by Jane Linfoot
Not that I’m mentioning it to her, but Immie’s curves are in all the right places once she loses her baggy sweat shirts. It’s just that at five feet nothing, with an appetite that would put a lumberjack to shame, she’s never going to pull off Nicole’s long-legged race-horse look. Until shin extensions are invented, she’s always going to be a good foot shorter. But that’s the thing. At Brides by the Sea we help each individual bride find the perfect dress for her. Every one of our brides looks beautiful.
Seeing Poppy dishing out the wet wipes as Immie produces another empty paper case, I grab a couple of extra bottles of wine. ‘Shall we go through?’
Immie gives a sniff as she passes the window display. ‘What’s with the newspaper hearts then?’
‘It’s up-cycling,’ I begin, then decide not to push on with the full story.
Poppy’s got my back. ‘Very on trend.’
‘Trend my arse. If you ask me, they look like rubbish. Total shite.’ It could be worse. At least she’s not slagging off the dresses. But the sugar rush hasn’t kicked in as spectacularly as we were hoping.
Poppy’s treading as gently as if she were humouring a toddler. ‘You don’t have to get a dress Immie. You could go for something completely different. Why not get married in a tux?’ Which would be a great way to side step this morning’s problem. We could pass her on to groomswear.
‘Eff that.’
That’s told Poppy, then.
By the time we reach the Seraphina East Room, Immie’s scowl is so deep her eyebrows are practically on her chin. Her mouth is a straight line as her fists clamp on her hips. ‘Right. What happens next then?’
Poppy’s voice is as light as the Amaretti biscuits we passed over. ‘So we usually go along the rails, and pick out any dresses you might like the look of.’ Not that we’re expecting many of those.
Immie nods her head at the rail, then grunts. ‘You know bloody Nicole’s picked the same day as us.’
Poppy broke that news to Chas and Immie as soon as I’d found out, but since then we’ve been trying to play it down.
‘Chas reckons she was desperate to have the dress off the Daisy Hill Farm website.’ Immie’s frown eases a fraction. ‘Is that dress here?’
Here, exactly as ordered by Nicole, although she’s having a ton of extra diamonds sewn on. Which gets me off the hook. At least I haven’t got into trouble over that secret. But for someone reluctant, Immie’s suddenly sounding amazingly focused and proactive.
There’s a whoosh of lace skirt, as Poppy pulls a dress off the rails with a flourish. ‘This is the dress from the photo shoot we did at the farm, remember?’ She fingers the delicate lace cuff.
‘Bollocks, that’s no good.’ Immie blows out her cheeks, and takes another glug of wine. ‘I’m way too sweaty for sleeves.’ Which is a relief, because Immie getting married on the same day, in the same dress as Nicole would just have been plain weird.
I pick up the baton. ‘Any dresses you like the look of, we’ll hang in the fitting room.’
Seeing the face Immie’s pulling I don’t bother to broach the undressing part. But there is something I can dangle. ‘As for Nicole, she tried on every one before she chose.’
The noise Immie lets out is close to a growl, as she slams down her glass. ‘I refuse to be outdone by that bloody Nicole. Bring it on. Show me the lot.’
‘Here we go then.’ I can’t believe how we’ve turned this around. ‘What have you got, Poppy?’
The dress Poppy swishes out is slinky cream satin, with hand sewn beading.
Immie chokes. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in it. I hate sequins.’
‘Except you’ve got them on your T-shirt. And they look great on there.’ Sorry to be the one to point it out, but …
‘Okay.’
I blink in surprise. ‘Sorry?’
‘Good point.’ Immie nods, as she pops the cork on the next bottle of fizz. ‘Stick it on the pile. Next?’
The fairytale tulle Poppy’s holding up gets a nod too. Although Immie was possibly taking more notice of me topping up her glass than of the dress.
‘Yup … yup … yup … yup …’ That’s for the chiffon covered silk, two more with fluttery tulle skirts, and a lovely dress with a lace overlay.
Admittedly there were as many glugs as there were ‘yups’. But talk about a sea change. Poppy and I can’t believe our luck here. When we’re on a roll we’re not going to stop just because the fitting room rail is groaning.
An hour later, there are only three dresses left on the rails in the showroom. They got the thumbs down from Immie, or more accurately, the ‘full-blown vomit’ impression. The rest of the dresses are in the fitting room, waiting.
‘Are you coming in then, Immie?’ I’m tugging at the stripy curtain in readiness.
Immie tucks up her legs behind her on the chaise longue where she’s lying. Her chin’s propped on her elbow, and she screws up her eyes. ‘I think that’s as much as I can stomach for one day.’
‘Sorry?’ Poppy shoots me a ‘what-the-hell?’ look.
‘Jeez, all that choosing. I’m totally knackered.’ Immie’s eyes are closed, but her mumble is decided. ‘Make me another appointment. I’ll have to come back for the next bit.’
I’m not sure what Jess is going to think, but I’m about to find out, because we can hear the clip-clop of her loafers on the floorboards. As she comes striding through, Immie gives a hiccup.
Jess gives one of her beatific smiles. ‘Great progress, Immie. We never rush our brides.’ The diary’s wedged under her elbow. ‘Same time next week?’ As Immie topples back and lets out what sounds horribly like a snore, Jess shoots a searching frown at Poppy and me. ‘And next Tuesday, we’ll go easier on the Prosecco on an empty stomach, won’t we?’
She’s wrong about empty, but whatever. I’m definitely getting the blame for this because it’s me Jess is homing in on.
‘And Lily, there’s a customer waiting for you in the White Room.’
My curiosity stops my quaking. ‘But I don’t have any …?’ Apart from the dreaded Nicole, who I’m damned sure wouldn’t wait anywhere she was told to.
‘He’s specifically asking for you.’ As she drops her voice there’s a smile twisting her lips.
‘Really?’ I ignore that my stomach did a somersault when she said the word ‘he’. As to why my mind’s fast forwarding to Fred …
The way she peeps at me over the top of the appointment book, tells me she’s playing games here. ‘Enough teasing. It’s your Prince Charming from the pub. Lovely boy. Definitely not stinting on the charm either.’
So, Fred’s calling in to say thanks for the chocolate saw I left at the farm as a ‘thank you’, along with his clean shirt. How sweet is that? Except on second thoughts it’s not any kind of sweet I want. And for the future I’m going to have to be firm that work’s strictly out of bounds for casual visits. It also reminded me I’m going to have to up my ironing standard too, now I’m back in the shop.
‘You seem to have made a big impression.’ Jess purrs, as I follow her across the hall.
Although from where I’m standing she seems to be the one who’s most impressed. I’m checking round my hair for rogue waves as I hurry, and kind of pre-preparing my completely casual ‘Hi Fred’ smile. But when I catch sight of the gaunt figure waiting beyond the shoe display, you could knock me over with a Jimmy Choo. Talk about Jess confusing her royals.
Just in time, I manage not to make Immie’s full blown vomit noise. From somewhere in my deflated chest, I drag out some words.
‘Kip? What the flip …?’ Rolling straight into a cough gives me time to recover. ‘Er, what can we possibly do for you?’ Whoah. For the first time in my entire life, I sound just like my mother.
As for thinking my second customer encounter of the day couldn’t be any more of a spectacular fail than my first? Wrong, wrong, wrong. And it’s barely begun.
Chapter 11
Tuesday, 28th February
A
t Brides by the Sea: Cock ups and royal waves
‘I Googled wedding fairs …’ Kip’s sauntering around the White Room, hands in the pockets of his parka. And he couldn’t look any more chilled if he owned the place.
‘Whoop-di-do. Well done for that.’ It comes out as a bit of a sneer. But it’s the politest I can manage. Any guy in charge of bridal arrangements at an exclusive use venue who says that has to be winding me up.
‘As suggested by the lovely Nicole.’ He’s staring at me as if I should be reacting. ‘She can stick her demands for a hot tub right up her fur coat. But now I’ve done my research, another promotion event could be great for business. It’s something I’ll be running with.’
Me erupting with laughter at the stuffed-up hot tub image isn’t professional, so it’s lucky he’s not a real customer. Anyone other than Nicole, I promise I wouldn’t be choking on my shirt cuff.
‘Still not understanding why you’re here though?’ I say, as soon as I can speak again.
There’s a flash of a rip in the front of his cashmere jumper as he turns. And I’m pretty horrified to see he’s back to rocking the Penryn ragged-jeans thing too.
He rubs a thumb across his jaw. ‘Google also tells me Brides by the Sea is a one-stop wedding shop. It’s a no-brainer. You’re my answer to an instant event. How does mid-March sound to you?’
He’s staring at me as if he’s expecting me to jump up and down. Whereas I’m inwardly cursing. How bad would a wedding fair at the Manor be for Poppy and Rafe? Especially one that would be unlikely to go ahead if we didn’t join in. I need to shut this down now.
I make a big effort to get reunited with my best grovelling customer-service voice, and toss in a suitably sickly smile. ‘A fabulous wedding fair takes mahoosive planning.’ Can you imagine him putting in the work? Because, seriously, I can’t. ‘What’s more, we couldn’t possibly pay to appear at a half-cocked mess-up like your Open Day.’ Now I say it, he’s mad even to be asking us.
When he bites his lip, his teeth are slightly uneven. ‘Who said anything about paying? Wouldn’t I be the one to pay you – for organising it?’
There’s the noise of a plate crashing down in the kitchen. From the hammering of loafers on floor boards, I’d say Jess is running to reach us like she just left the starting gate. Even though we’re all of ten feet away, when she arrives she’s breathless, with her chiffon scarf streaming behind her. And her smile is dazzling enough to make up for every one I’ve held back.
‘I’m liking what I’m hearing, Kip, tell me more.’ There’s no trace of embarrassment about her eavesdropping either. For a second she looks as if she’s going to link arms with him, but thankfully she limits herself to a pat on his hand.
Dammit. Who’d have thought she’d be so taken in by hollow cheeks and threadbare chic, when the guy’s such a pretender?
Kip clears his throat, and starts again. ‘I want to showcase the whole venue package, with the focus on ultimate inspiration for big days. Clothes, flowers, photography, cakes.’ The man’s clearly got all this from his search engine.
‘Ye-e-e-e-s …’ Jess really should think before she lets out that purr. She shouldn’t be encouraging him.
‘I’d like Brides by the Sea to handle the lot. Stage set the Manor. Organise other exhibitors. How are you fixed for two weeks’ time?’
He has to be joking. I’m looking from Kip to Jess in silent horror. Not only because this shows how little grasp of the wedding business he has. But whatever happened to chasing him off the premises? Where’s our solidarity with Weddings at Daisy Hill Farm?
‘We might need at least three?’ Jess’s smile has been replaced with the peculiar hungry stare she slips into when she’s negotiating. ‘Free exhibiting for us, all expenses, an hourly rate for staff, five per cent off for you on whatever you spend with the shop?’ Although I suspect Kip’s such a numpty, he’d have jumped at it, without that last reduction.
Kip’s hand comes out of his pocket to shake Jess’s. ‘Great, you got yourself a deal.’ Which is ridiculous to say, when he’s the one who wants it. ‘You stand to pick up a lot of business here. Do I get a cut on orders you take?’ Put in a wishy-washy way like that, Jess’ll wipe the floor with him.
She’s straight down his throat. ‘No you damn well don’t. You’re a beggar not a chooser. And you do realise my stylist doesn’t come cheap?’ That’s Jess clawing back what she just gave away, as she practically wrenches his arm off with her hand shake.
The sideways glance Kip sends me has a payback lip-curl. ‘I’m sure she’s worth every penny.’
Which is a lot more than I am, given I can’t even get my voice to work. If I could I’d be yelling, telling them to stop. Immediately. Because Poppy and Rafe are suddenly a minor concern. It’s finally dawning on me, conjuring this wedding fair out of thin air is going to be completely down to me.
‘Do you have a maximum budget?’ Note how she’s firing the questions once the job’s in the bag.
Kip shrugs. ‘Whatever it takes. I need to get this off the ground with a bang.’ Ouch to how he’s mixing his metaphors there, as well as to his complete lack of financial planning. Which doesn’t bode well for someone whose previous business just crashed and burned. Allegedly. ‘And leave the publicity to me.’ Given how many punters he pulled out of nowhere for the Open Day, that’s one area he might be on top of.
Jess’s expression still hasn’t relaxed. ‘Obviously with a job as tricky as this we’ll need a “hooray handshake” too.’
What’s more, she’s completely ignoring my violent head shaking, and the not-so-silent “no’s” I’m mouthing at her. I could possibly do this if I had three months. Three weeks is setting me up for a fall. And it’s her reputation that will come crashing down along with me.
And there’s no point Kip turning to me to explain what she means, because I haven’t got a clue either.
Jess rolls her eyes. ‘The “hooray handshake” is the incentive bonus. Index linked to the difficulty of the task. Twenty-five per cent on top, if we pull off the impossible. Agreed?’
Kip’s face cracks into a grin. ‘Now I’ve heard it all. Let’s see how amenable and talented your stylist is first.’ He lets out a low laugh, and as he backs towards the door he’s still shaking his head and chortling with amusement. ‘Remind me to introduce you to my uncle. Talk about two of a kind. You’ll meet your match with him.’
Over the years, there’s not many times I’ve seen anyone stand up to Jess and get away with it. Come to think of it, she’s rarely speechless either. But she is now.
‘That’s the Penryns for you, all over.’ I say, trying to explain, as well as to fill the silence. ‘Nothing princely or charming about them.’ They do you down every time. Which is why it’s best not to go anywhere near them, or their damned Manor.
This is not going to be easy. For any of us. The way things are panning out, I want to point Gucci towards Bath, and not stop driving until I get there.
Chapter 12
Saturday, 4th March
At Daisy Hill Farm: Men’s work and little slips
There are times in life when you just have to stop grumbling, and get on with it. Four days later, after a lot of phone calls, I’ve enlisted an array of exhibitors for the wedding fair, and the date’s set for April 1st. Fingers crossed we aren’t tempting fate with that. The good part is I’ve done most of it from the comfort of the sofa in the attic, and I haven’t been anywhere near the Manor. What’s better still, I’ve reached the prize that was spurring me on. This particular Saturday morning I don’t mind at all getting up when the little porthole window in my bedroom is still black, and the lights of the boats are glistening across the water. Because today, to ease me into my stylist’s role, I’m helping set up the flowers for a wedding in the farmhouse at Daisy Hill Farm. Woohoo to that.
‘You have to love a bride who goes for wall to wall properly dazzling pink,’ Poppy says as she comes across the wide reception room with a coffee tr
ay.
My mouth waters as I catch sight of a stack of cupcakes with bright fuchsia icing. On a normal day, this would count as an early breakfast, but we already had crusty bacon cobs what seems like hours ago.
Clambering down from the step ladder where I’ve been fixing cerise carnations from a batten suspended over the top table, I grab a drink and a cake. ‘They’re so pretty, it’s a shame to eat them.’ I nibble the edge so I don’t spoil the deep curls of buttercream rose petals.
Poppy grins. ‘These were my practice ones.’ There’s also a spectacular three-tier cake sized version in the kitchen. ‘They’re so “look-at-me”, they might work well for April Fools’ at the Manor. Talking of which, have you drummed up any more interest in the fair?’
When the news of Kip’s big event broke, we considered all the options, including putting on a rival day at the farm. But in the end there weren’t enough suppliers to go round two, so Poppy decided it was more practical to capitalise on the Brides by the Sea free pass. At least that way she can pick up some cake orders, and we’ll have all the contacts for the Daisy Hill event in the autumn.
‘We’ve got everything from gazebos to microbreweries. Even the vicar’s coming.’ I’m catching my crumbs in a piece of kitchen roll, given Poppy’s already buffed the scrubbed oak floor to perfection. ‘Someone’s bringing a bridal camper van. More importantly, there’ll be a hand cart giving out free ice creams.’
‘Yay to that.’ Poppy picks up a carnation I’ve dropped, and twirls it in the air.
I reach for a box and start to get out the table flowers. ‘I’ve also blagged a whole load of jars of confectionery to create our own sweetie table.’ Not that we’re shallow, but it’s going to be a long day. And can you resist a flying saucer or a sherbet lemon?
‘More pretty pink here.’ Poppy swoops on the ruby bunches of tulips, bound up with their own leaves. ‘I’m so looking forward to having more weddings here once we’ve got the extra rooms done. The farmhouse looks so beautiful when the rooms are filled with flowers.’