“Danny, you do know he’s straight?”
“Of course I know he’s straight! What do you take me for?” Danny gives a thoughtful pause. “But he went to English boarding school, right?”
“Danny!” I give him a shove and look up. “Hi, Tarquin! You managed to get away!”
“Hello!” says Tarquin, looking a bit harassed. “Suze, darling, have you given Becky the stuff from her mother?”
“Oh, it’s back at the hotel,” says Suze, and turns to me. “Bex, we dropped in on your mum and dad on the way to the airport. They are so obsessed!” She giggles. “They can’t talk about anything but the wedding.”
“I’m not surprised,” says Danny. “It sounds like it’s going to be fairly amazing. Catherine Zeta-Jones, eat your heart out.”
“Catherine Zeta-Jones?” says Suze interestedly. “What do you mean?”
I feel my body stiffen all over. Shit. Think.
“Danny,” I say casually. “I think the editor of Women’s Wear Daily is over there.”
“Really? Where?” Danny’s head swivels round. “I’ll be back in a second.” He disappears off into the party and I subside in relief.
“When we were there, they were having this huge argument about how big the marquee should be,” says Suze with another giggle. “They made us sit on the lawn, pretending to be guests.”
I don’t want to hear about this. I take a gulp of champagne and try to think of another topic.
“Have you told Becky the other thing that happened?” says Tarquin, looking suddenly grave.
“Er… no, not yet,” says Suze guiltily, and Tarquin gives a deep, solemn sigh.
“Becky, Suze has something she needs to confess.”
“That’s right.” Suze bites her lip and looks abashed. “We were at your parents’ house, and I asked to look at your mum’s wedding dress. So we were all admiring it, and I was holding a cup of coffee…” She hangs her head. “And then — I don’t know how it happened, but… I spilled my coffee on the dress.”
I stare at her incredulously. “On the dress? Are you serious?”
“We offered to clean it, of course,” says Tarquin. “But I’m not sure it will be wearable. We’re so incredibly sorry, Becky. And we’ll pay for another dress, of course.” He looks at his empty glass. “Can I get anyone another drink?”
“So the dress is… ruined?” I say, just to be sure.
“Yes, and it wasn’t easy, I can tell you!” says Suze as soon as Tarquin is out of earshot. “The first time I tried, your mum whisked it away just in time. Then she started getting all worried and saying she’d better put it away. I had to practically throw my coffee cup at it, just as she was packing it up — and even then it only just caught the train. Of course, your mum hates me now,” she adds gloomily. “I shouldn’t think I’ll get invited to the wedding.”
“Oh, Suze. She doesn’t really. And thank you so much. You’re a complete star. I honestly didn’t think you’d manage it.”
“Well, I couldn’t let you look like a lamb cutlet, could I?” Suze grins. “The weird thing is, in her wedding pictures, your mum looks really lovely in it. But in real life…” She pulls a little face.
“Exactly. Oh, Suze, I’m so glad you’re here.” Impulsively I give her a hug. “I thought you’d be all… married. What’s being married like, anyway?”
“Kind of the same,” says Suze after a pause. “Except we have more plates—”
I feel a tapping on my shoulder and look up to see a red-haired woman wearing a pale silk trouser suit.
“Laura Redburn Seymour,” she says, extending her hand. “My husband and I have to go, but I just wanted to say I just heard about your wedding plans. I got married in exactly the same place, fifteen years ago. And let me tell you, when you walk down that aisle, there’s no feeling like it.” She clasps her hands and smiles at her husband, who looks exactly like Clark Kent.
“Gosh,” I say. “Well… thank you!”
“Were you brought up in Oxshott, then?” asks Suze cheerfully. “That’s a coincidence!”
Oh, fuck.
“I’m sorry?” says Laura Redburn Seymour.
“Oxshott!” says Suze. “You know!”
“Ox? What ox?” Laura Redburn Seymour looks confusedly at her husband.
“We don’t believe in hunting,” says Clark Kent a little coldly. “Good evening. And congratulations again,” he adds to me.
As the two walk off, Suze stares at me in puzzlement. “Bex. Did that make any sense?”
“I… erm…” I rub my nose, playing for time.
I really don’t know why, but I have a strong feeling that I don’t want to tell Suze about the Plaza.
OK. I do know why. It’s because I know exactly what she’ll say.
“Yes!” I say at last. “I think it did, kind of.”
“No, it didn’t! She didn’t get married in Oxshott. Why did she think you would be walking up the same aisle as her?”
“Well… you know… they’re American. Nothing they say makes sense… So, er… wedding dress shopping! Shall we go tomorrow?”
“Ooh, definitely!” says Suze, her brow immediately unfurling. “Where shall we go? Does Barneys have a bridal department?”
Thank God Suze is so sweet and unsuspicious.
“Yes, it does,” I say. “I’ve had a quick look, but I haven’t tried anything on yet. The only thing is, I haven’t got an appointment, and it’s a Saturday tomorrow.” I wrinkle my brow. “We could try Vera Wang but that’ll probably be all booked up…”
“I want to go baby shopping as well. I’ve got a list.”
“I’ve bought a couple of things,” I say, looking fondly at her bump. “You know. Just little presents.”
“I want a really nice mobile…”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you one of those. And some really cute little outfits!”
“Bex! You shouldn’t have!”
“There was a sale on at Baby Gap!” I say defensively.
“Excuse me?” interrupts a voice, and we both look up to see a lady in black and pearls approaching. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation just now. My name is Cynthia Harrison. I’m a great friend of Elinor’s and also of Robyn, your wedding planner. You’re in very good hands there!”
“Oh, right!” I say politely. “That’s nice to hear!”
“If you’re looking for a wedding dress, may I invite you both along to my new bridal boutique, Dream Dress?” Cynthia Harrison beams at me. “I’ve been selling wedding dresses for twenty years, and this very week I’ve opened a store on Madison Avenue. We have a huge selection of designer gowns, shoes, and accessories. Personal service in a luxurious environment. All your bridal needs catered to, however great or small.”
She stops rather abruptly, as though she’s been reading off a card.
“Well… OK! We’ll come tomorrow!”
“Shall we say eleven o’clock?” suggests Cynthia, and I glance at Suze, who nods.
“Eleven it is. Thank you very much!”
As Cynthia Harrison departs, I grin at Suze excitedly. But she’s peering over at the other side of the room.
“What’s up with Luke?” she says.
“What do you mean?” I turn round and stare. Luke and Michael are in the corner of the room, away from everyone else, and it looks as though they’re arguing.
As I watch, Luke raises his voice defensively, and I catch the words “the bigger picture, for God’s sake!”
“What are they talking about?” says Suze.
“I’ve got no idea!”
I strain as hard as I can, but I can only hear the odd phrase.
“… simply don’t feel… appropriate…” Michael is saying.
“… short term… feel it’s entirely appropriate…”
Luke looks really rattled.
“… wrong impression… abusing your position…”
“… had enough of this!”
I watch in dismay as Luke
stalks off, out of the room. Michael looks completely taken aback by his reaction. For a moment he’s stock still — then he reaches for his glass and takes a slug of whiskey.
I can’t believe it. I’ve never known Luke and Michael to have a cross word before. I mean, Luke adores Michael. He practically sees him as a father figure. What on earth can be going on?
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I murmur to Suze, and hurry, as discreetly as possible, over to where Michael is still standing, staring into space.
“What was all that about?” I demand as soon as I reach him. “Why were you and Luke fighting?”
Michael looks up, startled — then quickly composes his features into a smile.
“Just a little business disagreement,” he says. “Nothing to worry about. So, have you decided on a honeymoon location yet?”
“Michael, come on. It’s me! Tell me what’s going on.” I lower my voice. “What did you mean, Luke’s abusing his position? What’s happened?”
There’s a long pause and I can see Michael weighing up whether or not to tell me.
“Did you know,” he says at last, “that at least one member of staff from Brandon Communications has been redeployed to work for the Elinor Sherman Foundation?”
“What?” I stare at him in shock. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve recently discovered that a new assistant at the company has been assigned to work for Luke’s mother. Brandon Communications is still paying her salary — but essentially she’s Elinor’s full-time lackey. Naturally she’s unhappy about the situation.” Michael sighs. “All I wanted to do was raise the point, but Luke’s very defensive.”
“He hasn’t said anything about this to me!” I say incredulously.
“He hasn’t said anything about it to anybody. I only found out because it so happens that this assistant knows my daughter, and felt she could call me up.” Michael lowers his voice. “The real danger is that she might complain to the investors. Then Luke would be in trouble.”
“It’s his mother,” I say at last. “You know what a hold she’s got over him. He’ll do anything to impress her.”
“I know,” says Michael. “And I can understand that. Everyone has their own hang-ups.” He looks at his watch. “I have to go, I’m afraid.”
“You can’t leave! Not without talking to him again!”
“I’m not sure that would do any good right now.” Michael looks at me kindly. “Becky, don’t let this spoil your evening. And don’t go and give Luke a hard time. It’s obviously a very sensitive topic.” He squeezes my arm. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
“I won’t. I promise!” I force myself to smile brightly. “And thanks for coming, Michael. It meant a lot to us. Both of us.”
I give him a warm hug and watch as he walks away. Then, when he’s gone, I head out of the room. I have to talk to Luke, as quickly as possible.
Obviously, Michael’s right. It’s a very sensitive subject, so I won’t go charging in. I’ll just ask a few probing, tactful questions, and gently steer him in the right direction. Just like a future wife should.
Eventually I find him upstairs, sitting in a chair in his mother’s bedroom, staring into space.
“Luke, I just spoke to Michael!” I exclaim. “He told me you were sending the Brandon Communications staff over to work for your mother’s charity!”
Oops. That didn’t quite come out right.
“One assistant,” says Luke without turning his head. “OK?”
“Can’t she hire her own assistant? Luke, what if your investors find out?”
“Becky, I’m not completely stupid. This whole charity thing will be good for the company too.” At last he turns his head to look at me. “This business is all about image. When I’m photographed handing over some enormous check to a deserving charity, the positive effect will be enormous. These days, people want to be associated with companies that give something back. I’ve already planned a photo opportunity in the New York Post in a couple of weeks’ time, plus a couple of carefully placed features. The effect on our profile will be huge!”
“So why didn’t Michael see it like that?”
“He wasn’t listening. All he could talk about was how I was ‘setting the wrong precedent.’ ”
“Well, maybe he has a point! I mean, surely you hire staff in order to work for you, not to send off to other companies—”
“This is a one-off example,” says Luke impatiently. “And in my opinion, the benefits to the company will far outweigh any costs.”
“Michael’s your partner! You should listen to him. You should trust him.”
“And he should trust me!” retorts Luke angrily. “There won’t be a problem with the investors. Believe me, when they see the publicity we’re going to generate, they’ll be more than happy. If Michael could just understand that, instead of quibbling over stupid details… Where is he, anyway?”
“Michael had to go,” I say — and see Luke’s face tighten in shock.
“He left? Oh, well. Great.”
“It wasn’t like that. He had to.” I sit down on the bed and take hold of Luke’s hand. “Luke, don’t fight with Michael. He’s been such a good friend. Come on, remember everything he’s done for you? Remember the speech he made on your birthday?”
I’m trying to lighten the atmosphere, but Luke doesn’t seem to notice. His face is taut and defensive and his shoulders are hunched up. He’s not going to listen to a word I say. I give an inward sigh and take a sip of champagne. I’ll just have to wait until a better time.
There’s silence for a few minutes — and after a while we both relax. It’s as though we’ve called a truce.
“I’d better go,” I say at last. “Suze doesn’t know anybody down there.”
“How long is she in New York for?” asks Luke, looking up.
“Just a few days.”
I look idly around the room. I’ve never been in Elinor’s bedroom before. It’s immaculate, like the rest of the place, with pale walls and lots of expensive-looking custom-made furniture.
“Hey, guess what,” I say, suddenly remembering. “Suze and I are going to choose a wedding dress tomorrow!”
Luke looks at me in surprise. “I thought you were going to wear your mother’s wedding dress.”
“Yes. Well.” I frown. “The thing is, there was this awful accident…”
And all I can say is thank God. Thank God for Suze and her well-aimed cup of coffee.
As we approach the window of Dream Dress on Madison Avenue the next morning, I suddenly realize what Mum was asking me to do. How could she want me to dress up in white frills, instead of one of these gorgeous, amazing, Oscar-winner creations? We open the door and silently look around the hushed showroom, with its champagne-colored carpet and painted trompe l’oeil clouds on the ceiling — and, hanging in gleaming, glittery, sheeny rows on two sides of the room, wedding dresses.
I can feel overexcitement rising through me like a fountain. Any minute I might giggle out loud.
“Rebecca!” Cynthia has spotted us and is coming forward with a beam. “I’m so glad you came. Welcome to Dream Dress, where our motto is—”
“Ooh, I bet I know!” interrupts Suze. “Is it ‘Live out your dream at Dream Dress’?”
“No. It’s not.” Cynthia smiles.
“Is it ‘Dreams come true at Dream Dress’?”
“No.” Cynthia’s smile tightens slightly. “It’s ‘We’ll find your Dream Dress.’”
“Oh, lovely!” Suze nods politely.
Cynthia ushers us into the hushed room and seats us on a cream sofa. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she says pleasantly. “Have a browse through some magazines meanwhile.” Suze and I grin excitedly at each other — then she reaches for Contemporary Bride, and I pick up Martha Stewart Weddings.
I adore Martha Stewart Weddings.
Secretly, I want to be Martha Stewart Weddings. I just want to crawl inside the pages with all those beautiful people gett
ing married in Nantucket and South Carolina and riding to the chapel on horses and making their own place-card holders out of frosted russet apples.
I stare at a picture of a wholesome-looking couple standing in a poppy field against a staggeringly beautiful backdrop of mountains. You know, maybe we should get married in a poppy field too, and I could have barley twined round my hair and Luke could make us a loving seat with his own bare hands because his family has worked in wood crafting for six generations. Then we’d ride back to the house in an old country wagon—
“What’s ‘French white-glove service’?” says Suze, peering puzzledly at an ad.
“I dunno.” I look up dazedly. “Hey, Suze, look at this. Shall I make my own bouquet?”
“Do what?”
“Look!” I point to the page. “You can make your own flowers out of crepe paper for an imaginative and individual bouquet.”
“You? Make paper flowers?”
“I could!” I say, slightly nettled by her tone. “I’m a very creative person, you know.”
“And what if it rains?”
“It won’t rain—” I stop myself abruptly.
I was about to say, “It won’t rain in the Plaza.”
“I just… know it won’t rain,” I say instead, and quickly turn a page. “Ooh, look at those shoes!”
“Ladies! Let’s begin.” We both look up to see Cynthia coming back, a clipboard in her hand. She sits down on a small gilt chair and we both look at her attentively.
“Nothing in your life,” she says, “can prepare you for the experience of buying your wedding dress. You may think you know about buying clothes.” Cynthia gives a little smile and shakes her head. “Buying a wedding dress is different. We at Dream Dresses like to say, you don’t choose your dress…”
“Your dress chooses you?” suggests Suze.
“No,” says Cynthia with a flash of annoyance. “You don’t choose your dress,” she repeats, turning to me, “you meet your dress. You’ve met your man… now it’s time to meet your dress. And let me assure you, there is a dress waiting for you. It might be the first dress you try on.” Cynthia gestures to a halter-top sheath hanging up nearby. “It might be the twentieth. But when you put on the right dress… it’ll hit you here.” She clasps her solar plexus. “It’s like falling in love. You’ll know.”
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