The look of mild nausea on his face was worth it.
But Chelsea’s morning did not get any better. Kit was suffering with a hangover and refused to rescue her from his family.
‘I’ll meet you later, go hang out with Mum and Ceels, I’ll join you in the afternoon and show you the castle.’
‘Where we get to meet your ex and her wedding planner?’ She rolled her eyes, tidying up her make-up as Kit lounged on the bed.
‘Only if we’re very, very lucky.’ His voice dripped with sarcasm as he rolled back over and went to sleep. Chelsea tried to think of a way out of it, faking sickness or falling asleep next to Kit so that she didn’t have to go, but when Celia knocked on her door with a gentle smile and asked if she was ready, Chelsea couldn’t help but agree.
‘So, where are we going?’ she said, as they sat side by side on Celia’s hammock in the sunshine, their legs hanging over the side as they swung.
‘Mum’s taking us into town.’ Celia watched for the look of dismay on Chelsea’s face, and grinned a little when it appeared. ‘I think we’re going to the salon, and then to get some lunch. Kit said he’ll be down for lunch, at least. Then you guys can disappear off to the castle.’
‘Aren’t we meeting…’
‘Tatty? Yeah, but she turns up when she feels like it, plus the wedding is only a few days or so away now, so I think she’ll be too busy freaking out to hang around.’
‘Did you like her?’ Chelsea asked before she could stop herself, looking at the floor.
‘I was a kid,’ Celia shrugged, quickly plaiting her hair to the side and letting it hang loosely, feeling the cool breeze on her neck. ‘She was nice enough, she was just a little intense. And she reminded me of what Mum must have been like back when she entered this world, before she started believing all the crap she did was necessary and important.’
‘Girls! Time to go, darlings!’ Jemima called over to them from the patio, her face set in a grim line despite the trilling tone of her voice.
‘Into the dragon’s lair…’ Chelsea muttered, standing up.
Celia snorted delicately. ‘Just don’t talk about politics and don’t let her convince you to change your hair or something drastic. It’ll be fine, let’s go.’
Alistair dropped them into town, and they wove through the cobblestoned streets, Chelsea’s eyes taking in the shops and stalls. The water was an alluring blue, reflecting the perfect sunshine from above. Tourists sat outside at coffee shops, some waiting around for the traghetto to take them back to whichever other town they were staying in. Chelsea suddenly wanted to buy a postcard for the girls, send them something to say it was okay, that things were beautiful and perfect, and they didn’t need to worry about her. That everything would be fine.
‘Don’t dawdle now, I had to pull strings to get an appointment with Dina.’ Jemima strode ahead, and Chelsea looked with a sense of loss at the town she wanted to actually see whilst she was here, wanting to explore and meet real people, instead of being stuck up in their marble palace up the hill, surrounded by gargantuan holiday homes that probably sat empty for most of the year. She wanted to sit with an Aperol and watch the old men playing checkers in the cafe, or the young girls with their noses pressed up against the shop windows, coveting leather handbags in bright colours.
Instead, they were in a beauty parlour. Jemima was getting her hair blown out, and Celia decided to get her nails done. Chelsea realised she should probably do the same, looking at her plain fingertips, the nail polish scratched away with chlorine and the heat, but Jemima stopped her.
‘Darling, I don’t mean to be indiscreet, but when was the last time you had your brows done? They’re in need of a shape.’ Jemima’s face held no malice, but an open smile. ‘Go on, my treat. You always notice eyebrows more when you’re wearing sunglasses.’
Chelsea nodded mutely, surprised at the level of tact from Jemima. That criticism was almost polite. Maybe she was trying. Maybe Kit had spoken to her last night, and had told her in no uncertain terms that this was the person he was marrying, so she better get damn well used to it. And maybe Jemima had listened, so afraid of losing her youngest son.
Chelsea was thinking about this as she was sat back in the chair, barely noticing as the warm wax was applied to her skin, then yanked off promptly. She held back a yelp, feeling her whole body jolt.
‘Sorry! Sorry.’ The young girl patted her shoulder, trying to get her to relax back into the chair. ‘Is okay. Okay.’
Chelsea bit her trembling lip and thought back to the salon at home, where they threaded her brows in less than five minutes and only charged her seven pounds for the privilege. She’d always been fair anyway, it was usually easier to get away with. Or so said the make-up counter at Selfridges, who had helped her figure out her ‘look’. Wax on the delicate skin around her eyes? This was madness, but she bore it, thinking unkindly that perhaps Jemima wasn’t over it at all, and this was her torture. If she couldn’t verbally attack her, she could at least make her eyes water.
The other wax strip was ripped off, and Chelsea was sure multiple layers of skin went with it. Then came the plucking and the pulling and the scissors. Her whole forehead felt inflamed, and tears ran from the corners of her eyes down the sides of her face, racing down to her neck and onto the seat.
Chelsea heard panicked whispers, and suddenly Celia’s voice was nearby. ‘Um, Chels? Are you allergic to wax or something?’
‘I…don’t know. Why?’
‘Because your eyes have swollen up like a puffer fish having a mental breakdown,’ Celia said, biting her lip. Chelsea struggled to open her eyes, a stinging pain as she looked at the younger woman. It was hard to focus. The Italian words were being spoken in ‘sing song’ now, a little wobbly in that Chelsea could hear the panic. The women ran around putting cold compresses on her eyes and the coolness helped a little.
‘I’m sure it was just a little reaction, darling, don’t worry, the heat too I’m sure…’ Jemima’s voice boomed as she came closer, and Chelsea felt the compress being lifted up. ‘Sweet Jesus! Dina, what have they done?’
Chelsea felt herself start to panic, and wanted to sit up, but a strong arm on her shoulder stopped her.
‘I need to see.’
‘You really, really don’t,’ Celia said dryly. ‘Give it some time to cool down. I’m sure it’ll be fine in a minute. Anyone got a glass of wine for Chelsea?’
‘I don’t want wine!’ she insisted, struggling to sit up and pulling off the remaining compress so she could look in the mirror. It was getting hard to hold her eyelids open and she struggled to see clearly, but the skin around her eyebrows was red raw, peeling and patchy. More than that, around her eyes was inflamed and her eyelids were now twice the size. She didn’t even really look like herself any more. And the pain was increasing, not just stabbing and tingling but now burning, like some chemical was beneath her skin and burrowing its way down into her skull.
Not for the first time since arriving on the Lake, Chelsea wanted to cry.
‘What am I meant to do now?’
‘Oh darling, don’t be dramatic.’ Jemima patted her shoulder briefly. ‘It’ll go down by this afternoon. We could get Dina to cut you a fringe if you like, to hide it?’
Chelsea felt the growl at the back of her throat and shook her head, trying for civil. ‘No thank you, Jemima. I meant more that perhaps I should get some antihistamine or something?’
‘Ah, yes, so sensible.’ Jemima whipped out her mobile. ‘Al, darling, Chelsea’s got herself into a bit of a fix, when you bring Kit down, could you also pick up some antihistamines for the girl?’
She paused, listening to his response. ‘No, no, she’s fine. Just being a bit dramatic, that’s all. Okay darling, toodles!’
Chelsea clenched her teeth as she held the compresses to her eyes, feeling the coolness help slightly.
‘Well, ta-da! What do you think of my hair?’ Chelsea squinted from behind her puffy eyelids and said nothing. It l
ooked the same anyway and Jemima had quickly gone from dragon lady to manipulative, evil, worst mother-in-law in history. Yes, sure, she couldn’t have known Chelsea would have a reaction, but if she hadn’t insulted her into having her brows done, this would never have happened.
Jemima paid up, and Chelsea winced as she put her sunglasses on, looking at the red patchy skin above her glasses. Jemima was right, you certainly noticed them more with sunglasses. The sun beating down on her skin wasn’t helping, and she bowed her head as they stopped in to a cafe. She nursed an ice water whilst Jemima chatted away obnoxiously about how well Eric was doing, and what a shame it was Claudia wasn’t feeling well enough to join them that evening. Chelsea noticed there were no snobby remarks about Claudia’s drinking or hangover, but she supposed being an heiress to an empire gave you that right.
Please let Kit get here soon, please, please. I want to go. All Chelsea could think of was running, of escaping like he’d promised her. They’d met her, they’d announced their engagement, she got along with his sister and the staff at least, and these horrible people would at least be invited to the wedding (though she was starting to consider that a quick elopement and a return to their regularly scheduled programming was the best idea for everyone) but why hadn’t they left yet? Why did he insist on them staying here? He’d said a few days and it had been a few days. It was time to go.
‘Oh Celeste! Darling! Is Tatty here with you?’ Jemima jumped up and kissed a woman on both cheeks. Chelsea struggled to see much of the woman beyond her huge curly blonde hair and her floaty dress, covered in sparkle and fringe. It floated in the breeze and she looked cool and collected, more like a high priestess than a wedding planner.
‘She’s just double checking everything at the castle, well, triple checking, but of course, that’s what she’s like, but that’s her right as a bride, isn’t it? She’s absolutely glowing at the moment, you should see her, skin like porcelain, eyes like crystals! She looks perfectly ambivalent!’
Chelsea frowned a little, and winced at the movement. Ambivalent?
Jemima didn’t seem to notice, just nodding away in delight. ‘She must be so thrilled and excited!’
‘Oh, she’s positively ecclesiastical!’
Chelsea looked at Celia, but the young woman averted her eyes and stared at her drink in silence. There was a disease where people used the wrong words, right? She probably shouldn’t say anything. Besides, hearing about Tatty’s perfect skin when she felt like a creature from the deep was not really what she was hoping for. Better to stay quiet and avoid attention until Kit arrived.
‘Celeste, you have to meet Chelsea! She’s going to be my daughter-in-law!’ Jemima’s voice made up for the lack of enthusiasm with its volume.
‘Hello! So wonderful to – oh goodness, what’s happened to your forehead? It’s positively proletariat!’ Chelsea frowned again, taking the hand offered to her in confusion.
‘Sorry, it’s what?’
‘Proletariat,’ Celeste said cheerfully, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I’m blessed with an abundant vocabulary, don’t feel bad if you don’t know some of the words. It means “really horrible”.’
‘I was under the understanding that –’
‘Oh Celeste, do join us for a drink, tell us all about how the wedding’s going!’ Jemima interrupted, pulling out a seat. ‘Is she going to look beautiful? Who’s doing the catering? Did they manage to get the Pnina Tornai dress she wanted?’
Chelsea let the sound swirl around her, like two excited bees chattering away about when they were next going to sting someone. Not bees, bees were nice, and necessary. Wasps. Chelsea tuned them out as they talked about how beautiful Tatty was, how wonderful she was going to be as a wife and then as a mother. Then she listened as they bitched about the facilities available in the castle, how anyone could get married there now and soon it wouldn’t be special at all.
‘Well, Chelsea and Kit are obviously interested in the castle, but do you think it’s too tacky now? Too…ordinary?’ Jemima fake-whispered the word, somehow making it louder.
‘It is what you make it, darling.’ Celeste waved her hand, her glass of white wine spilling all over the floor. She didn’t seem to notice. ‘I mean, I find it a bit recalcitrant myself…’
‘Because the castle staff aren’t very helpful?’ Chelsea guessed, trying to give the woman the benefit of the doubt.
‘No, darling.’ Celeste looked at her with pity. ‘I mean it’s a little bit…out of style. Is that easier to understand?’
Jemima waved it away and turned the conversation elsewhere, whilst Chelsea thought she might burst with the indignation of it all. She might start making up words and pretending she was the Queen of fucking Sheba, if that’s what people around here could do, just make things up and belittle others into going along with it.
‘Oh Tatty, there you are, darling! The most beautiful bride to be!’ Jemima stood up as a woman approached the table.
The young woman was beautiful, in a natural, easy way. Her brown wavy hair hung loose around her shoulders and she wore a navy dress with little flowers on it, and white ballet pumps. She looked like she’d just walked out of a 1940s movie, there was something elegant and timeless about her. She was not at all what Chelsea had been expecting.
‘Oh Tatty!’ Jemima threw her arms around the woman, swinging her back and forth a little. ‘We’ll always be so sad you didn’t join our family! I mean, obviously, it’s all worked out for the best, look at you, you look gorgeous and your wedding will be so wonderful! Where’s Mark now?’
The young woman stepped back and smiled at her. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Jem, I’m sure Celeste has given you the details about the goings-on at the castle!’
She even spoke like something from the past, all elocution and politeness. There was none of the brashness that Jemima offered, or the ridiculousness of Celeste. This was just a polite, pretty woman. Who was suddenly smiling at her and holding out a hand.
‘Hi, I’m Tatiana Grand, Tatty for short. Are you a friend of Celia’s?’
Chelsea swallowed, shocked that someone had been polite enough not to mention her forehead, and then to think she was young enough to be friends with a seventeen-year-old.
‘No, darling, this is Chelsea. She’s Kit’s fiancée.’ Jemima looked like she was positively thrumming with the drama of it all. ‘It’s all very new, we just found out when they turned up unannounced!’
Chelsea watched the girl’s face carefully, and could find no trace of malice or sadness, though it looked like Jemima was desperate for it.
‘Congratulations, Chelsea. Kit’s a great guy.’ She paused, a smile playing around her lips. ‘And I’m sure Jemima has done everything to welcome you into their wonderful family.’
Chelsea might have been imagining it, but she was sure she saw Tatty wink at her. Celia coughed away a laugh.
‘Oh, I’ve never met anyone quite like Jemima, our time here has been such a rollercoaster!’ Chelsea played along, watching as Jemima wilted a little, and started a loud conversation with Celeste about weddings once again.
Tatty sat down next to Chelsea, rummaging in her bag, producing a tube of cream. ‘Here, it’s antiseptic. Looks like you had a bad brow experience.’ She handed it over. ‘I don’t know if it’ll do anything, I’ve been using it for the bites on my legs. Thank goodness I’m wearing a long wedding dress, so they’ll be covered!’
Chelsea found herself desperately wanting to hate this woman, who was so very much part of the world that Kit was from. She wanted her to be mindless and shallow and have absolutely no redeeming features. But so far, all Chelsea could find was one of the few people who had been kind.
‘Thank you, at this point anything has got to be better!’ Chelsea started applying it gently to the inflamed area, while Tatty asked Celia about school and her university options.
Their conversation was cut short by Jemima’s squawk.
‘Kit! Darling, over here!’ She stood up and waved d
esperately. ‘Look, Tatty’s here! Look!’
Kit strode over, his blond hair shining in the sun, his white canvas shirt unbuttoned so that he looked like he’d just walked from an aftershave advert. ‘Yes, mother, I have eyes. No need to jump about and make a scene.’ He kissed her cheek and moved over to his ex-fiancée, who stood up.
‘Hey, Kit,’ she smiled warmly.
‘Hey, Tatty.’ He kissed her on the cheek, his hand stroking her arm briefly. ‘Congrats on getting hitched. Bet it’ll be quite the affair.’
‘Yep,’ she laughed, ‘huge and expensive and elaborate, everything you’d hate.’
He smiled for a moment longer, until his silence teetered on awkward, and moved over to Chelsea.
‘Oh, baby, that looks painful.’ He crouched down to stroke her cheek, looking more closely. ‘You’re not normally sensitive to stuff.’
‘Freak reaction, I guess,’ she shrugged, trying not to play the victim. He handed her the floppy rimmed sunhat she’d brought with her, and a packet of antihistamines, stroking her shoulder despite the sticky warmth.
‘If it’s not better in half an hour, we’ll go to the hospital.’
‘Christopher, don’t be melodramatic,’ Jemima laughed, ‘you were never such a fuss pot before.’
‘It could be infected, Mother,’ Kit said staunchly, pulling up a chair next to Chelsea and signalling to the waiter for a water. ‘There’s no need to be alarmed, it won’t inconvenience your day at all.’
‘Well, it will! You and Chelsea were going to go and see the castle about getting married –’
Tatty turned to them with kind eyes. ‘Oh, are you thinking of the castle too?’
‘No, not really, we just –’ Chelsea paused, trying to think of how to phrase it.
‘– got strong-armed by my mother and it was easier to go along with it. You remember,’ Kit laughed and Jemima huffed.
‘Well, don’t waste your time imagining it as you go around the castle, just come to my wedding, instead,’ Tatty shrugged. ‘We’ve got spare seats, and since you’re here, it would be lovely to have you.’
Nice Day For a White Wedding Page 13