Wedding Season

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Oh, honey!' said Mandy. 'You look to die for!'

  ‘Where are we going again?' asked Carrie. 'I can't remember?'

  ‘It's a dinner for the backers of Come Back Again,' said Mandy. 'You look just great!’

  Carrie inspected herself critically in the mirror. No one else could find fault with her but she was the last arbiter and she had to be satisfied too. To everyone's relief, she was.

  There was a knock at the door and Mandy ushered Hugo in.

  ‘Carrie! Sweetie!' They hugged and Sarah turned away as he picked her up and swung her round. 'You are the most gorgeous thing not sold in a cellophane box at Harrods!' he said, putting her down.

  Then he strolled across to Mandy and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Mandy, how is the sexiest PA in Hollywood?'

  ‘In London, Hugo,' said Mandy, friendly, but not buying the flattery. 'I presume you know these guys?’

  Elsa and Bron smiled in a friendly way. Sarah just nodded.

  He raised an eyebrow. 'OK, shall we get on with it?’

  Sarah had never doubted his skill, but when she saw what else he had produced, apart from the wedding photos, she was truly amazed. Carrie and Mandy were extremely impressed.

  ‘Hugo, honey! We have got to have you. Don't you think, Mandy?' said Carrie. 'Sarah?’

  Sarah did her best to smile. 'He is very good.' She wanted to go on to say, 'But are you sure you don't want Mario Testino or someone?' but couldn't. Her feelings towards Hugo were so confusing. If Carrie had implied Hugo wasn't up to the job she'd have defended him like a tigress.

  Hugo packed up his things. 'So,' he said to Bron and Elsa who were helping clear up yet more glasses. 'What are you girls doing now?'

  ‘We're going out to dinner,' said Bron.

  ‘We're giving them a lift,' said Carrie. 'I wanted them to come to dinner with us, but Mandy thought it wasn't a good idea.'

  ‘Why don't you come with us?' Bron asked Hugo.

  Sarah busied herself so she couldn't see his reaction to this invitation. She wasn't ready to engage with him yet. She still felt too confused. Then she chided herself for being silly. Where was the harm in having a friendly dinner with him? Elsa and Bron would be there. She looked up.

  ‘Hugo…' she started, just as he said, 'Actually, I have plans.’

  Shortly after that, he left.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A little while after Hugo had gone, all five of them piled into the car arranged to take Carrie to her dinner date. She was going to drop Sarah, Bron and Elsa at their hotel on her way, to save them getting a taxi. They were all best friends by now and Bron, having made Carrie look as if she wasn't wearing any make-up and was just naturally beautiful, which was the perfect look for the film that she was negotiating, had been booked to do hair and make-up for her wedding.

  ‘I just feel us girls are part of a crew now,' said Carrie as the chauffeur held open the car door. 'It'll take the stress out of the whole wedding thing.’

  While the others chatted gently, Sarah looked out of the window, as always loving being driven through London in the evening. Summer or winter, it always held a feeling of excitement and promise. She was happy with the way things had gone. Carrie was delighted with everything that had been arranged so far and while she was still intent on getting married in a pretty church on a summer Saturday, she was more aware of the difficulties of achieving this dream.

  They swept along Park Lane. Hyde Park seemed to be in a celebratory mood. Some trees were decorated with fairy lights and Sarah had a sudden urge to stop the car so she could get out and walk. She didn't, of course; she was being sensible. After they'd all freshened up for dinner, she would escort her team to a wonderful restaurant for a meal. But just briefly she'd wanted to take off her shoes and walk through the grass and smile at the people and pretend she didn't have any responsibilities.

  The car slowed at some lights as they passed a boutique hotel when they were somewhere in Belgravia and Sarah saw a taxi draw up outside it. Hugo, now wearing a dinner jacket, his hair artistically ruffled, came down the steps and opened the door of the taxi and ushered in a very beautiful young woman. Her heart clenched for a moment. A second later she'd convinced herself it was nothing. He was entitled to go out to dinner with whomever he liked.

  She turned back to the others. 'Did you say that Celeb magazine was interested in covering the wedding, Mandy?' she asked.

  Mandy nodded. 'It's not definite yet, but they're interested.' She lowered her voice. 'They contribute to the cost quite a bit if they have exclusive pictures.'

  ‘Well, that's brilliant! Would you need Hugo as well? ' Sarah was suddenly hopeful. Maybe she wouldn't have to work with him after all.

  ‘Oh yes,' said Carrie. 'Even if they sent one, we'd need him for the more intimate shots you wouldn't want in a magazine.'

  ‘Oh. I hadn't thought of that.' She sat back down in her seat. 'And do you have a preference for a videographer? You will want the wedding videoed, won't you?'

  ‘Absolutely,' said Carrie. 'I may ask people I know in the business to do it for me, but if you have anyone you can recommend..

  ‘I'll give you all the details.' Sarah pulled out her notebook and jotted it down.

  ‘This is the hotel you asked for, ladies,' said the chauffeur a little while later.

  As they landed on the pavement, having scrambled out of the limo and kissed Mandy and Carrie fondly goodbye, Elsa said, 'I'm never sure I like being called "ladies".'

  ‘Well, trust me, there's no acceptable way of referring to a group of women,' said Sarah crisply, still a little unsettled by her glimpse of Hugo. 'I've tried them all: girls, women, ladies; they all sound bad.’

  In the foyer of the hotel, Sarah looked at her watch. 'Shall we meet back down here at half past, then?'

  ‘OK,' said Bron. 'But if you want me to do your hair, let me know. I'm going to have a look at Elsa's.'

  ‘Does that mean you think it needs doing?' Sarah patted her head anxiously, ignoring Elsa's squeak of surprise.

  ‘Yes,' said Bron. 'You wash it, I'll blow-dry it for you.'

  ‘But you've just done Carrie's,' Sarah objected, 'and if you're doing Elsa's as well..

  ‘Doing Carrie's was what my dad would have called "speculating in order to accumulate".' She grinned. 'It's brilliant that she wants me to do it for the wedding. It is unusual for her not to have her own stylist.’

  Sarah shrugged. 'Maybe it's because she hasn't got that many close friends and wants people she knows around her.’

  Bron shook her head. 'She must just not get on well personally with her stylist. But it's great news for me! And, I get to make her cake! Thank you so much for bringing me along, Sarah.' And she hugged her friend.

  *

  Later, with everyone's hair newly styled and Sarah's a good couple of inches shorter, they found an Italian restaurant within tottering distance – Bron's heels weren't up to much forward motion. As three women on their own, they were welcomed with much flattering attention and given a table next to the garden. They could look out through the French doors to trees hung with fairy lights and what turned out up close to be plastic lemons.

  Considering how lovely it was, Sarah felt touched with melancholy. She couldn't help wondering if Hugo was sharing a similarly luscious London garden with the beautiful girl she'd seen him with. Or they might be in some smart club, dancing the night away before kissing each other to death in the back of a taxi. She stifled a sigh and took the menu she was being handed.

  ‘This is fun,' she said, determined to shake off her strange mood. She'd had a really successful day with Carrie, and her hair looked great. What Hugo did in his spare time was no business of hers, even if she did think, rather wistfully, that it could have been her this evening, being whisked off to dinner. She gave herself a mental shake – she must enjoy herself, for the others' sake if nothing else. 'This is almost like a hen night.'

  ‘Well, I wouldn't know,' said Elsa. 'I've never been
on a hen night but I get the impression they can be very raucous. I have seen some pictures.' She made a face. 'We won't be getting drunk, will we?'

  ‘A bit, maybe,' said Bron. 'It's not often none of us is driving.'

  ‘True,' said Sarah. 'Let's order.’

  This took a fair bit of doing as they kept forgetting about the food and talking about bits and pieces that had happened during the day. When at last the waiter had taken back the menus and promised to bring the wine right away, Elsa said, 'Hen night or not, it's going to be fun.'

  ‘I must say, it's the sort of hen night I'd have if I was ever going to get married, which I'm not of course,' said Sarah, more out of habit than anything else.

  ‘Aren't you?' said Elsa.

  Sarah shook her head. 'Definitely not. I've seen them go wrong too often. My sister was married for about six months before it collapsed.'

  ‘And now she's getting married again?' said Bron.

  Sarah nodded, a pained expression on her face. 'You should have seen the dresses she wanted to wear. Little wasp-waisted things, boned to the hilt.'

  ‘But they're lovely!' said Elsa. 'I make those sort of dresses.'

  ‘Not for people who are pregnant, you don't,' said Sarah.

  ‘Oh no,' Elsa agreed. 'Maybe I don't.' She paused. 'I wonder what I'd put your sister in, if I had a choice.'

  ‘Have you had lots of pregnant brides to deal with?' asked Bron.

  ‘A couple. It's not usually a big deal, except for the photos.’

  Sarah sighed. 'I wish you'd talk to Lily. She's insistent that her mother-in-law will go mad if anyone suspects she's not a virgin bride. Mad, really.’

  `So what is she having?' asked Elsa.

  ‘Not sure yet. But at least this time she's in a proper relationship, with a decent man. They've been going out for over a year.’

  `I'm not sure that's long enough,' said Bron, picking up a breadstick and crunching the end of it.

  ‘No? How long have you and Roger been together, then?' Sarah caught a sad note in Bron's voice but wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about it.

  ‘A couple of years.'

  ‘So,' said Elsa. 'What kind of dress would you have, Bron?'

  ‘Oh, I don't know. Haven't thought about it.’

  Sarah, who had moved on from wedding dresses said, 'I wonder if I could branch out and arrange hen nights? The trouble is, I'm not sure I'd want to deal with the tackyextras – the cowboy hats, the French maid outfits.'

  ‘You could arrange classy hen nights: spa holidays, maybe even learning something, like cooking or – I don't know – pottery,' suggested Elsa.

  `What, make your own dinner service?' said Sarah.

  ‘Useful when it came to the first row,' said Bron brightly. 'Oh, here comes the first course. I'm glad we decided to share one. It's huge!'

  ‘Shall we order some more wine now?' suggested Bron. This done, Sarah asked, 'So, Bron, if you haven't thought about a wedding dress, have you thought about your hen night?'

  ‘And can you please invite us?' said Elsa. 'All my friends from school are either abroad or living with someone, determined not to get married on moral grounds.' She frowned. 'I only kept up with those two.'

  ‘Ah,' said Sarah. 'Norma No-Mates.'

  ‘That's me,' said Elsa, cheerfully. 'Still, I can say "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride" now, because I've been one. A bridesmaid, I mean.'

  ‘You're young. You've got plenty of time. You might get married at any minute!' said Sarah.

  Elsa shook her head. 'Not in the foreseeable, anyway. No, it's Bron's hen night we should be thinking about. She's got a man, after all, which is key, let's face it.'

  ‘I'm never going to marry Roger,' said Bron.

  The words were like a brake on the general chatter and there was a small silence before Elsa spoke.

  ‘Aren't you?' she said. 'Of course, there's no reason why you should. I probably just got carried away by Carrie's wedding.' She stopped, abashed. 'Have I made an awful pun?'

  ‘We'll forgive you,' said Sarah.

  ‘So do you feel like Sarah, morally opposed to marriage?’

  said Elsa. Something about Bron indicated she had things on her mind she might want to share, but needed a little persuasion to do it.

  Bron shook her head. 'Nope. Not generally, just for me and Roger.’

  The tinkling of mandolins and Italian tenors, the sound of other diners scraping their knives and forks and murmuring to each other seemed to make the silence that suddenly fell more intense.

  ‘Why not?' whispered Elsa.

  ‘Because..

  In the pause, while Bron was trying to express the thoughts that had thrummed away in her subconscious for months now, their main courses arrived. If the waiters wondered how the lighthearted group of young women who'd come in could have changed into the tight-lipped people who dismissed them with only the politest of smiles, they didn't comment, but the atmosphere changed completely.

  Bron ignored her chicken alla Milanese and picked up her glass. 'We just don't get on any more. I could never be the wife he wanted, however hard I tried. I'm not sure if we should even be together.'

  ‘What do you mean?' Sarah put her hand on Bron's.

  Bron sighed. 'I always thought if I tried my best, conformed to how he wanted me to be I could make it work, but I just can't. He despises my job, despises me and always has to be the one in charge.'

  ‘Oh, Bron, I'm so sorry,' said Elsa, putting her hand on Bron's other hand.

  Sarah said, 'We – I – I mean, we knew he didn't like you doing weddings, and going out at night, but I didn't realise things were that bad.'

  ‘Well, they are.' Now she'd admitted it, both to herself and out loud, Bron felt tears starting at the back of her throat. She drank some more wine and tried to push down the growing feeling of despair that threatened to engulf her.

  ‘Well then, you must leave him,' said Sarah firmly.

  ‘I know,' said Bron, 'but I can't until I've got somewhere to go to.'

  ‘Your parents?' suggested Elsa.

  ‘They live in Spain,' said Bron. 'I could go and stay with them, of course. They'd love to have me, but I couldn't work there, or at least, not till I'd learnt some Spanish.'

  ‘My flat is so tiny, there isn't room for me in there what with all the office stuff,' said Sarah. 'But if you needed a place to go..

  ‘That's awfully sweet of you,' said Bron. 'But it's not that urgent. He may be a bit of a bully, but he doesn't hit me or anything.' For some reason her voice cracked and she suddenly started to cry.

  Elsa, sitting next to her, instantly put her arm round her. 'Oh, honey. Don't cry, it'll be all right.’

  The hubbub of the restaurant buzzed around them, oblivious to Bron's distress.

  ‘I know.' Bron sniffed loudly, trying her hardest not to sob, 'but it's just dawned on me how awful it will be leaving him.'

  ‘Why?' asked Sarah. 'Are you in love with him? In spite of everything?'

  ‘No. If I'm honest I don't think I've loved him for ages now. We've just fallen into a habit.'

  ‘Then won't you be glad to get away?' asked Sarah gently.

  ‘I will be, but I hate rows and he'll shout.'

  ‘Well, shout back!' said Sarah, firmer now.

  ‘I could do that, if I had the engine running in my car so could leap into it and drive off when it got too awful,' said Bron, trying to lighten up a bit, 'but there's no point in shouting if I've nowhere to go. And the thing is' – she gave a huge final sniff and wiped her nose on her paper napkin – 'now I've made my decision, I feel I must do it at once. Or soon as.'

  ‘We've got to think,' said Sarah. 'Surely between us we know someone with a big enough floor.'

  ‘My floor's huge but it would be dreadfully uncomfortable, although you're very welcome to it,' said Elsa doubtfully. 'And I do have a sofabed.’

  Bron shook her head and dried her eyes. 'I really don't think I want to camp on someone's sofa, although it's ter
ribly kind of you to offer. When I tell him I'm leaving, I want to be able to tell him I've got somewhere else to go, or he'll persuade me leaving him is a really stupid idea. Which it would be, if I didn't have anywhere else.'

  ‘Oh, I don't know,' muttered Sarah. 'I'd rather sleep on a park bench than live with a man I didn't love.’

  Elsa turned her attention away from Bron for a moment. 'You've obviously been badly hurt in the past, Sarah.'

  ‘That's another story.' Sarah waved a hand dismissively. 'Right now, we've got to focus on Bron. Don't we know anyone who'd like a nice lodger for a while?'

  ‘Roger's mother would,' said Bron, 'but I don't think that's an option. What?’

  Elsa was wagging her finger in the air, biting her lip, as if she were trying to remember something. Then she said, 'I've got it, I've got the answer!'

  ‘What answer?' asked Bron.

  ‘To where you should live,' said Elsa. 'When I was giving back the bridesmaid's dress..

  ‘Yes?' said Sarah encouragingly.

  . Ashlyn's mother told me she's got a cottage. She was complaining that her tenant had let her down or she couldn't get insurance or something. She's going to do something with it later – can't remember what – but doesn't that sound ideal? It would at least tide you over until you could find a place of your own.'

  ‘So it's near Mrs Lennox-Featherstone's house?' asked Sarah.

  ‘Yes! Bron, you wouldn't even have to move away from the area. You could stay at the salon,' said Elsa.

  ‘That sounds brilliant,' said Bron quietly, but with a bit of optimism in her eyes now. 'I just hope it's not too good to be true.'

  ‘I don't see why it should be,' said Elsa, at last sticking her fork into her plate of pasta. 'She's nice. A bit mad, but she says what she thinks.'

  ‘Yes she is,' said Sarah. 'Some brides' mothers can be nightmares, but although she was very fussy and wanted everything just so, she didn't keep changing her mind or anything. She was good to work with.'