Wedding Season

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Someone who was at the wedding you handled on Saturday.'

  ‘Oh. Well, it was a lovely wedding.' The budget a young star who'd been nominated for an Oscar might have floated around in Sarah's head like a happy pink bubble. Suddenly she was happy with weddings – she loved weddings!

  ‘So we heard. Are you available?'

  ‘Oh, I'm sure I am. What date did you have in mind? To get the best venue, we need to book early.'

  ‘August.'

  ‘That's fine, but next year? Or the year after?'

  ‘This year. August this year. Carrie wants to get married as soon as possible.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘But that's only two months away,' said Sarah, her heart in overdrive.

  ‘We have a very small window. In fact, shall I tell you the date now?’

  Sarah nodded and then realised that wouldn't work on the telephone. A sixth sense told her what she was about to hear. 'Yes please,' she breathed.

  ‘The eighteenth. It's a Saturday.'

  ‘I know,' said Sarah. Her mouth had gone dry.

  ‘Is that all right for you? If not, I have a whole list of names here, I could try one of them?' Mandy Joseph didn't sound threatening, she sounded sympathetic, as if she could stop bothering Sarah at any moment.

  ‘No!' It was a squeak. 'No, that's fine.' Still clutching the towel Sarah groped for the bottle of water that was on her desk, opened the top and had a swig. She cleared her throat. 'So, what sort of wedding did Carrie have in mind?' Should she have said Carrie – or Miss Condy?

  Carrie was obviously fine because Mandy Joseph didn't miss a beat. 'Oh, pretty traditional. Like the one you did for Ashlyn.’

  Sarah slopped some water into a glass. If all the moisture from her mouth was going to keep evaporating like this, she needed to be able to replace it quickly. 'That took two years to organise, not two months.'

  ‘Why so long?’

  Sarah cleared her throat. 'Most good venues – not to mention churches – are booked up that far in advance, especially if you want a Saturday. If you were to change-'

  ‘Saturday's the traditional day, right?’

  Sarah spotted a glimmer of opportunity. 'Not necessarily. If you – if Miss Condy – got married in London, weekdays are traditional.' This would make it so much easier to arrange. It should just about be possible to find a good hotel in London available on a weekday with two months' notice. Don't say Carrie Condy was pregnant as well as Lily? That would be a coincidence too far, surely?

  ‘Oh no. Carrie definitely wants a country wedding. The church with the little house thing over the gate – just like Ashlyn.'

  ‘That's going to be really difficult. There aren't many-'

  ‘Carrie doesn't mind where in England she gets married, just as long as it's really pretty.' There was a pause, and Sarah used it to sip more water. 'As I said, we can find another planner if you think you can't do this. We were recommended you, but-'

  ‘May I ask who recommended me?' Ashlyn's wedding had only been the day before. Who on earth could have been there and passed on her name to such a high-grade client and so quickly?

  ‘Oh yes, it was Hugo. Hugo Marsters.'

  ‘Hugo!' The image of the two of them last night flashed into her mind, but she hurriedly dismissed it.

  ‘Yes, I've been a friend of his sister since for ever, and I was visiting with her earlier today. He showed me some wonderful photographs of the wedding on his digital camera. I know that is just what Carrie is looking for. So can you do it?’

  Sarah wouldn't have refused this job whoever she'd been recommended by, but the fact that it was Hugo gave her an extra incentive; if he thought she was good enough to do this, she must do it, and brilliantly. Just to prove how professional she was. 'Of course I can do it,' she said, trying to banish all traces of desperation from her voice. 'I was just pointing out the potential problems, but if Carrie's happy to get married anywhere, I can find a church, I'm sure.' In fact, she wasn't at all sure, but she had discovered that if she sounded confident her determination and refusal to be beaten usually got her what she wanted. With luck the vicar concerned could be bribed with a huge contribution to his tower-restoration fund and allow a starlet to be married outside her own parish – which was probably in America anyway.

  After answering some key questions, Mandy, unaware of Sarah's false confidence, said, 'So what's the deal?’

  When Sarah finally got off the phone she collapsed on the bed for several minutes before getting some clothes on. Wedding planner to the stars. It did sound wonderful, but could she do it? With a proper amount of time, of course she could. With a deadline as tight as that, maybe not, especially as her sister was getting married the same day.

  As she pulled on a pair of knickers she remembered that she'd put clean knickers on in the hotel that morning. Two lifetimes had passed since then. It was strange that her body was still much the same: the same healing spot, the same little chip in her toenail varnish. She found her favourite fleecy joggers and a T-shirt. Summer it may have been, but she'd got cold talking on the telephone half-naked – she needed comfort clothes.

  The discussion Sarah had had with Mandy gave her the information that not only did Carrie Condy want a very elaborate and yet traditional wedding, she would not be around much. Hearing this, Sarah had suggested she go to a top wedding dress shop and buy a dress off the peg. She explained that it would be made to fit and look as if it had been made exclusively for Carrie, but Mandy was insistent. Carrie wanted a couture gown, 'made to measure and everything like Ashlyn'. Sarah didn't ask how Carrie had got to know about Ashlyn's dress because the answer would probably have been Hugo. Hugo was definitely the sort of man who would know which wedding dresses were handmade and which were only 'prét-a-porter'. She didn't know if this was a point in his favour, or against him.

  At her desk, she created another file on her computer, and an actual file. On the actual file she wrote Carrie Condy in bold letters and wondered if the project was too much for her, and if she should ring back and suggest Carrie go to one of the big wedding-planning firms.

  But apart from the fact that Sarah really enjoyed a challenge, and wanted this important client, the answer was quite likely to be that Carrie wanted the same planner that Ashlyn had had. Briefly Sarah wondered if she could convince both Carrie and Ashlyn that Carrie should wear Ashlyn's actual dress. It would save so much time. But even if Sarah were willing to ring Cannes and ask Ashlyn, she was by now fairly sure that Carrie would want a dress exactly the same as Ashlyn's but different. Sarah wrote Elsa's name down in both files. She would ring her later as toiles and boned and beaded gowns took a long time to make, but her first priority was the venue. She took down her book of churches – a fragile Collins Guide – and her file of all the churches she had used so far, which listed all their attributes, including things like the availability of loos and parking. Her heart sank. There was no way the church that Ashlyn got married in would be available.

  It was nine o'clock at night, and Sarah still hadn't eaten. She went to the kitchen end of her sitting room and poured some cereal into a bowl. It was all she wanted, a nice bowl of cornflakes. Then she remembered there was no milk and seriously considered crying. 'Get a grip!' she told herself loudly. 'You've just got the most fantastic contract! The fact that she wants the same date as Lily is a bit of a problem. But man is a problem-solving animal! It'll be fine!’

  She was chewing a lump of cheese, having no energy to turn it into a sandwich, when her mobile rung. Hugo's name flashed up and she switched it off. No way would she speak to Hugo until she was a bit more together about Carrie's wedding. She would need all her wits about her for this event. It strengthened her resolve. Not only did she not want to risk another man getting anywhere near her heart, she couldn't afford any distractions, not if she was going to pull off the wedding of the year at such short notice. The whole kissing episode would have to be faced sometime – she couldn't avoid Hugo for ever; they worked
in the same business – but just now, Sarah wasn't fit for either a professional or a personal conversation. He could leave a message.

  She fell into bed without brushing her teeth.

  *

  The next morning Sarah made what felt like a hundred telephone calls, to find no church either able or willing to do a wedding in two months' time. The worst part was the disbelief expressed by whoever answered the phone that anyone could be so naïve as to think that a really picturesque church would be available on a summer Saturday. Sarah got fed up explaining that it wasn't her who was so ignorant, it was her client. She had also decided that as the chances of whatever church they did get having a lych-gate were so small that she would have one made by some people she knew of who made stage sets. The only other way she could get a summer Saturday and a lych-gate would be to find the right sort of church and then poison the bride who'd already booked it, she thought. She was a professional, she could do that.

  She was hunting through the church book again when the phone rang. It was Hugo. He was very persistent. Sarah let the answerphone pick up again.

  *

  The following day Sarah drove to the hotel where Ashlyn's wedding had taken place. She was anxious. Although she was here in part to thank all the staff concerned in the wedding again, and to clarify arrangements for another wedding which was thankfully not due until early in the new year, she was also meeting Hugo.

  They usually met up after a wedding they'd both been on duty at to go through the photographs. In the excitement of the last couple of days she'd temporarily forgotten this fact, especially as there had been no hurry this time. But Hugo had been insistent, and now she would have to face him. Since she hadn't been answering her phone, they had made today's arrangement by text – it had taken several of them to persuade her – which was unusual for Sarah, but after everything that had gone on she had been just too tired for proper conversation. That was her excuse and she was sticking to it.

  In fact, the faint prickle of sweat under her hairline and the butterflies in her stomach told her there was a quite different reason for her sudden mania for texting. They told her it was because Sarah was terrified of speaking to Hugo again after how they had parted, but she ignored the signs. She was determined to keep it all very professional.

  As she parked the car, however, and set off to the front door, she was forced to smile at herself. The previous night she had told herself that as a professional she should be able to murder a bride who had a venue she wanted. Now she felt about as professional as a cast member of a school before her as a reminder of what happened when you took a risk, she said: 'No.'

  ‘You're a strange woman in some ways, Sarah,' said Hugo, defeated.

  ‘But I am very good at my job!' She couldn't deny the 'strange', not unless she was prepared to tell him about the boy who broke her heart at university, who looked just like him and whom it had taken her ages and ages to get over. And she wasn't. 'So, let's have a look at the photos. Have you made your choice? Then we must think about getting them up on the website so people can order them.’

  A waiter appeared. Hugo looked at him, back at Sarah and sighed. 'Coffee please… Very strong and black. Thanks.’

  *

  As Sarah drove home she felt very pleased with herself. She'd very nearly been her cool, calm, professional self. And if her insides had clenched a bit when she let her glance drift towards his hands, or at the dimple that formed in his left cheek when he almost smiled, she was certain she hadn't let him see. He had seemed quite upset when she'd turned him down but he'd get over it. She'd probably only dented his ego, after all. And with any luck they wouldn't have to work together again for a bit, although the photos were fantastic. She had to admit he really was very good: she'd have to recommend him to Mandy. As she'd told him, she wouldn't let her feelings get in the way of business. Unless Carrie had her own photographer, and with any luck she would have, she'd have to use Hugo – he was one of the best in the business.

  It was only then she remembered. She'd been so intent on keeping things cool between them, that she had completely forgotten to thank him for passing on her name to Mandy.

  Never mind, she could text him or email him when she got home. She really did wish Hugo weren't so attractive -or rather that he hadn't made her see how attractive he was. They'd worked perfectly well together before; now it was going to be really difficult.

  ‘Men!' she said out loud. 'Who'd have anything to do with them!’

  Chapter Ten

  Bron walked down the High Street looking for the wine bar. Roger had not been thrilled about the idea of her going out midweek, but she'd cooked him a very good fish pie and there was sport on television and so she had been firm about going. He was grumpy because the meeting was about another wedding, not really because he wanted her company.

  Then she saw Elsa and hurried towards her.

  ‘Isn't this exciting!' said Elsa as they entered the wine bar. 'Sarah didn't say much on the phone. Did she tell you what it was all about?'

  ‘She sounded very businesslike,' said Bron. 'Apparently it's another wedding for a mega client.'

  ‘Oh good. I've got work for the next couple of months, but then I've got a bit of a dry spell.'

  ‘Let's sit here,' said Bron. 'We can really spread ourselves out. Shall we order drinks while we wait?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  Bron picked up the menu. 'We might as well have a bottle. House white OK for you?' Elsa nodded. 'Better get some water too.’

  When both women were settled with drinks and olives, Bron said, 'So, Elsa, while I've got you on your own, I really want to ask you some more about what it's like working for yourself. I know we talked about it briefly the other night but I wanted to pick your brains properly. I've been giving it a lot of thought recently and I keep wondering if I should go freelance again.'

  ‘Do you really not like working at the salon? One of the things I regret about my job is the amount of time I spend on my own. I think it would be fun to work with jolly people. I worked in a dry-cleaner's as a Saturday job and I loved the other women. They used to get me to do the mending because I had "nimble fingers".’

  Bron, fiddling with the menu, considered her answer. 'I'd like the salon more if I liked the people I worked with, but my boss is only a bit older than I am and is pretty vile, one way and another. The other girls are younger and tend to stick together. I'm a bit on my own, apart from the clients.’

  Elsa sipped her wine, allowing Bron to talk.

  ‘Take today, for example, one of my regulars – a lovely woman in her fifties – wanted something a bit different. We were going through colour charts and discussing what would go with her skin tones – all that stuff – when Sasha came over, took the chart out of my hands, and said, "That's the colour you should have, Mrs Aldroyd."' Bron took a sip from her glass. 'And suggested something that would have been absolutely minging!’

  Elsa laughed. 'What colour was it?'

  ‘Oh God, nearly grey! It would have made Mrs Aldroyd look about a hundred and twenty.' Bron gave a little giggle. 'We had to wait until Sasha had gone away before we could work out what was best. Then' – Bron's indignation escalated – 'she came back, saw we hadn't done what she'd suggested and went ape!' She took another gulp of wine and sighed. 'Mrs Aldroyd would definitely become a client if I went freelance. Sasha was practically telling her off for not wanting grey lowlights!'

  ‘My mother's in her fifties. She wouldn't want grey lowlights.'

  ‘Well, no!’

  Elsa chuckled sympathetically. 'What does Roger think about you going freelance? You have talked it over with him?' Having seen, albeit briefly, how Bron and Roger were together made Elsa wonder about them.

  ‘He thinks I'm mad even to think of going it alone. He's an accountant and the insecurity worries him. He'd insist on doing my books, I know he would, he is a bit of a control freak, and then he'd tell me how little money I was earning.' She made a face. 'I'd hate to b
e a kept woman. At least now I pay my way.'

  ‘It would only be for a while, I'm sure you'd soon build up a client base and earn more than you did before. There's much more work for hairdressers than dressmakers, surely? Most women go at least every six weeks – they'll have a dress made once in their lifetime.'

  ‘I never thought of it like that. Of course you're right.' Bron selected an olive. 'But I don't know if I could convince Roger.' Delicately, she removed the olive stone and picked up the menu again. 'And also, I don't think he likes the idea of me doing so many weddings. It means I'm not always there for the cricket.'

  ‘That seems a bit unreasonable.’

  Bron put the menu down. 'Oh no, it's fine! I always knew he was a cricketer. And he doesn't play it all weekend. And only in summer.'

  ‘So what do you do on Sundays? Picnics, walks – things like that?' Elsa heard the wistfulness in her voice but hoped that Bron hadn't.

  ‘We have lunch with his parents. I really like his mother. She and I get on like a house on fire,' said Bron quickly. 'Can I top you up?'

  ‘Oh, go on. I'm not driving. And you needn't either, really. Where you live, you could take a taxi home.'

  ‘Are you trying to lead me astray?' asked Bron, filling up her glass as she said it. She didn't get many opportunities to go out with friends; she should make the most of it.

  ‘Yes,' said Elsa simply.

  Just then, Sarah came rushing in. 'I am so sorry! I got horribly held up. I wouldn't have been quite so late if I didn't know Bron was with you, Elsa.' She kissed both women and then collapsed on to a chair.

  ‘White wine OK? Plate of pasta?' said Elsa, laughing. Sarah nodded. 'You'd better get some water as well.’

  ‘We have already,' said Elsa.

  ‘Oh God, do I sound like a head girl? I'm sorry!' Sarah took a sip from someone else's glass as a gesture of surrender of her role as boss woman.