Wedding Season

by Katie Fforde

  ‘You need to remember that the prices are shown without the VAT,' said Veronica, gently touching Bron's arm. 'I can claim it back but you have to pay it upfront.’

  Bron refused to be cast down. 'I'll keep the things that are for me separate. I can't have Carrie paying for Dad's liquorice pipes. Oh, and look at that! Boxes and boxes of Dairy Milk – imagine never running out!’

  Veronica chuckled. 'You don't want to risk your lovely figure eating too much chocolate. They'll tempt you terribly if you buy them.'

  ‘Mm. I suppose so.' She put back the lifetime's supply of chocolate she had heaved on to the trolley. 'I'd better get out my list.'

  ‘And try to stick to it, or you'll end up spending a fortune and not have the things you need. Believe me, I know!’

  *

  Bron was very pleased with her haul. She hadn't deviated from her list too badly and when she had, she'd been able to justify it. When they got back to Veronica's large and officially hygienic kitchen, she had some huge baking tins, enough foil to line a large room, almost as much silicone paper, baking sheets, cooling racks, sackfuls of silver balls and other decorative bits she thought might be useful as well as kilos and kilos of butter, flour and sugar. Several trays of eggs topped the stack of ingredients on the floor. She could collect the crystals from Elsa once she knew what she was doing.

  ‘Shopping in such huge quantities is exhausting!' she said, helping Veronica in with a huge pack of flour. 'Everything is so enormous.'

  ‘And you walk so far because the place is so huge,' said Veronica. 'It's a mile between the cornflakes and the porridge oats. I reckon I don't need to do any other exercise if it's a Cash and Carry day. My upper body strength is very impressive these days.’

  Bron looked at her arms, which were trembling slightly with exertion. 'Mm – I think I need to work on mine.’

  Veronica filled the kettle and while she waited for it to boil said, 'So, dear, are we going to be able to share a kitchen? Ideally, we wouldn't coincide, but you need a dummy run and each layer will take time and I've got my usual baking to do.’

  Bron hurried to reassure her. 'I'll be very tidy, I promise you. I'm a very organised cook.’

  Veronica laughed. 'Well, Pat really misses you; that Sasha never lifts a finger, apparently.’

  Bron tried to look insouciant. She failed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bron was putting up Elsa's hair on the night of her ball with Laurence. As it was short, this took a long time. Elsa was as nervous as any bride under her gentle fingers but was trying to make bright conversation.

  ‘It's only three weeks to go to the wedding – how many cakes have you made now?'

  ‘Several. James won't eat them any more.’

  Elsa looked at her in surprise. 'What do you mean? I thought men always liked cake.'

  ‘My first couple of efforts he accepted gratefully but the last time he said, "I'm sorry, I just can't eat any more." I said, "It's not cake, it's trifle." He said, "But it's made of cake, isn't it?"‘

  Elsa giggled. 'So what did you do with it?'

  ‘I was very brave and took it up to the big house and gave it to Vanessa. She was thrilled. She was having people for dinner the next day. I was really flattered. I hope they didn't get drunk. It had loads of sherry in it. I'd bought some at the Cash and Carry. So,' Bron went on, 'are you honestly telling me you haven't seen Laurence since your ballroom dancing lesson?'

  ‘Mm. Now I'm really anxious about seeing him again. He was a bit… I don't know… off after the lesson. And I thought I'd done quite well. I went whizzing round with the teacher.' She smiled. 'I've been practising.'

  ‘Oh, show me!' said Bron, delighted. 'Only not until I've finished your hair and done your make-up.'

  ‘We were supposed to practise together but he's been away. He has to travel on business quite a bit, apparently. Anyway, I'm nervous now because we didn't work together last time.'

  ‘Nonsense,' said Bron. 'You'll be fine.’

  *

  'There,' said Bron, half an hour later, 'let's look at you.’

  Elsa moved to the full-length mirror fixed to the wall in her workroom. She had looked at many a bride in it, but hadn't often studied herself so carefully. Bron came and stood behind her, hair lacquer in her hand in case a couple of hairs dared escape. They both felt satisfied with their work.

  Her dress had turned out brilliantly, Elsa thought, possibly because she'd had quite a lot of time to spend on it as Carrie still hadn't decided what she wanted. The little puff sleeves, high waist and low cut neckline really did make her look like an illustration from the cover of a Georgette Heyer novel, she thought. The overskirt opened over a soft petticoat of palest primrose. She didn't say so to Bron, but before she'd started, she'd checked the colours with the swatches from when she'd had her colours done.

  Her hair, gummed into place, padded out with false pieces and adorned with delicate fake flowers and a million Kirby grips, looked historically correct. She wore elbow-length gloves and had a light shawl draped across her elbows.

  ‘Oh, Elsa!' cried Bron, kissing her. 'You look fantastic! Honestly. Look at you. So lovely. I must take a picture. Stay there.' Bron ran to get her phone and took several shots while Elsa regarded herself critically, looking more at the details and cut of the gown than her face.

  But when Bron showed her the pictures Elsa said, 'Golly, I do look quite pretty. Maybe I should always wear my hair like this.' She laughed. 'If I don't go near any magnets and the grips don't all fly out, it could be a whole new look for me.'

  ‘Silly,' said Bron. 'Your ordinary, everyday hair makes you look pretty, but this is special because it makes you look like a painting.’

  Elsa had to admit she did look the part. She wondered what Laurence would think; she hoped he'd be suitably impressed.

  She stretched out a foot, getting into the whole business now. 'It's good these slippers are so fashionable. These were really cheap.'

  ‘So if you leave one behind at the ball you won't mind,' said Bron.

  They both giggled.

  ‘I don't think Prince Charming's been invited.'

  ‘Isn't Laurence your Prince Charming?' asked Bron.

  Elsa shook her head. 'I don't know. I mean, I really like him, and we seem to get on well, but maybe he just wanted someone to take to the ball, or he'd have been in touch more, don't you think? He's only phoned me once to confirm when he's picking me up.’

  Bron shrugged. 'Maybe something will happen tonight.’

  Elsa felt herself go pink at the prospect. She had been thinking about Laurence quite a bit recently and she'd often found herself imagining what it would be like to go out with him – properly. 'Maybe.' She looked at Bron. 'I've gone all nervous and girly!'

  ‘That's good. Sometimes getting ready for a party is the best bit. Now let's have a final look.' She turned Elsa's head this way and that, checking it all over.

  ‘So how about you and James?' asked Elsa, not wanting Bron to feel left out of her happy anticipation.

  ‘Well, he's being brilliant helping me with the cake. He's made a stand for it and has really taken trouble with it, but I don't really know how he feels about me as a woman.' She sighed.

  ‘Well, how do you feel about him?’

  Bron shook her head. 'He is lovely and very attractive but I don't know if I've just got some sort of crush on him because he's been so helpful, and anyway, after Roger, anyone would seem attractive.'

  ‘Lovely, attractive and helpful – he sounds perfect!' said Elsa.

  ‘Yes, but I've only just come out of a relationship, I probably shouldn't even be thinking about another so soon. And I think he's had his fingers burnt too. Anyway, I think he just sees me as the girl next door.’

  Elsa regarded her friend thoughtfully. 'Would that be OK by you?’

  Bron shrugged and sighed. 'I expect so. I really should try life on my own for a bit longer before I hitch up with another man. You're so cool, Elsa, living on
your own, running your own business.'

  ‘You're running your own business and living on your own!'

  ‘I am now, but I should have done it before, really. It's so liberating. I was scared at first but it's so much better than living with someone you don't love. Sarah was right,' said Bron, absently gluing down a couple of stray hairs with a squirt from her aerosol can. 'Right, that's you. Now get up and show me your best waltz! Is this the Viennese one or the ordinary? I've watched Strictly, I know my stuff!’

  Elsa put on a CD she'd recently bought. 'I learnt both. I really didn't want to be caught out – and neither of them is at all easy to do on your own!'

  ‘Wow!' said Bron a few minutes later, having watched Elsa move and dip and sway. 'If he doesn't sweep you into a passionate embrace after that, he must be gay.'

  ‘Oh, I don't think so! I may not have a lot of experience but I think I would have picked that up at least.'

  ‘Well, you'll probably find out for definite tonight. Ooh! I'm so excited for you,' said Bron, kissing Elsa's cheek. 'You look so lovely! Wait till I show Sarah. Now, I must go. Good luck.' And she swept up her bag, blew Elsa a kiss and hurried out of the door.

  Laurence was suitably impressed by her appearance. In fact, he was speechless for several long seconds before he said anything. 'You look – amazing,' he said eventually, going pink. 'Absolutely amazing. I knew you'd look great, but I never imagined you'd get every detail so perfect.’

  Elsa laughed, thrilled with the effect she'd had on him. 'I notice you're not in period dress, however.'

  ‘No. I thought I might not reach the required Colin Firth standard and we're allowed to get away with white tie and tails.'

  ‘I think that's cheating,' said Elsa. 'You could have hired an outfit – you were going to hire outfits for both of us!'

  ‘I know, but I remembered what you said about wearing curtains that smelt of sweat and opted for my own recently cleaned tails.’

  Elsa laughed, suddenly feeling more happy than nervous. It was a glorious evening, she felt beautiful and Laurence seemed delighted to see her.

  He was still looking at her. 'You know it's just possible that you might steal the thunder of the birthday girl, but don't worry, if she looks like wanting to tear your eyes out, I guarantee to get you away safely.’

  Elsa laughed again. 'To be honest, I wasn't expecting to have quite so much time to spend on my dress. I'm still awaiting Carrie's orders. I turned down another bride, thinking I'd be too busy to do it. But that's quite handy because I'm doing Sarah's sister's dress now. Not from scratch, it's an alteration – or rather a complete makeover-job.'

  ‘Fascinating,' said Laurence, taking her arm. 'You must tell me all about it sometime. But now it's time for Cinderella to go to the ball. Are you bringing any sort of coat, apart from your pashmina?'

  ‘It's not a pashmina, it's a shawl!' insisted Elsa. 'Pashminas weren't invented then – or at least they didn't call them that.'

  ‘Well then, grab your reticule and let's hit the road. You'll be glad to hear I've put the hood up on the car.’

  Elsa laughed. 'That's a relief. My hair will probably fall down anyway, but it would be nice to get to our destination first.’

  Then, as she arranged herself in his Morgan, she said, 'I'm so glad your friend isn't seriously into Marie Antoinette and that lot, you'd never fit hoops and those wigs they wore into this car.’

  The ball was at a country house hotel that was the perfect Regency period. 'Your friend – Natasha did you say? -must have chosen it specially. It's perfect!' said Elsa as they drove up and then round the back to park the car.

  ‘Actually, I think this hotel is owned by friends of hers and she fitted the ball round the venue. Now, can you walk in those shoes, or shall I carry you?’

  Elsa put her head on one side. 'Supposing I said you had to carry me?'

  ‘I'd throw you over my shoulder in proper fireman style and off we'd go!' said Laurence.

  ‘OK, I'll share with you the fact that these shoes are very comfortable and stay on well. Although the heels aren't quite high enough for proper dancing.'

  ‘You don't need high heels for dancing, do you?' Laurence gave her a startled look.

  Elsa tossed her head, enjoying the feeling of the fake ringlets against her cheek. 'You're the expert.'

  ‘Actually, I'm not sure about that any more. Terry was much better.' He frowned and took her elbow and handed her a glass of champagne he took from an offered tray. 'Take this and come on.’

  Now they were actually here and about to face a room full of strangers, she felt her nervousness return, especially when she saw a group of people armed with clipboards who seemed to be inspecting everyone as they arrived.

  ‘I so don't want to do this!' Elsa muttered to Laurence from between gritted teeth. 'I would never have come if I knew I was going to be on parade!'

  ‘I'm sorry,' he muttered back, his arm round her waist, which although it felt rather nice didn't help her ruffled state. 'I wouldn't have done either. I never would have put you through this if I'd had an inkling there was any sort of costume competition. I agree it's totally barbaric.’

  Mollified a little by this rather extreme language, she allowed herself to be inspected. As she and Laurence stood smiling gamely she muttered from behind her smile, "Judge not, that ye be not judged." We're not cattle – we shouldn't have to be scored on our points!'

  ‘But you're not on your pointes,' he teased, obviously trying to make her feel better, 'you're wearing ordinary shoes and you told me quite definitely that they're comfortable.’

  She nudged him hard in the ribs. 'How do you know about pointe shoes?'

  ‘I have a sister who did ballet.'

  ‘I bet she could have waltzed without the lessons.'

  ‘Probably, but that's not enough reason to take my sister to a ball.’

  Elsa didn't have time to work out if this was a compliment or not before the woman whom Elsa assumed was Natasha spoke.

  ‘Thank you, Elsa,' said their hostess, holding her score card so it couldn't be seen. Elsa relaxed her pose. 'I must say Laurence, you have picked the most lovely partner.’

  Elsa could see the speculation in her eyes. She hoped Natasha wouldn't get her in the Ladies on her own and ask her about her relationship with Laurence – she wouldn't be able to help her. She didn't really think she could say they were 'just good friends' because she didn't know him very well and anyway, she hoped he saw her as a little more than that. It was all too new to be examined by someone else.

  At last the party was allowed to start again and Laurence said, 'Come on, you need another drink,' and she followed him to the bar.

  ‘I could murder a large fizzy water,' she agreed.

  They waltzed together afterwards, and it went better this time. Their first attempt had been a bit of a disaster and Elsa almost wished she could stand on his feet again like they had at Ashlyn's wedding. But now supper was over and they'd done some country dances since: that had helped Elsa relax a bit. She found it was hard to remain tense and worried about your feet when you're being whirled up and down and passed from hand to hand.

  ‘You're getting good at this,' Laurence murmured as they did a perfect left-hand reverse.

  tried to practise on my own at home, after the lesson.' She looked up at him and he seemed lost in thought, then he glanced down at her, smiling. He really did have lovely gentle eyes. 'I know, I'm sorry, I should have come and practised with you. I've been dreadfully busy lately.’

  ‘It's OK, I didn't expect you to.’

  They gazed at each other for a while and Elsa suddenly felt a little awkward. She was just wondering what to say next when the music stopped and Natasha's consort, who, unlike all the other men, was in Regency dress, went to a microphone.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to announce the winner of the costume competition.’

  Elsa felt tense. She'd always dreaded hearing her name or her number, or indeed anything, calle
d out. And while she didn't think she was in any danger now, she still felt anxious. Then Laurence took her hand and squeezed it, looking down at her encouragingly.

  ‘In reverse order…' A name was announced and Elsa relaxed; the woman who came forward for her bottle of champagne was immaculate. Elsa was fairly sure that her dress was an exact copy of a period costume from a painting. There was no way she was likely to be called for now.

  The second prize went to another stunning creation, far grander than Elsa's gown – this one was suitable for a duchess. Elsa by contrast was very ingénue, her dress suitable for a girl in her first season. She was no longer in her teens but she felt sufficiently inexperienced in the ways of the world for this to be appropriate. Apart from anything else, she hadn't wanted to make anything too complicated in case she'd had to drop it to start on Carrie's creation.

  ‘And the winner,' called the man, who actually looked very smart in his tight pants, tail coat and exotically tied neckcloth, 'who wins a weekend for two here in this lovely hotel, is..

  Elsa looked round for someone to step forward and then realised it was her name she had heard. Laurence was looking down at her, smiling. He mouthed, 'Ready?' and when she gave a little nod he took her hand and led her to the front. Everyone clapped like mad. In theory it was the worst moment of her life, being the object of everyone's gaze, in the forefront rather than the background. But from somewhere came a sense of theatre: spontaneously, she performed a deep curtsey and accepted a bottle of champagne and an envelope as if she'd been born to receive such accolades.

  ‘Thank you so much,' she said, stuttering a little. 'I can't believe I won!'

  ‘Your dress wasn't the grandest,' said Natasha, kissing her cheek, 'but it was the prettiest and you look so lovely in it. Where did you get it made? I can tell it's not hired.'

  ‘Oh, I made it myself,' Elsa said making a dismissive movement with her fingers.

  ‘But it's amazing!' said Natasha. 'Did you hear that? She made her dress herself!’

  Now the prize-giving was over, other women gathered round Elsa and Natasha. They inspected Elsa's dress more closely.