by Katie Fforde
Even the little bridesmaids, whose dresses had been so last minute, looked like fairy servants behind their queen. No one would know the panic, the frantic sewing, the midnight hours that went into those costumes except a very few people, but, Elsa now knew, it had all been worth it.
She had spent the few minutes she had before Carrie appeared star-spotting. It was one way to pass the time, and she thought it might help her throw off the melancholy that had settled over her recently.
She'd heard nothing from Laurence for ages. He'd warned her he'd have very little time to call or text, and he was in the States anyway, so the time difference made things even more difficult. But she was a bit hurt. There were at least half a dozen ways a person could contact another person these days, not including carrier pigeon.
Had she made a mistake in sleeping with him? Was that why his texts had dwindled to nothing a matter of days afterwards? If she had, it was a lovely mistake, and she'd just have to be content with the memory of a wonderful night of passion with a caring, considerate, sexy man.
A little spark of excitement flickered, like light on Swarovski crystals, in her heart. Maybe he'd still be able to make it after all. Perhaps he was on his way at this very moment and unable to call her. The fact that he might turn up gave her that little hope.
Still, she thought, if he couldn't come, there were plenty of fit young men here, even if they were mostly accompanied by size zero, WAG-type starlets and unlikely to look at her in her Regency ball gown.
*
After the ceremony, and when the wedding supper was over, having checked Carrie's dress again after the bride'd been upstairs and had her lip-gloss reapplied, and her back and shoulders powdered and sprinkled with the merest dusting of iridescent make-up, Elsa looked around the room and caught Bron's eye. Bron, she knew, was worrying about the fact that her bed was still covered in glass from when the ladder went through it. There'd been no opportunity to do anything about it and while there would probably be somewhere spare for her to sleep, not knowing where that would be was depressing for her. As was the fact that James seemed to have disappeared.
‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?' The best man, whom Elsa recognised as an American soap star, stood before her. He was smiling down at her with his perfect teeth practically twinkling.
It was a waltz: Carrie had wanted her reception to start with several traditional ballroom dances to show off her beautiful gown before it morphed into a more general free- for-all.
He was very good-looking, Elsa had to acknowledge, and although at one time she would have refused, there wasn't an adult bridesmaid he should have been dancing with and she could do waltzing now. She said yes. She smiled at him and allowed him to take her into his arms.
He was hopeless, she realised; as bad, if not worse, than she had been the very first time she had tried waltzing with Laurence. They went twice round the dance floor, which was not huge, and then he said, 'I'm sorry. I'm no good at this. Would you mind if we just did a slow dance instead?'
‘What do you mean? Waltzing isn't terribly fast.’
He laughed at her teasingly. 'You're cute. I meant like this.' He took her hands and linked them behind his head and then put his arms round her waist. It was, she had to admit, much easier than trying to steer him round corners.
Nothing like being in the arms of an attractive man to chase away memories of another one, she thought as they circled the room. Not that this man really had chased away her thoughts of Laurence, but it was a distraction. At one time her dream scenario at an occasion like this would have been to find a good spot to watch it all from. But not now. Since being a substitute bridesmaid at Ashlyn's wedding, she had come on a lot. She now wanted to be part of the party, not just an onlooker.
For example, she pondered, as they plodded round in a small circle, would she have had the confidence to dance with him at all, to let him hold her close if it hadn't been for Ashlyn's wedding and all that followed it? She doubted it. Having her hair cut, Vanessa making her have her colours done, Laurence making her learn to waltz, had all given her confidence. So what if he'd decided it was a mistake, she told herself firmly, at least now she was a braver, more confident person. Having come to this conclusion she decided she should be bolder. She relaxed and smiled up at her partner and held his gaze as he smiled back.
‘Excuse me!’
Someone tapped her on her shoulder and peeled her off her partner. It was Laurence.
‘Excuse me,' he said again, to the man this time. 'But this is my girlfriend. I'm afraid I'm going to take her away.' Elsa's heart gave a little dance of pleasure.
‘Hey, fella! Doesn't she have some say in the matter?' The young American film star was heavier than Laurence and seemed ready to fight for his woman.
‘I'm afraid not. Come on, Elsa,' said Laurence. Then he took her hand and led her away.
‘Laurence!' said Elsa, struggling to keep up with him. 'What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't come!’
He didn't stop until they were in a little pantry, miles away from the party. 'I know, I nearly didn't make it, but I just had to, whatever it took.'
‘Why didn't you let me know?' she said. 'I haven't heard from you for so long. I thought..
He looked suitably contrite. 'I'm so sorry I haven't been in touch. I was so busy. Then I lost my phone and the battery died on my laptop – couldn't get a spare where I was and all my telephone numbers were on it.'
‘Oh.' That did cover most of the bases, apart from the carrier pigeon, of course.
He sighed deeply. 'I really am sorry. Anyway, I'm here now.’
She nodded.
‘I had to get a taxi from the airport. Cost me an arm and a leg.'
‘Oh dear.' She didn't know what else to say.
‘Elsa, I haven't driven for over five hours to get here to listen to you saying "Oh", or if I'm lucky "Oh dear"!’
She twinkled up at him, thrilled to see him, standing there looking so handsome in his dinner jacket. Dear Laurence, he'd come back to her.
Then he took her in his arms and kissed her.
It took Elsa a few seconds to get into the kiss. At first their noses bumped and their teeth clashed but then it settled down into a stomach-weakening clinch that made Elsa's head swim. She was glad he didn't let go when he stopped for breath or she might have fallen over.
‘Goodness, Laurence,' she said breathlessly. 'That was quite a kiss.'
‘I hope you know now how much I've missed you.’
‘Well, I've got some idea.' She smiled, all warm inside. 'I know we hadn't really got that far in our relationship…' He paused.
‘Did we have a relationship?'
‘Well, friendship. But I couldn't wait any longer. And that gorilla would have had you if I hadn't stepped in.’
Elsa laughed. 'I don't think so. We were only dancing.'
‘I know only too well what dancing can lead to!' said Laurence. 'That dancing teacher definitely fancied you.’
Elsa suddenly started to giggle. It was so lovely and funny and silly to be here with Laurence and him being jealous. 'Actually, I think the dancing teacher was gay.'
‘If he was, he was thinking of changing his mind.'
‘Idiot.' Then she went on, not wanting any awkwardness between them, 'When I didn't hear from you for such a long time I wondered if I'd made a mistake sleeping with you. We didn't know each other all that well. I thought maybe you'd lost all respect for me.'
‘Oh Elsa! I could never do that.' He took her into his arms again for a long time.
As Elsa was sort of on duty, in case Carrie had a ‘wardrobe malfunction', they drifted back up to the dancing. They met Sarah rubbing her foot in the doorway.
‘Laurence!' she said, pleased to see him. 'You made it.'
‘In the nick of time.' He glanced at Elsa and Elsa noticed a proprietorial gleam in his eye and it made her insides give a little skip of pleasure. 'She was just about to go off with the best man.'
&
nbsp; ‘That's what I do at weddings,' Elsa explained. 'It's a golden rule.’
Laurence's hand found her waist and tickled her. 'Not any more it's not. From now on, it's bridegrooms only.'
‘Bridegrooms?' asked Sarah, laughing and easing her foot back into her shoe. 'Not at any wedding I have anything to do with – it would ruin my business.'
‘Not if the bridegroom was me,' said Laurence. 'I'm fed up with always being the best man, I want my moment in the sun.'
‘You'll get a moment in the Sun if you're not careful. A few journalists have muscled their way in,' said Sarah. 'I'm just going to ask them to leave.’
Elsa laughed but uncertainly. She wasn't sure, but she might have been proposed to, in a very roundabout way.
‘So,' said Laurence when he'd got them both fresh glasses of champagne, 'how would you like to be a bride?’
Elsa considered, still not sure if he was asking in a general way, or actually proposing. She decided to take it lightly. 'I don't think I would. I don't think I'd like being the centre of attention.'
‘We could have a very quiet wedding, just family and a few friends..’
She bridled, a skill she didn't know she had. 'What's this "we" business? I thought we were discussing me being a bride!'
‘If you're going to be a bride, I bagsy be the bridegroom.’
She shook her head reproachfully. 'You don't bagsy brides, as if they were a seat on a bus! You go down on one knee and propose-' She let out a small shriek. 'Don't you dare!'
‘I won't go down on one knee if you don't want me to, but I would be very thrilled and happy if you'd agree to be-' He bent his knee.
‘No!' She pushed at him, starting to laugh again. It was all so daft. 'We hardly know each other!'
‘We know each other, in the Biblical sense, quite well.’
‘Really, Laurence!'
‘Really, Elsa!' He hesitated for a moment, and then the band struck up and the wonderful, poignant notes of 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes' began, and the low; mellow tones of the singer started to float through the air.
He got up and took her hand, 'Come on, they're playing our song. Let's dance.’
She followed him to the dance floor. 'We haven't got a song, Laurence.'
‘We will have from now on. From now on whenever we hear this we'll remember the night you nearly agreed to be my wife.’
Elsa chuckled. 'So will we have another song if ever I do agree?’
He snatched her into his arms. 'No. This one will have to do_’
Chapter Forty-Three
There was nothing like not knowing where you were going to lay your head that night for making you tired, thought Bron. She hadn't realised that being the make-up artist to the stars would be quite so exhausting. The trouble was, she'd been up before dawn for too many days prior to the actual wedding. Doing the cakes and a lot of flower-arranging meant she was tired before she started on her proper job.
She hadn't seen James for ages. He might have gone home. He might have felt that this was not his sort of party. Maybe she had lost her moment, for ever. Vanessa would be cross with them both. She suddenly felt sad. She'd just have to accept he saw her as a friend and be thankful at least for that. Bron wasn't sure it was her sort of party either, really. It was lovely to look at, beautiful people being beautiful all over the place. The cake had looked fabulous. Everyone had admired it. The caterers had taken Bron's details. It might be the start of a whole new career. When Sarah told her how much she was going to be paid for making it she realised there was more money in cake than in up-dos. She would have felt exhilarated if she hadn't been exhausted. The events of the last couple of months had finally caught up with her.
When the last lick of lip-gloss, the last brush of powder had been applied and Carrie and her new husband had been carried away, Bron decided to slip off. She was aware that lots of the people she knew, Rupert and Fenella, Elsa and Laurence – Elsa had looked so happy she was pleased for her friend despite the pang for herself – and probably Sarah, were going to kick back and relax. The wedding had been a huge success and they could now stop working and start partying. While Bron wanted to do this too, she wanted some sleep first.
She slipped away down to the kitchen and out of the back door. She thought about her bed, probably still strewn with broken glass and muttered to herself. Then she remembered the caravan. She could sleep there. She felt like someone in a desert on the way to the oasis – nothing was going to stop her getting her head down.
The caravan was occupied. James was sprawled across the double pull-out bed, sound asleep. There were other beds concealed somewhere, Bron knew, but she didn't want to crash about pulling down bunks or finding hidden mattresses. Too much like work and far too noisy. Carefully, she climbed over James so she was next to the bulkhead and lay down.
Those last few months of keeping to the edge of the bed with Roger have come in useful, she thought as she pulled the light cover that James had thrown off over herself. Then she slept.
She woke a little while later. James was still asleep. She raised herself on her elbow and watched him. His mouth was very slightly open and his shirt was half pulled out of his trousers, revealing a little triangle of flesh. She couldn't help herself. She wanted him.
She took a few deep breaths and then decided she was a modern woman – of many parts – and that she should take control of her destiny. Vanessa had implied as much. She put her hand on his shoulder. He was wearing a new shirt – she knew that because they'd discussed what he should wear for the wedding and he didn't have a decent shirt. She could feel the heat of his body through it.
Her courage increasing, she moved her hand to the buttons and pushed her fingers between them, finding his warm skin. She undid a button. He stirred slightly but didn't wake up so she undid another. When his whole torso was exposed she spent another few minutes admiring it. She had seen his chest before – and his well-muscled back – when he was working in his garden without his shirt. But she'd never had the opportunity to see it at such close quarters.
Her eye went to the hook of his trousers. He only had one suit, he'd told her, and it came from a charity shop. But it was a very good suit and he'd looked delightful in it. Now she wanted to see how delightful he'd look out of it. She couldn't seem to help herself.
She allowed her hand to drift down his chest to his stomach, but although she wanted to, she didn't let it go any lower.
Why didn't he wake up? She could make him, she supposed, but she didn't really want to do that. He might say, 'What on earth do you think you're doing?’
She sighed, suddenly feeling tired and despondent. She lay down again and then, without letting herself acknowledge what she was doing, she laid her head on his chest and put her hand just underneath it. Soothed by his warmth and his smell, her eyes closed and she fell asleep again.
She woke up a short time later in a panic. Why was her head on a man's chest? Who was he? She knew it wasn't Roger but it took her brain a few frantic seconds to remember where she was and what she'd done.
She froze in horror. What on earth had she been thinking of? She'd practically undressed him! She'd have to get away. If he found her there he'd think she was a total slapper! If she could only slide out of his bed and go back to the party, he need never know she'd been there. It would have been all right, she realised, if she hadn't undone his shirt. If she'd just had a nap next to him she could have just told him she needed somewhere to sleep. Why oh why did she let her lust get the better of her?
Very carefully and slowly, she retracted her hand, but it had only moved an inch or so before it was gripped. Praying that James was still asleep and was only holding on from some reflex action, she tugged a bit harder. But she couldn't release herself. James was awake.
‘Let me have my hand back!' she hissed.
'No. Why?’
He seemed perfectly relaxed about the situation, unlike Bron, who was beside herself with embarrassment.
‘Because I wan
t to get up and I obviously can't leave without my hand!'
‘What was it doing there, anyway?' He was holding it more gently now. 'Your hand, I mean.'
‘I… I was just having a nap – my bed is covered in glass if you remember – and must have put my hand on your chest in my sleep.' Reflex actions might be her best excuse.
He shook his head. 'Not buying it. Why is my shirt undone?'
‘I have no idea!' Bron tugged at her hand again, longing to escape from this humiliation.
‘Yes you have. You unbuttoned it!’
Bron was blushing too much to look at him. 'No! I didn't!’
James raised himself on one arm so he was now looking down at her. 'I know perfectly well that when I lay down my shirt was fully buttoned. I only intended to have a few moments' kip – I only kicked my shoes off at the last minute. You undid my buttons.’
There seemed to be nothing she could say to get her out of this dreadful situation. Her only relief was that she hadn't touched his trousers – although she had thought about it.
‘You fancy me, don't you?' James went on relentlessly.
`No-'
‘You may as well admit it. I caught you red-handed.’
She sighed. She could hardly deny it. 'OK, so hang me! I do – did – do fancy you a little bit. I'm a perfectly normal woman, after all-’
She didn't get to say any more for a while, which was probably just as well. He turned towards her and his mouth came down on hers and she accepted her fate as a total slapper. It felt very nice indeed.
Quite a bit later she said, 'You must fancy me too, then.’
James laughed. 'Of course I do, you ninny! Why would you doubt it?'
‘Because you've never done anything about it! I kept sending you signals and you just didn't pick them up!’
James sighed now. 'Well, I wasn't sure. I really didn't want to make a mistake. I've been there before and it would have been so awkward for you if I was wrong. You'd have moved out of one bad relationship only to discover the man next door had a major crush on you.'