her hair up in a medieval knot, eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Isn’t this Sleeping Beauty theme cool? Have you seen Becky’s wedding dress yet? I can’t believe I’m the maid of honor! I was never a maid of honor before!’

I think Erin’s a tad excited about her promotion. When I told her my best friend Suze couldn’t make it, and would she like to be maid of honor, she actually burst into tears.

‘I haven’t seen Becky’s wedding dress yet,’ says Christina. ‘I hardly dare to.’

‘It’s really nice!’ I protest. ‘Come and look.’

I lead her into the sumptuous dressing area, where Danny’s dress is hanging up.

‘It’s all in one piece,’ observes Christina laconically. ‘That’s a good start.’

‘Christina,’ I say, ‘this isn’t like the T-shirts. This is in a different league. Take a look!’

I just can’t believe what a fantastic job Danny has done. Although I’d never admit it to Christina, I wasn’t exactly counting on wearing his dress. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I was having secret Vera Wang fittings right up until a week ago.

But then one night Danny knocked on the door, his whole face lit up with excitement. He dragged me upstairs to his apartment, pulled me down the corridor and flung open the door to his room. And I was speechless.

From a distance it looks like a traditional white wedding dress, with a tight bodice, full, romantic skirt and long train. But the closer you get, the more you start spotting the fantastic customized details every­where. The white denim ruffles at the back. The trademark Danny little pleats and gatherings at the waistline. The white sequins and diamante and glitter scattered all over the train, like someone’s emptied a sweetie box over it.

I’ve never seen a wedding dress like it. It’s a work of art.

‘Well,’ says Christina. ‘I’ll be honest. When you told me you were wearing a creation by young Mr Kovitz, I was a little worried. But this...’ she touches a tiny bead. ‘I’m impressed. Assuming the train doesn’t fall off as you walk down the aisle.’

‘It won’t,’ I assure her. ‘I walked around our apart­ment in it for half an hour. Not one sequin fell off!’

‘You’re going to look amazing,’ says Erin dreamily. ‘Just like a princess. And in that room...’

‘The room is spectacular,’ says Christina. ‘I think a lot of jaws are going to be dropping.’

‘I haven’t seen it yet,’ I say. ‘Robyn didn’t want me going in.’

‘Oh, you should take a look,’ says Erin. ‘Just have a peek. Before it gets filled up with people.’

‘I can’t! What if someone sees me?’

‘Go on,’ says Erin. ‘Put on a scarf. No-one’ll know it’s you.’

***

I can’t believe I’ve made it to this moment. I honestly can’t believe it’s really happening. I’m wearing a wedding dress. I’m wearing a sparkly tiara in my hair.

I’m a bride.

As I’m led by Robyn down the empty, silent Plaza corridors, I feel a bit like the President in a Hollywood movie. ‘The Beauty is on the move,’ she’s muttering into her headset as we walk along the plushy red carpet. ‘The Beauty is approaching.’

We turn a corner and I catch a glimpse of myself in a huge antique mirror, and feel a dart of shock. Of course I know what I look like. I've just spent half an hour staring at myself in the suite upstairs, for goodness’ sake. But still, catching myself unawares, I can’t quite believe that girl in the veil is me. It’s me.

I’m about to walk up the aisle at the Plaza. Four hundred people watching every move. Oh God.

Oh God. What am I doing?

As I see the doors of the Terrace Room, I feel a shot of panic, and my fingers tighten around my bouquet. This is never going to work. I must be mad. I can’t do it. I want to run away.

But there’s nowhere to run. There’s nothing else to do but go forward.

Erin and the other bridesmaids are waiting, and, as we draw near, they all begin to coo over my dress. I’ve no idea what they’re all called. They’re daughters of Elinor’s friends. After today I’ll probably never see them again.

‘String orchestra. Stand by for Beauty,’ Robyn is saying into her headset.

‘Becky!’ I look up, and, thank God, it’s Danny, wear­ing a brocade frock coat over leather trousers, and carrying a taupe and bronze Ceremony Programme. ‘You look amazing.’

‘Really? Do I look OK?’

‘Spectacular,’ says Danny firmly. He adjusts the train, stands back for a look, then takes out a pair of scissors, and snips at a piece of ribbon.

‘Ready?’ says Robyn.

‘I guess,’ I say, feeling slightly sick.

The double doors swing open, and I hear the rustle of four hundred people turning in their seats. The string orchestra starts to play the theme from Sleeping Beauty, and the bridesmaids begin to process up the aisle.

And suddenly I’m walking forward. I’m walking into the enchanted forest, carried on the swell of the music. Little lights are twinkling overhead. Pine needles are giving off their scent under my feet. There’s the smell of fresh earth and the sound of birds chirruping, and the trickle of a tiny waterfall. Flowers are magically blooming as I take each step, and leaves are unfurling, and people are gasping as they look up. And I can see Luke up ahead, my handsome prince, waiting for me.

And now, finally, I start to relax. To savour it.

As I take each step, I feel as though I’m a prima ballerina doing the perfect arabesque at Covent Garden. Or a movie star arriving at the Oscars. Music playing, everyone looking at me, jewels in my hair and the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn. I know I will never experience anything like this again in my life. Never. As I reach the top of the aisle, I slow my pace right down, breathing in the atmosphere, taking in the trees and the flowers and the wonderful scent. Trying to impress every detail on my mind. Relishing every magical second.

OK. I’ll admit it.

Elinor was right. When I tried to save this wedding, I wasn’t being completely altruistic. I wasn’t only doing it to salvage Luke’s relationship with his mother.

I wanted this for myself. I wanted to be a fairy princess for a day.

I reach Luke’s side and hand my bouquet to Erin. I smile warmly at Gary, Luke’s new best man – then take Luke’s hand. He gives it a little squeeze, and I squeeze it back.

And here’s Michael stepping forward, wearing a dark, vaguely clerical-looking suit.

He gives me a tiny, conspiratorial smile, then takes a deep breath and addresses the congregation.

‘Dearly beloved. We are gathered here together to witness the love between two people. We are here to watch them pledging their love for each other. And to join with them in celebrating the joy of their sharing of that love. God blesses all who love, and God will certainly bless Luke and Becky today as they exchange their vows.’

He turns to me, and I can hear the rustling behind me as people try to get a good view.

‘Do you, Rebecca, love Luke?’ he says. ‘Do you pledge yourself to him for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you put your trust in him now and for ever?’

‘I do,’ I say, unable to stop a tiny tremor in my voice.

‘Do you, Luke, love Rebecca? Do you pledge yourself to her for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you put your trust in her now and for ever?’

‘Yes,’ says Luke firmly. ‘I do.’

‘May God bless Luke and Becky and may they have happiness always.’

Extract 11

I can’t quite believe we’re getting away with it. No-one’s said anything. No-one’s questioned a thing. A couple of people have asked to see the ring, and I’ve just flashed them the band of my engagement ring, turned round.

We’ve eaten sushi and caviar. We’ve had an amazing four-course dinner. We’ve drunk toasts. It’s all gone according to plan. We cut the cake with a huge silver sword and everybody cheered, and then the band started to play ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ and Luke led me onto the dance floor and we started dancing. And that was one of those moments I’ll keep in my scrapbook for ever. A whirl of white and gold and glitter and music, and Luke’s arms around me, and my head giddy from champagne, and the knowledge that this was it, this was the high, and soon it would be over.

And now the party’s in full swing. The band’s play­ing a jazzy number I don’t recognize, and the dance floor’s full. Amid the throng of well-dressed strangers, I can pick out a few familiar faces. Christina’s dancing with her date, and Erin is chatting to one of the groomsmen. And there’s Laurel, dancing very energeti­cally with... Michael!

Well now. That’s a thought.

‘So. Guess how many people have asked for my card?’ says a voice in my ear. I turn round, to see Danny looking triumphant, a glass of champagne in each hand and a cigarette in his mouth. ‘Twenty! At least! One wanted me to measure her up, right then and there. They all think the dress is to die for. And when I told them I’d worked with John Galliano...’

‘Danny, you’ve never worked with John Galliano!’

‘I passed him a cup of coffee once,’ he says defens­ively. ‘And he thanked me. That was, in its way, an artistic communication...’

‘If you say so.’ I grin at him happily. ‘I’m so pleased for you.’

‘So are you enjoying yourself?’

‘Of course!’

‘Your mother-in-law is in her element.’

We both turn to survey Elinor, who is sitting at the top table, surrounded by smart ladies. There’s a slight glow to her cheek and she looks about as animated as I’ve ever seen her. She’s wearing a long sweeping pale green dress, and huge quantities of diamonds, and looks like the belle of the ball. Which, in a way, she is. These are her friends. This is really her party, not Luke’s or mine. It’s a wonderful spectacle. It’s a wonderful occasion to be a guest at.

And that’s kind of what I feel I am.

A group of women go by, chattering loudly, and I hear snatches of conversation.

‘Spectacular...’

‘So imaginative...’

They smile at me and Danny, and I smile back. But my mouth is feeling a bit stiff. I’m tired of smiling at people I don’t know.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 739