by Nancy Warren
The next morning, Jennifer said she’d booked a tour of Blenheim Palace and so declined my offer to come shopping. I was a bit sorry, as she made a good buffer between my mother and me, but I was also glad she was making the most of her vacation.
While I was getting ready for my shopping date, my mobile phone rang. It was William. I answered with pleasure and got a crisp voice in reply. I had learned with William that there was off-duty William, who was warm and friendly, and then business-oriented William, who was efficient and clipped on the phone. This was clearly business William. So, not wanting to waste any of his time, I said, “What’s up?”
“We’re having a bit of an issue with the wedding cake.”
“What sort of issue?” I’d given him free rein on the catering, including the cake. How complicated could it be?
He said, “I’d tentatively booked a woman named Poppy Wilkinson, who lives near Bath, to make your cake.”
“Bath? That’s kind of a long way to go for a wedding cake, isn’t it?”
“It is. But she’s extraordinary. She went quite far in The Great British Baking Contest, and now she bakes all the cakes for the inn at Broomewode. I’ve seen her work, and her wedding cakes are lovely.” There was a slight pause. “And I believe she’s one of your kind.”
My eyebrows raised, even though he couldn’t see me. “My kind? Female? American? Feminist?”
“A witch.”
“Oh. That kind. Well, her cake should be magically delicious then.”
He didn’t seem in the mood for humor. “Now we come to the sticking point. I’ve just had a call from Florence Watt. She and Mary want to bake your wedding cake.”
“Oh, that is so sweet,” I cried. Florence and Mary owned Elderflower Tea Shop next door, and I’d known them since I first began coming to Oxford as a child. They’d been great friends of my grandmother and good friends to me since I’d taken over the knitting shop. “I don’t care if you put down a deposit on that other cake. I really think we have to let Florence and Mary make my wedding cake.”
He let out a sigh. “I was afraid you’d say that. It won’t be as nice as the other, you know.”
I looked around to make sure nobody could overhear me. There was only Nyx, and she knew all my secrets. “William, it’s not like most of our guests will even taste that cake. And it would mean a lot to me, and my mother, and my friends from Harrington Street.”
“Consider it sorted,” he said, and then with a curt goodbye was gone.
I wore loose navy cotton trousers that were easy to slip on and off with a white cropped sweater hand-knitted by Clara. When I met up with Mom, I was surprised to find her already pretty dressed up in a floral skirt, silk blouse, and a summer-weight blazer. When I complimented her, she said it was easier to buy dresses when she was already wearing the right underwear and shoes. Good point. I glanced down at my trousers and open-toed black sandals. Oops.
Still, the shopping trip was surprisingly fun.
We started at the hairdresser. They tried to talk Mom into dyeing her hair, but she held firm. I agreed with her decision. Mom was the natural type. She didn’t want anything that wasn’t super easy care, especially with her lifestyle. I did, however, convince her to let them do our makeup. I was looking for an update on my look for my wedding day, and I thought it might be fun for Mom to have some new cosmetics too. Well, I wasn’t actually sure she had any at all. I’d so rarely ever seen her wearing makeup. She argued a bit against it at first, saying she’d just come and watch them do me, but she soon got into the spirit of it.
My hair recognized the hand of a master and decided to behave. After a trim and styling, it looked as good as it ever does, falling in well-behaved curls.
We refreshed ourselves with a quick lunch on the upper floor of Westgate and then braved the shops.
Mom found a gorgeous mother-of-the-bride dress at John Lewis. It was the third outfit she tried, and we both loved it the second we saw her in it. All that digging and the somewhat hard life she lived kept her lean, and when she bothered with her appearance, my mother was a knockout. The dress was fuchsia-colored with a fitted bodice and flared skirt. When she said, “Right, that’s done,” I dragged her to the shoe section, where we found a pair of Manolo Blahnik sandals with a floral strap and a heel the same color as the dress.
“But they’re so expensive,” she whispered.
“It’s your daughter’s wedding,” I whispered back. Of course, she bought them. Then turned to me.
“Your turn, Lucy. I want to get you a pretty outfit. Where are you going for your honeymoon?”
That was kind of a sticky point. We’d already had a long vacation, having spent some weeks in New Zealand. Now, I wanted to be around for Gran as she settled into a new life in a new place. No doubt Mom would expect us to choose somewhere exotic but that wasn’t going to happen. “We’re spending our honeymoon in Cornwall.” Even as I said it, I knew that was the perfect destination. Rafe didn’t care where we went so he was leaving the choice to me.
My mother’s eyes lit up. “You know that’s where your father and I had our honeymoon. Oh, Penzance is so wonderful. I’m strongly tempted to extend our trip and come along too.”
I couldn’t think of a more terrible idea. However, I didn’t want to rain on her parade when she was looking so happy and we were having such a nice day. I’d hope Dad could talk her out of going along on her daughter’s honeymoon. Somebody had to.
Cornwall was a beautiful part of the world. I imagined Rafe and me walking hand in hand along the cliffside paths and exploring Daphne du Maurier territory. I wasn’t above checking out some of the Poldark filming sites. Of course, Rafe, being the cultural snob he was, probably didn’t even know what Poldark was.
More to please her than myself, I tried on a few dresses. I wore so many hand-knitted garments that it almost felt strange to be trying on a store-bought dress. The one I liked best was a sleeveless dress, a navy background with tiny yellow flowers in the print. It had a fitted bodice and loose skirt that hung midway between my knees and ankles. Mom fussed over me and even brought over yellow shoes for me to try on. Dress and shoes fit perfectly and, even if I didn’t really need another dress, Mom nodded her head and said to the sales clerk, “We’ll take it. And the shoes.”
I said, “I’ll just go change back into my trousers,” but Mom stopped me. “I told your father we’d meet him for a drink after this. Leave the dress on, dear. You look so pretty.”
Why not? For once, my mom and I were really getting on well and having a good day.
And so we walked out wearing our brand-new finery, our hair freshly done, and our makeup professionally applied. I caught sight of us in one of the big mirrors and started to laugh. “Look at us. We’re like a pair of ladies who lunch.”
Her eyes twinkled back at me, but she shook her head. “I’d be so bored. Wouldn’t you?”
“You know I would.”
“We have that in common, my dear. There’s a strong work ethic in our family.” She paused. “Maybe I haven’t always been as supportive as I could have been about you taking over Cardinal Woolsey’s. But I’ve had a chance to watch you this trip, and I can see how much you enjoy it. And that you’re very good at running the business.”
This was such rare praise from my mother that I waited for the “but.” I waited probably twenty seconds, and it never came. I said, “Wait. Are you saying you finally support my decision to stay and run Cardinal Woolsey’s?”
She said, “My darling, I support you in whatever you choose to do. You’ve chosen a fine man. He has an interesting career, and so do you.”
I was so overcome, I threw my arms around her and gave her a hug, which surprised her almost as much as it did me.
Mom glanced at her watch. “Your father should be at the pub now. Won’t he be thrilled to see his two best girls looking so pretty?”
I thought my dad would be very unlikely to notice. But I didn’t say that.
Chapter
13
The cab dropped us off in front of a cocktail bar near the train station that became a noisy nightclub when the hour grew later. And I glanced around. This seemed a strange place for Dad to meet us. How did he even know this place was here? It was clearly new since he’d been an Oxford student a million years ago.
“I read about it in one of those online things,” my mother said breezily. My mother was not the kind to trawl the internet looking for trendy pubs. I should have realized something was up, but I was still stunned by her sudden support for my business and life plans. My critical faculties were dulled with shock.
I walked in. The place smelled like spilled beer and cheap perfume. This was so not the kind of place my dad would want to come for a drink. Mother seemed oblivious, though. I felt a suppressed excitement in her and imagined she was thrilled to be looking so nice for her husband. I thought it was kind of sweet that she still wanted to pretty herself for him. So I kept my mouth shut. We could have one drink here and move on. We walked in, and instead of going to the front of the pub where there were some tables, Mom kept walking towards the back.
“Where are you going?”
“He said he’d meet us in the back. Come along, dear.”
There was no point arguing with her. She was already striding on ahead. I followed as best I could in my unfamiliar new shoes. She pushed open a door and ushered me in ahead of her. There were no lights on, and it was gloomy. Like a party room with no party going on.
“Mom, there’s no one—”
Then two things happened at once. All the lights went on, and twenty excited women jumped up and yelled, “Surprise!”
For somebody who supposedly had witch powers, I could not believe how they got me. Mostly, I suppose, because Violet had promised me she wouldn’t let Mom organize a hen do. Now, here I was, surrounded by giggling women, trying to put a good face on things.
Violet was doubled over, hanging on to Jennifer and laughing. “Lucy, you should have seen your face.”
I gritted my teeth and smiled back at her. “Because it was such a surprise. I wasn’t expecting this.”
Clearly, she chose to ignore my sarcasm. She rushed up, along with Alice and Scarlett and Polly. “We are going on a hen do to end all hen dos,” Violet promised.
Somewhere, a bottle of champagne popped, and then I had a glass in my hand.
“But first, we have to get you properly dressed.”
“I am dressed,” I told her. And spread my arms so she could see I was in a new dress, new shoes. I looked good. I did not need further ornamentation.
Clearly, my hen party organizers felt differently. From out of a bag came, oh no, the thing I probably dreaded the most. A plastic tiara with a battery pack. Bride, it read, and when Violet pushed the button, which she did with great delight, the word bride flashed on and off. In case anyone might have missed that I was a bride based on the ugliest plastic tiara in the entire world, they also had a Miss America-style sash that said “Going to the Altar” in gold script. Still not happy with their handiwork, they each donned similar tiaras that either said “I’m available” or “Not available,” depending on who was married or otherwise hooked up and who wasn’t.
What had started out to be a great day was rapidly turning into the worst night of my life.
Scarlett and Polly joined Violet at a table and pulled me over. They spread out a map. “Now, here’s our route.” And they pointed out every noisy and rambunctious bar, tavern, and pub in Oxford. And there are quite a few of them, given that it’s basically a student town.
Oxford might have more genius brain cells per capita than most cities, but a bunch of twentysomethings still know how to party. Not only that, it had somehow become a hub for hen parties and stag parties. I had always sworn I would never inflict one of my own on a beautiful, old city I loved so much.
Apparently, I wasn’t going to get my wish.
It was really difficult to pretend to be a good sport when I was seething inside. Bad enough that my mother had wanted to do something crazy to celebrate my upcoming nuptials, but I’d made Violet promise me. Cousin, assistant, sister witch—didn’t any of those create a bond strong enough that I could trust her?
Even Jennifer seemed pretty pleased with herself. Wasn’t it the part of a bff to warn her closest friend of a do like this? She also wore a pretty dress so either the Blenheim tour had been a ruse or she’d rushed home and changed before coming out to party.
Violet’s glee seemed to know no bounds. It flashed across my mind, with the clarity of my flashing tiara, that she might be jealous. Maybe humiliating me like this was a little payback for her, since I had admittedly caught a pretty awesome groom and she couldn’t seem to get a second date. But I didn’t see how that was my fault or that I should pay such a high price for my good fortune. Even my mother was cackling with glee. Mom just didn’t seem like the kind of woman to do shots and ogle male strippers. And based on the way this party was already going, I strongly suspected there were male strippers in my future.
Seriously, if I’d known a disappearing spell, I’d have pulled it out of my bag right then.
Disappearing spell? If I could just tone down the garishness of our display, that would help. It was like every bad cliché of a hen party shoved in my face.
I glanced at my watch. It was still only ten to four. We’d be drunk and falling off our heels before dinnertime.
I decided to be the best sport I knew how to be. At the very least, I could say hello to all these people who’d come out to this terrible idea of a party. I made the rounds, saying hello to some of the students from Cardinal College I’d once worked with during a production. Poor Meri was there, looking bashful and in awe of this display of modern female bonding.
I glanced around and to my surprise saw Jemima Taft in the corner chatting with Olivia Thresher. I couldn’t believe they’d even dragged poor Olivia into this. I hadn’t seen Jemima for a while. She was William’s financial advisor and I’d come to know her when William catered a dinner for her and some of her extremely wealthy clients, and then she nearly got killed.
“Jemima,” I said with pleasure.
“Lucy. I’ve barely seen you since you saved my life.”
I winced, thinking of that terrible time. “It’s good to see you.”
The server came by with a champagne bottle to top hers up, and she raised a hand. “Just sparkling water for me, thank you.”
The Jemima I’d known not so long ago had such a problem with alcohol that she tended to get blotto drunk and blab her clients’ secrets. She hadn’t even known she was doing it. She looked at me ruefully. “I’m off the booze. One day at a time.”
I said, “I think you’re doing great. And maybe you can look after the rest of us if we get into an unfortunate condition.”
She chuckled at that. “I’ll do my best.”
Violet and my mother, and even my supposedly best friend Jennifer, were standing together killing themselves laughing. At least somebody was enjoying this humiliation.
Then Mother called out, “Hens, hens, gather all together now. We want to get a picture.”
I groaned. The last thing I wanted was a lasting reminder of this. I swore one thing to myself: Rafe was never going to see these photographs.
She got us all into a group and then ran out and dragged the server back in to take some photographs. They insisted I put on my blinking tiara. We must have looked like the Rockettes in wedding garb.
We started making silly poses, and I couldn’t help myself. I started to laugh and got into the spirit of the thing. I was going to be made a fool of anyway. I might as well enjoy it.
Then the moment I’d been dreading arrived. “Okay, let’s get ready for the first stop on our itinerary.” Violet handed around some party favors. In a barf bag. Laughing, she said, “Make sure you hang on to your vomit bag. Just in case.”
I was already feeling queasy just thinking about the evening ahead.
“Right, c
ome on, everybody,” Scarlett called out. We piled out of the pub and onto the street, and there was a small tour bus outside. Instead of a destination, it said, “Lucy’s Hen Night.”
Well, at least they’d thought of everything. Nobody would be drinking and driving. Determined to be a good sport—and if Violet ever got married, to organize her hen night—I got on the bus and sat down. We didn’t go far. Instead of pulling up in front of a noisy gin joint, the bus pulled into the sweeping drive of the Wainwright Hotel. It was one of the most exclusive hotels in all of Oxford. I couldn’t figure out what was going on.
Mother and Violet turned to me, their eyes dancing with suppressed humor. “You may leave your tiara and vomit bag behind, Lucy. But I will treasure that picture always,” Mom said. And then she and Violet fell to laughing so hard, they had to hold each other up in the aisleway of the bus.
Everybody was laughing now, as though they were all in on the joke. And as they abandoned tiaras, I realized everyone was dressed in some of their nicest finery.
I began to relax. I could even perhaps appreciate that it was a pretty good joke. “So I’m guessing I won’t get a private show from a male stripper?”
“Well, we could still arrange it if you wanted one,” Violet said.
I put up my hand. “No.”
I looked for someone I could trust. Alice. “What’s really going on?”
Alice came forward. “It was Jemima who organized it. She has connections here at the Wainwright Hotel. Lucy, we’re having afternoon tea.”
“Afternoon tea. That’s all?” Visions of male strippers and pounding shots danced happily out of my head until Alice shook her head. I groaned. “Wait. Tell me the worst.”
“After the tea, we’re all having spa treatments.”
I burst out laughing. “I can’t believe I didn’t want a hen party. This is the best idea ever.”
Chapter 14
I was having my first fitting for my wedding dress. Naturally, I wasn’t standing in a bridal boutique in front of a triple mirror. I was down beneath my shop in the subterranean apartment complex where some of my vampire knitting club members lived. And I could tell they were pretty excited. For some reason, Sylvia and my grandmother had decreed that no male vampires could be present, even though they’d all had a hand in crocheting the dress.