by Katie Fforde
‘Sorry, I haven't got any more. And it costs a fortune,' Elsa replied. 'I'll find you something just as lovely though.'
‘Bron might be able to recommend someone for your hair,' said Sarah, hoping against hope that Bron would know a hairdresser so far away from her own area. She had a nightmare-flash of there being no one but her to put her sister's silky locks into a bun on top of her head. Donating a kidney would be very much easier.
*
Bron arrived with a Chinese takeaway and a couple of bottles of Pinot Grigio on the dot of seven. 'I wasn't sure if I should bring wine. Are we working or not?' she asked.
‘Wine is always a good idea,' said Lily. She shot Sarah a look. 'Well, for people who aren't pregnant, anyway.’
Sarah smiled. 'Bron, this is my sister, Lily. Lily, this is Bron,' she said.
‘You do hair and make-up?' said Lily, cutting to the chase without preliminaries. 'Sarah says you can't do mine for my wedding.’
Bron took in the situation after a couple of seconds. 'I'm sorry, but I really can't. What sort of style did you have in mind?'
‘You should have it in a bun on top of your head, with ringlets over your ears,' said Elsa, confirming Sarah's worst fears.
‘Like you'll wear for your ball?' said Bron. 'Up-dos are quite time consuming. Don't, whatever you do, have your hair cut between now and then.'
‘Oh, I won't,' said Lily.
‘And are you having a veil, or not?' asked Bron.
Elsa, Lily and Sarah all looked questioningly at each other. 'You don't have to if you don't want to,' said Sarah.
‘You could have a really pretty tiara instead,' suggested Elsa. 'I've got a couple you could try now.'
‘Not having a veil would save money, wouldn't it?' said Lily.
‘Definitely,' said Sarah.
‘Then I won't have one.' She looked at her sister quizzically. 'You see, I can be economical sometimes.’
While Sarah hunted in Elsa's little kitchen for plates and cutlery and Elsa performed magic with scissors, pins and an old wedding dress, Bron and Lily talked about hair. They were a good team and once again they had proved themselves stalwarts, especially when this was a wedding they weren't supposed to be involved in.
‘You'll need to have a couple of practice runs before the big day,' said Bron. 'Especially if you don't have a regular hairdresser. One dummy run is enough if you do get to know someone.'
‘I can't afford to keep going to the hairdresser,' said Lily, worried. 'That's partly why I haven't been for so long.'
‘OK, so what you need to do is find a hairdresser who has students. They advertise for models in the window. They do your hair very reasonably, and if the student was good and you got to know each other, she'd probably do your hair for your wedding day.'
‘Would you trust someone with so little experience?' asked Elsa, looking up from her seam-ripping.
‘If she and Lily have built up a good relationship, there's no reason why not,' said Bron. 'I did all my friends' hair when we were going to a big do. They were very pleased.'
‘But you're a very good hairdresser,' said Sarah, putting down a roll of kitchen towel as she perched on the sofa.
‘Yes,' Bron agreed modestly, 'but possibly not the only one.’
Sarah and Bron discussed the Catering Ladies and Lily chatted to Elsa as they tucked into the takeaways.
‘So, Elsa,' Sarah asked a little later, while they were all still shovelling up egg-fried rice and prawn crackers. 'How did your ballroom dancing lesson go?'
‘Oh! It was wonderful. I was a complete klutz at first -couldn't do it at all. I kept stepping all over Laurence's feet, but then Terry sent him out and I danced with him! It was a miracle. Suddenly, I could do it. He sort of clamped me to his body so I couldn't go wrong.' She stopped, aware that the others were looking at her oddly.
‘So, was he gorgeous?' asked Lily. 'The teacher, I mean?’
‘Mm. Quite. An amazing dancer. I think Laurence was a bit jealous of him, actually.'
‘Oh, so he's keen then?' said Bron.
Elsa shook her head. 'I don't know if it was that, more that he was annoyed that he couldn't teach me to dance.'
‘Men can be quite controlling,' said Lily. Everyone looked at her. 'Even Dirk is, a bit. My first husband was a real bully!'
‘Oh, love,' said Sarah. 'I hate to think of you with that horrible man.'
‘Roger was a bit of a bully,' said Bron. 'Or maybe it was me who allowed him to be.'
‘Men are very unreliable,' confirmed Sarah, the resident expert.
‘No,' said Lily firmly. 'Not all of them. Dirk, for instance, can be a bit bossy, but he'd cut off his arm for me; and when he is bossy, it's because he's looking out for me.'
‘Dirk is very nice,' agreed Sarah.
‘And he's not the only nice man,' said Elsa. 'Laurence is quite nice too. And I think he's reliable.'
‘I'm probably just a cynical old wedding planner,' said Sarah laughing, wanting to change the subject. 'I'm dying of thirst. Anyone else need a drink of water?'
‘So,' Elsa said when she'd returned, 'have you decided about your cake yet, Lily?'
‘It would be good if you could make it, Bron,' said Sarah. 'If you used the same ingredients as Carrie's cake there'd be the economy of scale.’
The other women looked at her.
‘I mean,' Sarah ploughed on, 'if you were buying ingredients in bulk, like dried fruit, it would be much cheaper. You'd have to keep exact records of how much of everything you used for each cake, of course. I wouldn't want to diddle Carrie.'
‘Although she could easily afford to pay for my cake ingredients,' said Lily.
Seeing Sarah take a combative breath, Bron said, 'But Carrie's cake has to be sponge. It would be really difficult to support the weight on a pole, otherwise.'
‘Does Carrie know this?' asked Sarah.
‘No, but honestly, would she really mind? I suppose you should check, but it was more the shape she wanted,' said Bron. 'Still, a sponge cake isn't very traditional.'
‘And we wouldn't be able to send sponge cake to all the far-flung aunties and uncles, would we?' said Lily. 'It would have to be fruit to do that,' agreed Bron. 'I suppose I could just about fit it in, but I will be pushed for time.'
‘I know!' said Sarah, her brainwave sending the prawn crackers flying. 'We'll ask Aunt Dot! She's a wonderful baker and would love to do it!'
‘Aunt Dot?' asked Lily, frowning.
‘Yes – not sure if she's a real aunt, but she makes brilliant cakes. I'll get the ingredients for her. Bron, do these catering-lady friends of yours have a Cash and Carry connection, do you think?'
‘I should think so. Veronica makes cakes for WI markets,' said Bron.
‘Brilliant.' Sarah raised her glass, her worried look leaving her for the first time in a while. 'We've got the dress, the caterers, the cake and the hairdresser all sorted for you, Lily. Let's have a toast!'
‘Hey,' said Lily when she'd taken the smallest sip. 'I've had a brilliant idea! You must all come to my hen party! Elsa and Bron, I feel like you're my new best friends.'
‘Surely you don't want a hen party when you're pregnant,' said Sarah without thinking. 'You won't be able to get drunk.'
‘Sarah,' said Lily, very dignified all of a sudden, 'a hen party is an opportunity to get together with one's female friends before you get married. You don't have to get drunk to have a good time.'
‘No, Lily,' said Sarah, suitably chastised but liking the role reversal.
She felt a pang of guilt. She knew she had to go to Lily's hen night, but she really didn't want to. It wasn't anything to do with Lily, more her friends. They were bound to want to do things that just made Sarah feel jaded. Still, she'd go, and probably have a brilliant time. And everyone was always saying she needed to lighten up.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘And you're sure you gave the driver the right address?' Sarah was sitting in the car next to Hugo as they drove to
Somerby. It was high summer now and the surrounding countryside was lush, in part owing to the sudden spell of rain they'd been having. Sarah prayed it would clear very soon.
‘He's got the postcode, he's got Sat Nav, and I gave him some basic directions. He'll be fine.'
‘Sat Nav does mad things sometimes.'
‘I know.'
‘And neither Mandy or Carrie will be able to help if he goes wrong.'
‘Probably not, but he won't go wrong. He'll be very experienced, professional. It'll be fine, Sarah, now relax.' Sarah exhaled loudly and looked out of the window. 'I'd feel happier if I could have sent a driver I know. If only they had given us a bit more notice.'
‘Carrie didn't know she was going to be in the country until just recently. She couldn't have known earlier.’
‘And poor Fen, having to rustle up lunch for us all. Although I suppose she has had just enough time to get in caterers, if she felt she needed to.'
‘Mm.' Hugo obviously wasn't listening. He'd heard all this several times before and knew a response wasn't really called for.
‘And what's the house going to look like in all this rain!’
Hugo glanced at her, giving her an opportunity to see his charming crooked smile. 'Wet! Now stop fretting. It's going to be fine.’
She did feel less anxious about Carrie and Mandy's last-minute visit to Somerby, to which she had been summoned, but the pang she got from Hugo's crinkled eyes and sexy mouth was not helpful. How could she react like that to him when she had so much on her mind and when she'd told herself that he was off limits? Two damn weddings on the same day should be enough to stop her having unsuitable feelings for an unsuitable man, surely? How can there possibly be space in her mind for anything except the job in hand? Her guard was weakening, she could tell. He was so attractive and so skilled at calming her fears, she found it hard not to keeping wondering, 'What if?’
And she couldn't stop thinking about his exhibition. The quality of his work, the fact that some had been sold before the show even opened, was amazing. He was so talented. And yet here he was, helping her with a wedding, albeit a celebrity wedding. Then she thought about Electra and felt down again. It wasn't only that she existed, and that he was engaged to her, but the fact that she seemed so wrong for him. He loved children: she had seen him with them, and she had seen him photograph them. And he'd just been telling her about his nephew and niece as they hit the motorway. His face lit up when he mentioned them. What was he doing with a woman who cared more about her abs than being a mother? If she thought they'd be happy together, it would be easier – possibly.
‘If only it would stop raining!' she moaned, using the rain as an excuse for her sudden despondency.
‘I think the sky is lightening over there,' he said, then switched the windscreen wipers up to full.
The house was still beautiful, thought Sarah as they came within sight of it. On a small hill, surrounded by parkland and trees, it looked like a painting, animated by raindrops falling on the leaves of the trees. There were two big black cars parked in front of the house, announcing clearly that Carrie and her entourage had arrived. Sarah had hoped she and Hugo would be first but at least the others had found the place.
Hugo stopped the car at the bottom of the drive. 'Let's just have a moment to ourselves to enjoy the stillness before we go in, shall we?' He smiled reassuringly at her and once again her stomach did a flip. Why did he always have to be so nice to her?
Sarah wound down the window. The smell of summer wafted into the car. She couldn't identify any particular scent but the mixture was wonderful. Somewhere a bird sang, a solitary sound among the gentle pit-pat of water on leaves. If she hadn't been in her smart working clothes, and had a mac or something, she would have got out and smelt the air at closer quarters, but she couldn't.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes until Hugo said, 'Shall we go on?'
‘Not just yet.' Sarah wanted to stay in the car, listening to the gentle hiss of the rain and the bird before she had to go back to being the high-powered wedding planner she was every other minute of her life. But she couldn't do that either. She took a deep breath and said, 'We'd better get going now.’
Hugo turned the key in the ignition and they drove up to the house.
Fenella must have been listening for the car. She rushed out the moment they reached the front door and pulled open the car door before the engine had stopped. 'Thank God you're here, it's not going well. They must have whistled down here! We weren't ready really, and I got up at five.’
Fenella was looking elegant in a harassed way in silk trousers, matching top and a floaty jacket. The top was half tucked into the trousers as if she had been interrupted while dressing.
‘It'll be fine,' said Sarah, surprised at how calm she sounded. 'Don't worry. We just need to paint the picture for her.'
‘They're muttering about the condition everything is in. It's not the traditional setting Carrie wanted, and I don't know what else!'
‘Don't worry, Fen,' said Hugo, giving her a friendly hug. 'Uncle Hugo's here. He'll make everything work out.’
This did make Fenella give a little chuckle as she exchanged glances with Sarah. There was no doubt, he was a calming presence.
Carrie, Mandy and a couple of men Sarah didn't know were standing around in the dining room. Sarah could see that the floor had been covered with hardboard and painted white and looked amazing, but the room felt cold and Carrie, in a strappy top, was rubbing her arms. Mandy was similarly attired and they did not look happy. A wet summer day in England must have felt arctic to them. Sarah knew she'd have to find something for them to put on or they'd never agree to anything.
‘Oh, hi! Sarah! You're here. At last,' said Carrie, coming forward and kissing Sarah. Sarah felt her reproach – not only for suggesting this unsuitable venue but for being late. 'And Hugo!' He got a warmer reception, possibly because his arms were warm and she was cold.
‘So sorry you were kept waiting,' he said when he'd released her. 'We hit very bad traffic in Hereford.’
While Hugo was chatting to Carrie and Mandy and soothing ruffled feathers, Sarah touched Fenella's sleeve. 'You haven't got a couple of pashminas or cardigans or something for them to borrow? They won't come here if they're cold.’
Fenella hesitated only a moment. 'Pashminas. I've got loads of them. People always give them to me as presents. I'll be right back.’
As good as her word, she came back while Hugo was still making Carrie and Mandy giggle in a shameless way. 'Here, ladies, take one of these each,' she said gracefully, as if it was perfectly normal to dole out shawls in English country houses.
Carrie and Mandy were charmed and grateful. Fenella had colour coded them too.
‘Sorry,' said Hugo to the two dark-suited men, 'I'm Hugo Marsters, photographer to the stars.' He laughed to show he was being ironic. The men he was addressing didn't laugh back.
‘We're Carrie's lawyers,' said one and went on to introduce himself and his colleague. 'We're here to see Carrie doesn't get ripped off.’
One of them had a smile as practised as Hugo's but it did nothing for Sarah. She just laughed lightheartedly, pretending that everything was wonderful and all was going just as she'd planned it. 'I thought that was my job!' Then she put her hand on a cashmere-jacketed arm. 'Fen, are we in time for lunch?' She could do charming too.
‘We're having it in the kitchen,' said Fenella. Her fake cheerfulness was less skilled than Sarah's. 'I thought it would be more cosy in there. The Aga's going full bore.' As the party filed through the house, Sarah could see a lot of work had gone on since she'd last seen it. But instead of the oohs and ahs of appreciation she was expecting, Sarah heard murmurs of disapproval. Anxiety clenched at her stomach and she hoped Fenella had provided wine. If Carrie turned down Somerby, which reeked of upper-class elegance, where on earth else could she provide that she would like and with only a month to go? If Carrie had a couple of glasses of something she might feel more p
ositive.
The huge kitchen was a picture of country-house glamour, she thought. Fenella and Rupert had obviously made a real effort to make it look picturesque but practical and in her opinion, they'd brought it off superbly.
A huge variety of pots, pans and kitchenalia, antique and modern together, were displayed on the wall above the Aga and the range cooker. Copper-bottomed bowls, little pans, cheese-graters, nutmeg-graters, a wire egg basket shaped like a hen, balloon whisks, ladles, conical sieves hung next to spatulas, colanders, spoons and a string of garlic.
The enormous built-in dresser displayed a large collection of china jelly moulds, huge old serving platters, a set of pewter side plates and a random collection of breakfast saucers. Some of it was bright Majolica wear, some were faded English classic designs. None of it matched but all of it was quality. The hooks were hung with jugs and mugs and on the top was a basket full of flowers. In Sarah's opinion, it was a magazine editor's dream. She just hoped Carrie and her party appreciated it.
The long table was laid for lunch and Rupert, wearing a striped apron and a broad smile, took a huge roasting tin out of the oven.
‘Welcome to Somerby!' he declared. 'I thought as it was such a filthy day we'd have a proper bit of roast beef. Home-reared. With roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding.'
‘Er, Carrie doesn't eat red meat,' said Mandy. 'Nonsense!' said Rupert. 'You're not going to turn down organic beef reared on English grass. Full of nutrients you can't get any other way.’
Sarah held her breath. Rupert's bluntness might not be welcome and most Hollywood stars not only didn't eat meat, but also avoided anything likely to add even a millimetre to their already stick-like figures. This was the sort of thing she should have anticipated, she chided herself.
‘Well,' said Carrie, thankfully as charmed by Rupert as she was by Hugo, 'I guess it wouldn't hurt just once.’
‘Come and sit down,' said Fenella, who had also been holding her breath. 'Hugo, you go that end, Carrie, you go on one side, Mandy the other. You two..