Wedding Season

by Katie Fforde

  ‘It's you,' he said. 'How nice.' And he smiled.

  She looked into his friendly face and all her fortitude threatened to desert her. She'd been so strong and brave during and after the ghastly scene with Roger, and now she felt like bursting into tears. She'd probably have felt stronger if he'd been hostile and a stranger.

  She couldn't speak. She just stood there, smiling weakly. 'Come in,' he said. 'You look as if you could do with a cup of tea or something.’

  She must look awful, she thought as he stepped aside, pinning the dog against the door so that she could pass him into the cottage. He was the second person within about ten minutes who had said that.

  She found herself in a sitting room. It was tiny, with windows on two walls. There was a sofa pushed under one window and a table under the other. There was a fireplace on the other wall and in one corner a staircase was half concealed behind an open door. Through another door she could see a kitchen built on to the back.

  The dog circled her again, banging into her body from time to time.

  ‘Sit!' said James. 'This is Brodie. She's a rescue dog and I haven't had her long. She's still a bit over-excited when visitors come. It's Bron, isn't it?’

  Bron nodded. She was still feeling shocked. She knew it was delayed reaction but she couldn't shake herself out of it.

  ‘Come and sit down. I'll get the kettle on. Unless you think you need something stronger?' He frowned at her. 'I think I've got some brandy somewhere. I needed it for a recipe.’

  Bron perched on the edge of a sofa that you'd disappear into if you weren't careful. She couldn't make the decision for herself. Brandy might indeed be a good idea.

  Brodie – possibly sensing Bron's need for comfort – came and sat on her feet, raising her head so Bron could rub her chest. Bron obligingly did this, finding it soothing to rub something soft and furry. It was a way of communicating that didn't involve actually speaking.

  Bron allowed herself to inch further on to the sofa until she could lean back. The dog instantly jumped up beside her and put her head on Bron's lap. She didn't know if she should make Brodie get down. She thought she probably ought to but the warm weight of the dog's head was comforting, so she carried on stroking her.

  ‘Oh, Brodie!' said James reproachfully as he came in with a tray. 'Get down! Bron doesn't want your hairs all over her.’

  Bron shook her head, trying to convey that she liked the dog and didn't mind at all about hairs. He seemed to understand.

  ‘I'm training her not to jump up on people who don't appreciate it – or rather to wait until she's invited. I'll presume you invited her.’

  She tried to return his smile.

  He put the tray down on the table and then handed her a glass with an inch of brown fluid in it. 'Here, take this, then I'll find something for you to put your tea on. Do you take sugar?' he asked, as an afterthought.

  Bron shook her head again.

  ‘Oh good. I haven't got any.' He produced a small three-legged stool from under the table and put it near Bron. 'There.' He set the mug of tea down. 'Have you got everything you need?’

  Bron nodded, trusting the power of speech would come back eventually. She sipped the brandy. It warmed her instantly and she began to feel calmer.

  ‘Are you feeling any better now?' James stood looking down at her kindly.

  She nodded, but realised she should give some explanation as to why she needed brandy at four o'clock in the afternoon. 'You must be wondering why-'

  ‘I know you're going to be my new neighbour, and everyone knows that moving is one of the major stresses of life.' He smiled. 'So you don't need to say anything about why you're a bit upset.'

  ‘That's very tactful of you, but it's probably only fair to tell you that I've just left my boyfriend.'

  ‘Good choice,' said James. 'You didn't seem that happy with him when we met the other evening. I mean, I shouldn't presume but..

  ‘No, well, it was soon after then that I decided to leave him. I heard about the cottage – next door – being available, and arranged to move in.' This all sounded very sane and controlled. She probably didn't need to say anything else.

  ‘Was he very upset? Your boyfriend, when you left. I'm not really curious, but you were in a bit of a state when you arrived… you don't need to tell me if you don't want to,' he added hurriedly.

  The brandy reached Bron's sense of humour and tickled it into action. Feeling much more herself again, she started to giggle. 'Well, he was a bit upset, but mostly because I was taking the furniture with me.'

  ‘Were you?' James seemed surprised.

  ‘Only the small stuff. I had paid for it.'

  ‘Oh, that's all right then.'

  ‘And I was in rather a bad mood.'

  ‘Really?’

  Bron nodded and sighed. 'I'd discovered him in bed with my boss!' She frowned. 'Oh God. I've got to go to work on Monday. How horribly embarrassing!'

  ‘I should coco,' said James, chuckling softly.

  Bron chewed at her lip. 'I'm not sure if I can go to work, actually.'

  ‘If you like your job then maybe-'

  ‘I don't like it that much and I've seen her in my peephole bra, which I have to tell you was not something I chose myself.'

  ‘If you say so..

  ‘I do! It was a present from Roger, one of those gifts that are supposed to be for the woman but actually are more for the man.’

  James held up his hands in surrender. 'You probably won't believe me, but I promise I've never bought anything like that for anybody.'

  ‘It's all right, I do believe you.' Bron was rather embarrassed now, she'd said a little more than she'd meant to. 'I still can't think what to do about work.'

  ‘It might be awkward if you stayed. Was your boss a friend as well as a love-rival?’

  This made Bron giggle a little. 'Not really. She never liked me, always made me wash hair and sweep up if she possibly could.' She looked up at him. 'I'm a very talented hairdresser.’

  He sensed her defiance and the corner of his mouth moved. 'I know.' He hesitated and then said, 'And I know it's an awfully cliched expression, but why don't you phone a friend?'

  ‘I will later. I feel too exhausted to talk too much now.' Bron finished her brandy. 'Men, eh? Who'd have 'em?'

  ‘He was only one example. We're not all like that.’

  She sighed deeply. 'I know, but it'll take me a while to trust again, that's for sure.’

  There was a moment's silence. 'Have your tea.' He moved the little stool closer to her. 'Would you like a biscuit?'

  ‘No thank you, I really should get settled in next door.'

  ‘Well, wait till you've finished your tea. I'll come over with you and make sure everything's working. Vanessa told me a new tenant was moving in – a young woman -and said I might need to turn on the electricity at the mains and things.' He paused. 'It'll be nice to have a neighbour again.’

  Bron struggled to her feet. 'We'd better go then.’

  James, having found the key, carried the bedding while Bron retrieved her case and some of the things she'd liberated from the house.

  The little cottage smelt a bit funny to Bron as she entered. 'Alan, the man who lived here before, was an artist. He might have smoked the odd spliff,' said James.

  Bron smiled. 'That explains it.' She didn't ask if James had shared the odd spliff with the artist, but he answered her question anyway.

  ‘I don't like my head being messed with,' he said. 'Tobacco is bad enough. I'm definitely giving up.' He grinned. 'Don't worry, you haven't moved next door to a crack den or anything.'

  ‘I'm sure I haven't.'

  ‘Listen, why don't I make supper for us a bit later – when you've had time to move your stuff in.'

  ‘Well, I did bring food…' Then she froze. The bag of groceries – just enough to tide her over for the first weekend – was still sitting in Roger's fridge.

  ‘You left it behind?’

  She nodded.

>   ‘I'll knock on the door when it's ready. It'll be something simple – eggs, I keep my own hens. Anyway, would seven be too early for you?'

  ‘Not at all. I should be sorted out by then. I'm really grateful for all your help.’

  When she was alone, Bron got out her phone and found Elsa's number.

  ‘I've done it,' she said when Elsa answered. 'I've left him.'

  ‘Well done! What's the cottage like? Have you had time to settle in yet?'

  ‘Er no.'

  ‘Well, all in good time.' Then, sensing there was something Bron hadn't told her, Elsa asked, 'Is everything all right? Do you need me to come round?'

  ‘No, no, I'm fine… err..

  ‘Yes?'

  ‘I found Roger in bed with Sasha, my boss from the salon.’

  Elsa dropped her phone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After a quiet Sunday spent with her parents, eating lunch, going for a walk and watching an old film while she finished off putting some scarlet silk binding on a corset, Elsa woke up the following morning full of energy and ideas.

  Without bothering to get dressed she went straight to her workshop. She had done all she could for Carrie until Carrie made a few decisions. There were two designs for bridesmaids' dresses, one long, one ballerina length. Ashlyn had had this, and so Elsa had assumed Carrie would want the same options. As to quantity and size of bridesmaids, Carrie was, as ever, hard to pin down.

  So today she would get on with her own ball gown. The moment she heard from Carrie about the designs she had sent her, she would drop everything to get on with her dress, but just for now, she could concentrate on herself.

  She got out her swatch books, going through them to make sure there wasn't anything more suitable – or more lovely – for her overskirt than the material she had already picked out.

  She got out her book of costumes and found the picture of the one she wanted to make. It was very pretty and although her enthusiasm for creating it was total, the thought of wearing it was more daunting. Ashlyn's wedding had been a one-off; she much preferred to be anonymous, to wear clothes that didn't draw attention to her. And if this was the reason, as her mother insisted, that she didn't have a boyfriend, then so be it.

  The phone rang; the voice on the end of it was commanding. 'Elsa? Is that you? Vanessa Lennox-Featherstone.'

  ‘Oh, hello.' Elsa glanced at the clock. It was only ten to eight in the morning! Who else but Mrs Lennox-Featherstone would ring so early?

  ‘So sorry to ring you at sparrow's fart,' said her caller, making the word 'fart' sound positively patrician. 'Tried yesterday but couldn't get you. Thing is, I've got an appointment for you. To have your colours done. Today. That OK?’

  Damn! She'd so hoped that colours thing had been forgotten about. Still, she supposed she'd have to go now. And today, when she was going to do something for herself. She cleared her throat, coughed and ummed and erred a bit, but eventually had to concede that today was fine.

  ‘Fab! But I'm going to come with you so I know what you've been told and I can check up on you.'

  ‘Oh!' Elsa didn't quite know how she felt about this. It was very kind of Ashlyn's mother to give her a present but she didn't really think she wanted it. Sadly, she couldn't refuse – she just wasn't brave enough.

  Mrs Lennox-Featherstone told Elsa she'd pick her up on the way to the studio. 'She's a marvellous woman – she'll tell you exactly what to wear and how to wear it. Tips on make-up, too. You'll have to throw away half your wardrobe, of course, but it's worth it! See you at half ten then. Byee!’

  If this woman, whom Elsa already hated, and Mrs Lennox-Featherstone thought they could bully her into throwing away her black V-necked tops they were in for a surprise. She may be too shy and cowardly to defy them when they were actually present, but they wouldn't know – or indeed care – if she did nothing about changing. And why should she? She looked just fine in black.

  Defiantly she went into the kitchen. A cup of Women's Tea would sort her out. When describing this to friends she said it was what you drank if you needed a strong whisky, but couldn't have one – possibly because it was still before eight in the morning. Once fortified, she went to shower and dress.

  *

  The doorbell rang promptly at ten-thirty and Elsa found Bron on the doorstep. She looked different – giggly and a bit wild-eyed.

  ‘Bron! What happened? Did you decide not to go back to work after all?'

  ‘I went in, just to see. And although I thought I could go on working for her, I found I couldn't. She did beg me to stay – terrified I'd tell the world, probably. I should have taken pictures with my mobile, I could have blackmailed her for millions!’

  Elsa laughed. 'Well, you look great on it, I must say. What a shame your landlady is such a bully!'

  ‘She's not really, once you get used to her. I met her as I was going back to the cottage and she said I should come along. I didn't have anything else to do and I thought you might appreciate some support.'

  ‘Yes I do, of course I do. Let's go.’

  Vanessa Lennox-Featherstone stood outside her sports car wearing a geranium-red suit that exactly matched her car. She may have been a woman of a certain age but she was no slouch in the style department. Elsa, clutching her bag defensively across her chest, admitted this with trepidation.

  As she walked to the car Vanessa said, 'Morning, darling. Do hope this isn't terribly inconvenient but Hilary is incredibly booked up and we got a cancellation. Has Bron told you what's happened to her? Nightmare! Thank you so much for telling her about my little house. She's going to be the perfect tenant.'

  ‘I hope so,' said Bron.

  ‘Of course you are! A hairdresser on my very own land – how much better could you be? I usually go up to London to have mine done but now I can pop along to see you.’

  They all clambered into the car. Elsa, the smallest, folded herself into the back, Bron got into the front with Vanessa.

  ‘OK,' said Vanessa a few moments later. 'Everyone in? Seatbelts? Off we go then.’

  The back of the car dipped slightly as Vanessa roared off. 'We're going to have huge fun getting Elsa out of the ubiquitous black. Such a waste of your beauty, darling.’

  ‘I wouldn't say-'

  ‘Of course you wouldn't. But I would.' She stopped at the crossroads. 'Ashlyn's having a brilliant time on her honeymoon, by the way. She's lucky to be able to have a nice long one. They're visiting her in-laws for an extended time now, of course.' Vanessa looked both ways and shot across. 'I went on an outward-bound course in Scotland for mine. Bloody freezing, I can tell you!’

  *

  The studio where Elsa's torture was to take place was in a pleasant housing estate on the outskirts of town. It didn't look too daunting on the outside, but Elsa was not reassured. Awful things could go on behind a neat front garden with a picket fence and an up-and-over garage on the side. She'd seen movies – she knew.

  The woman who opened the door was not daunting, however. She was very attractive and well groomed, there was no getting away from it, but she also had a warm and friendly smile. She didn't look like a style Nazi; she wasn't wearing strange binding garments which would indicate rigid ideas of right and wrong. But Elsa refused to allow herself to be reassured; she was going to resist what was about to happen, no matter what. She spent all her life making clothes to her clients' exact requirements. To be a client (courtesy of Vanessa) and be told what to wear went against the grain.

  Bron and Vanessa obviously warmed to Hilary straight away, but it was easy for them – Vanessa already knew her and they weren't going to be given a forcible makeover. A vision of herself being strapped into a dentist's chair while make-up was applied flashed into her brain.

  ‘Do come in,' said the woman. 'I'm Hilary. Hi, Vanessa, lovely to see you again.'

  ‘Darling!' Vanessa kissed Hilary warmly. 'This is Elsa, who needs the makeover, and this is Bron, a wonderful hairdresser – did the hair for Ashlyn's weddin
g and turned little Elsa into Audrey Hepburn. Don't you just love that fringe?'

  ‘Absolutely! You've got lovely big eyes, Elsa – or is that just because you're terrified?’

  Elsa laughed, partly because Hilary was spot on in her diagnosis and partly because it seemed polite. Elsa was nothing if not polite.

  ‘Well, come in, everyone. Through here. Anyone got anything they want to take off? No? It's a lovely day, isn't it?’

  Hilary ushered them into a large room full of sunlight. There was a row of mirrors down one end and a huge rack full of clothes. There was also, to Elsa's eyes, enough jewellery to supply a medium-sized market stall. Further along was a counter and shelving where different kinds of hats were displayed. It would be good to have some idea of what suited you before you took yourself off to a hat shop, thought Elsa to take her mind off what was to come. They were very expensive items on the whole.

  ‘So, is Elsa going to be a season?' asked Bron. 'I'd say she was an Autumn, myself.’

  Hilary shook her head. 'We don't do it like that any more – too restrictive – and another golden rule, never second-guess! But I can see exactly why you said that.’

  Hilary was one of those people able to make people feel at their ease, even when contradicting everything they'd just said. They must send them on courses to learn the technique, thought Elsa, still a little resentful.

  ‘Now.' She swept Elsa further into the room, making a quick dash for the exit impossible. Then, like a magician with a flock of doves, she produced a flurry of white gowns from a cupboard. 'Anyone who's going to comment on Elsa's colours must wear one of these in case the colour they're wearing confuses the issue.'

  ‘Oh, absolutely!' said Vanessa, grabbing a gown. 'This is such fun! I almost want to have my colours done all over again!’

  A moment later Elsa felt she was surrounded by dental patients. She felt exactly like one herself as she sat in the chair. She only just stopped herself asking for a strong anaesthetic.