Promise Me: A heartbreaking and unputdownable page-turner

by Jade Beer

  ‘I’m not living my life, I’m curating it. I’m art-directing every single day. Not everyone can do this. As you can see, my life doesn’t dictate my posts, it’s the other way around. It can be bloody exhausting, but that’s what it takes to get to the top in this game. The important thing is this, Nat, I shouldn’t need to spend a penny on this wedding and I need you to make sure that’s the case. Venue, dress, flowers, booze, I want all of it – for free. Obviously. Find me sponsors.’

  Wow! The hustle. She’s not even trying to hide it, thinks Nat. Where’s the charm? What happened to the prudishness we Brits were supposed to be renowned for? Aren’t we all supposed to quietly go about the business of making money but never be so crass as to actually discuss it? Where’s the self-deprecating good humour? There’s none of it here today.

  Nat changes tack. ‘Tell me about your fiancé. Who are you marrying?’

  ‘Jason Reed. Obviously, you’ve heard of him. He had the fastest-growing online audience of any male fashion blogger last year. Made it onto the Forbes list of Top 100 Disrupters. People are falling over themselves to offer him the honeymoon so we don’t need to worry about that.’

  Nat is watching as Susie pouts into the large round mirror sprouting from the top of her computer screen. Even when she isn’t on, she’s never off, thinks Nat.

  ‘But what’s he like? How did you meet?’ Nat is searching for some sign that underneath all this pretence, there might be some real emotion, some depth of feeling. Anything that will make Susie seem less of a shameless blagger and more one of us, underneath that inch of foundation.

  ‘Oh, the usual.’ It’s obvious that time really is money to this girl, and she clearly can’t see the point of wasting it talking about something that isn’t going to advance her earnings. ‘Having this wedding keeps us relevant. As we get older, our followers get older and we need to keep putting content in front of them that speaks to their own life stage. The entire day will be filmed so any brands coming on board will get massive exposure. Film edits of the day and the lead up to it will be shared across all channels. It’s probably going to be the easiest job you’ve ever been offered, Nat.’

  Susie’s phone goes, giving Nat the freedom to sit there for a few minutes in a room that has effectively been wallpapered with images of Susie but none, as far as she can see, of the over-achieving Jason, and think about her own love life. It’s sporadic, random, there is no one special and hasn’t been for a long time. But that’s OK. Nat’s having fun and loves that this job puts her in the path of so many interesting and diverse people, ones with lives entirely different from her own. But this? It’s so utterly soulless. So transactional. What sort of children might these two inflict on the world? Nat’s reminded of an interview she read recently in one of the weekend papers, some celeb agent dishing the dirt on a former child star whose earnings had far eclipsed, by the age of fifteen, anything the agent could ever achieve. It had all gone wrong, because the child’s ego had raged out of control and film studios started refusing to work with them. A celebrity’s mental age freezes, the agent said, at the precise point at which they achieve fame. The point at which they stop being treated like a regular human being by everyone around them.

  Perhaps that’s what’s happened to Susie?

  Or could it be that Nat’s got it all wrong? Should she be more ruthless – with men, her career, her finances? Like most things in Nat’s life, this slightly barmy professional bridesmaid thing of hers was just born out of a random series of events. A friend-of-a-friend’s bridesmaid let her down a week before the wedding and another mutual friend suggested Nat step in. The bride, Rebecca, needed someone to keep the other in-fighting maids in check and insisted that she would pay. Nat did such a great job that two more paid-for weddings followed. One was a colleague of Rebecca’s, who needed someone to blame for all the decisions her future mother-in-law was hating. Then, a couple of months later, another bride, Joanna, who was eloping without her family’s knowledge and needed someone to make all the arrangements, minus a paper trail back to her. Being an undercover pro-bridesmaid is the perfect foil. The family look at Nat and see a treasured friend, albeit one they don’t remember meeting before, not the arch manipulator of plans she so often is. She’s free to slip under their radar in a way a regular wedding planner, who everyone feels they can have access to, never could.

  So, being uncalculating and letting life take Nat where she should go has worked so far, hasn’t it? Most weddings she’s masterminded have been wonderful in their own way.

  When the emails started to land in Nat’s inbox, she was suddenly turning down the waitressing shifts and ordering another bridesmaid dress, having more fun and earning a lot more money. Any advertising has been very low-level, vague posts on Facebook and some very discreetly worded business cards. Susie called after hearing Nat had renegotiated all the venue fees for one woman’s big day after a major double-booking balls-up. But what Susie wants is on a whole different level, one that actually doesn’t seem terribly fair to Nat. Why should Susie get everything for free when so many lovely brides have to save and pay for it themselves?

  ‘So, I’ll give you a list of the brands I want associated with this wedding and you can do the rest.’ Susie has ended her call and spun around on her office chair, presumably to see Nat’s ecstatic reaction at such good news. ‘Whatever your usual day rate is, double it. I’m sure you’ll be worth it. Then we can talk specifics. For starters, I don’t want you in any of the pictures. I’ll only be photographed next to people with a comparable following – and that’s not you.’ Nothing in Susie’s emotionless face belies the sheer arrogance of her last statement and it makes Nat’s response an easy one.

  ‘Thanks, Susie, that’s very kind of you. But… I’m going to pass.’

  ‘What! You’re joking, right?’

  Even through all that make-up, Nat can see Susie is going very red in the face. ‘I’m afraid not. I only work with clients that I feel a connection with – I’m sure given the business you’re in, you can understand that.’ Nat is up now and heading for the office door, knowing she needs to exit before this gets nasty.

  ‘Everyone in this business wants to be something they’re not, Nat, I’m sure you’re no different. Close the door on your way out.’ Susie is already gazing back into her giant mirror, arching her head back, getting ready for another post from the frontline of nothing-of-any-significance.

  Nat steps out into the last rays of the day’s fading sunshine and feels a surge of pride ebb through her, the sort of feeling you only get when you know you’ve just done precisely the right thing. But it’s edged with a far less comfortable feeling of exposure. Everyone wants to be something they’re not. Did Susie see something in Nat that she hasn’t been brave enough to admit to herself yet? She glances down at her mobile phone for the first time in hours and sees she has two missed calls from Helen at The White Gallery. Just as Nat’s checking the time of her calls, a text pings through from Helen that immediately makes her stomach tighten.

  * * *

  Can we chat please, Nat? It’s about Betsy. Come and see me as soon as you can.

  * * *

  It’s been a day of firsts. The first time Nat has ever disliked a potential client enough to turn down her business. And, dear God, let her not be right about this – the first time she has somehow blown a bride’s cover before she even followed her up the aisle?

  11

  Betsy

  Betsy hasn’t been able to look Dylan in the eye all day. She spent an excruciating twenty minutes in his office earlier, while the two of them tried to plan their strategy for the client dinner tonight. He was all ideas and clever thoughts, while she sat there, palms sweating, looking like she’d left her brain at home and thinking only about the contents of the overnight bag that’s tucked under the desk, out of sight from colleagues. And the slightly ludicrous sum of money she’s spent on what’s in there.

  It’s amazing how you can convince yourself t
hat these things are necessary, not extravagant, if you need to, she thinks. Just normal buys that are long overdue for a woman who does a lot of client entertaining and needs to look and feel the part. Nothing wrong with that. Except it has forced her to dip into the wedding fund and she knows she hasn’t spent the best part of three hundred quid to impress the client. And if the shopping trip was so innocent, why did she feel like she had to stuff the dress and new knickers into her case before Jacob spotted them? And why has she also spent all morning worrying about the bags and receipts she forgot to dispose of before she left in a tearing hurry this morning? It’s Dylan’s attention she wants more than anything, she just can’t entirely admit that to herself because that would make her pretty stupid, wouldn’t it? Planning a wedding to her long-term love but spending every idle moment – and plenty when she should be working – imagining what it might be like to have Dylan’s hands all over her.

  And is she imagining it or is there a tension between her and Dylan today that hasn’t been there before? A nervousness. She certainly feels on edge and he seems a little jumpier than usual too. Or is it just her? One thing’s for sure, there’s no work getting done today. She may as well not be here for all the use she is to anyone. Lauren’s new business proposal isn’t getting signed off, she can’t focus enough to read Kirsty’s end-of-month report and she’s struggling to contain her irritation with an unnecessarily bullish Anton. Can’t he just have an off day, for once? Slack off and calm down, just today? She decides to give him some competitor analysis to get stuck into, anything to stop him bugging her every five minutes. Then Betsy goes back to the wonderful daydream about what might – could – happen in her hotel room tonight, thoughts that are making her feel a way that’s definitely not appropriate in the middle of a busy open-plan office.

  Dylan recommended the hotel. It’s just a few doors down from the restaurant they are dining in tonight, in a cobblestoned corner of Covent Garden. Very discreet. There’s no obvious signage, just a huge black lacquered door that leads into the converted townhouse. Her room is full of special little touches: a giant pink velvet headboard, a walk-in rainwater shower big enough for two, a beautiful gold tray filled with make-your-own cocktail ingredients. Now that she’s here, she decides to do just that as she’s hanging up the Whistles dress and laying out her lingerie and make-up.

  Betsy takes her time getting ready. After a shower, she removes every trace of hair from her legs and armpits, then covers herself in a rich layer of sweet-smelling body cream, working it all over her thighs and bum. She paints her nails a chic shade of gunmetal grey and blow-dries her hair into its usual choppy, sexy bob. She takes her delicate Chloé scent and dabs it behind her ears, and down between her boobs.

  Then she sits on the edge of the bed and spends the next fifteen minutes wondering what the hell she’s doing. She even brings up Nat’s number on her phone, knowing she’ll talk her in or out of whatever might happen tonight, then thinks better of it – she’ll just be implicating someone else in the mess. She likes Nat too much to do that to her.

  What does she actually want from tonight? Just some mega-strength flirting with a man she knows will have the attention of every woman in the restaurant tonight, whether he knows it or not? Or more? All the evidence would suggest more – but could she? Why is she even asking herself these questions? Yes, she’s attention-starved at home. But it’s more than that. She hasn’t thought about Jacob in that way for ages. Sex has been infrequent and functional, or, worse, needy, when she felt like he wanted cheering up after a bad day at the laptop, when he was frustrated at his own lack of progress and needed something to take his mind off it for ten minutes – her body present but her mind a million miles away. Both of them know it’s no good, but neither has had the guts to say anything because it’s just easier to pretend it’s not happening until this book deal is landed and all their problems magically disappear. It’s a phase, a blip – all long-term couples have them, right? She shouldn’t judge their entire relationship on how she’s feeling right now. Of course there are good reasons she agreed to marry Jacob, they’ve just become harder to remember in amongst all the work, wedding and managing Mum stress.

  She takes a large, strong gulp of the Negroni she’s made and then starts to hook herself into the new corset, not easy on her own. But the effect is incredible. Her waist is suddenly tiny and it has smoothed out every lump and bump around her middle, gently pushing her chest skywards so that a touch of forbidden flesh will be visible above the neckline of her dress. The knickers sit super-low on her, just about covering what they’re intended to. Like the corset, they are black, sheer, and edged with a line of expensive black ribbon that bows at the back just above a heart-shaped hole that reveals the gentle, womanly curve at the very base of her spine. Even after draining the cocktail, she can’t bring herself to put on the hold ups. The slit in the dress runs too high, making the deep lace top of them just visible. It’s too obvious, too much. She’s going to have to go with bare legs instead but the dress is long enough, just below the knee. It still looks professional. Just.

  Betsy scans back through her notes on the client, refreshing herself with the proposal put forward; the number of roles they’ll recruit for, the percentage they’ll charge, the size of the team they’ll put on it and the deadline by which they guarantee to deliver the candidates. It’s all locked in. She’s baby-stepped the managing director, Mark, through this for weeks, doing all the groundwork that she hopes will now see her and Dylan land an important new account together.

  Betsy is the first to arrive at the restaurant and goes straight to the table, the less self-conscious option than perching alone at the bar. Dylan has, obviously, made the perfect choice. It’s all dark, woody and leathery in here, and the detailed stained-glass windows make it feel even more exclusive, no prying eyes from the street outside. There are private booths tucked away for more intimate dinners but Betsy has been seated at a table for four in the centre of the main space. An aproned waiter approaches to smooth the white tablecloth, deliver a menu, some bread and to take her drink order. She feels excited and full of anticipation now so orders a glass of champagne. Before he returns, both clients arrive at the table, thrilled to see her. Mark, the oldest and the founder of the company, bends to kiss her on both cheeks, while Jonathan, his finance director, who Betsy is meeting for the first time, settles for a firm handshake.

  ‘I’m so pleased you could make it, Betsy. We both loved the proposal you put together and I really wanted you to meet Jonathan, too.’

  There’s something so comfortable about Mark, so unlike some of the smug upstarts she meets through work. He’s charming and unassuming and she warmed to him the moment they first met.

  ‘And I’m delighted to be here! It’s been great getting to know your business, and I hope we’re going to get to work together a lot more. Now, what can I get you both to drink?’ It’s such a positive start that Betsy is feeling totally on top of this, not in the slightest bit worried about a now faintly delayed Dylan.

  ‘Looks like you’ve made the perfect choice, so I’ll join you on the fizz,’ says Mark.

  ‘Yep, works for me.’ Jonathan is definitely the better-looking of the two, younger and with bright blue eyes that are already appreciating the effort Betsy has made tonight.

  There was a time she would have been intimidated in this situation but not any more. She knows her stuff and has researched their business so well there is no risk of being wrong-footed. And she feels incredible tonight, knowing that she looks just the way she planned to; sexy, capable and in control.

  While they start to chat through the week they’ve all had, Betsy sees Dylan enter the restaurant from across the room. As the hostess is helping him out of his Burberry mac, she can see he’s changed into a deep petrol-blue suit and freshly pressed white shirt with no tie. Just one look at him, and the mega-watt smile he’s treating the hostess to, is sending a surge of energy right through her, totally distracting her fr
om the chat around the table. She can hear Mark and Jonathan answering her questions, but their voices are suddenly muffled, receding into the background, unimportant now. As Dylan reaches them, he bends to greet her first, placing a kiss on the side of her cheek, one that lingers long enough for her to feel his warm breath on her skin and to smell his expensive cedarwood aftershave that she loves so much.

  ‘Betsy, thank you for holding the fort, bloody traffic around the Strand is at a standstill, as usual! I’m so sorry to keep you all waiting.’

  ‘Let me introduce you.’ Betsy does the intros and pours Dylan a glass of fizz, while the three men immediately slide into easy chat about the nightmare that is London traffic and how they’ve been looking forward to eating at this place for months.

  Then Jonathan turns his attention to Betsy, asking how long she’s worked with Dylan and paying endless compliments about how well respected the agency is within the industry.

  ‘I know Mark is enormously impressed with all the work you’ve done, which is so much more thorough than anyone else we pitched the business out to. And now that we’ve met, I can see you’re going to be the best partner for us.’

  ‘That’s great to hear!’ It sounds to Betsy like this business is all but in the bag and Dylan’s end-of-month figures are going to swell pleasingly higher than expected.

  ‘So, tell me about you. What do you do when you’re not driving the business forward?’ Jonathan has angled his chair towards her and has noticeably switched off work mode.

  ‘Well…’ Mmmm, where’s she going to start with this? Thankfully, she’s saved because Dylan, who is to her left, is reaching an arm across the table towards her and pulling her into his conversation with Mark.