“Of course not,” Helen soothed me. “Not to you.”
“You keep saying that,” I said tightly. “Why isn’t it a big deal for me?”
“Because you don’t believe in marriage!” Helen said, shaking her head. “I mean, you’ve always sworn that you’d never allow yourself to lose your independence. You’ve always said that you have to put yourself first. And that’s what you’re doing. This isn’t a marriage in the normal sense, so you don’t have to think about it in the normal way. See?”
“I see,” I said tentatively. Helen was right—this wasn’t a normal marriage. All that stuff Max had said just wasn’t relevant. I didn’t believe in real love anyway—I was far too savvy for that nonsense. I didn’t need to fall in love and commit to someone through thick and thin, through sickness and health. I didn’t need to know that I was loved, completely and utterly. I really didn’t.
“So everything’s okay?” Helen asked.
I swallowed awkwardly. “Absolutely,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as anything.
“And if it doesn’t work out, you can always get divorced,” Helen pointed out, just as Vanessa walked back in.
“Divorced,” I mumbled. “Of course.” I was beginning to feel sick again. Divorced. Grandma used to say that divorce was another word for failure. She used to say it was better not to marry at all.
“Divorce?” Vanessa asked uncertainly. “Who’s getting divorced?”
“No one,” Helen said quickly.
“Me,” I blurted out. “If it doesn’t work out. If I have a failed marriage.”
“A failed marriage? What way is that to talk?” Vanessa tutted.
“The realistic way,” I said flatly.
“You know,” she said, eyeing me cautiously, “weddings can be a very stressful time. But you see, it’ll all be fine in the end.”
I looked at her doubtfully. “I’m not so sure,” I said.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” Vanessa said, putting her hand on my shoulder then moving over to the rail to separate the dresses I’d tried. “Everyone has doubts at some point.”
“Exactly,” Helen said. “You just have to stop thinking about everything so much.”
I shook my head. All the vague thoughts and doubts that had been circling in my head suddenly seemed very real. “The truth is that Anthony only proposed because I was following instructions. Because I changed my hair and started wearing high heels. Because of Sean, who we made up.”
Vanessa turned and looked at me uncertainly. “Sean?”
“Her ex.” Helen shrugged.
“Not my ex. Ivana’s husband who pretended to be my ex,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.
“Ivana?” Vanessa said weakly. “I see. Well, actually I don’t see. But I’m not sure that really matters here. What about your prospective husband. Does he love you?”
I frowned. “I think so,” I said uncertainly. “I mean, he’s looking at a house in the country, even though he hated it there.”
Vanessa nodded. “And you,” she asked, “do you love him?”
I shrugged helplessly. “I like him. He’s great. I mean, he’s charming, we have fun. But is that love? I don’t know. I don’t think I really know what love is.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Vanessa said soothingly. “Anyway, love is quite overrated when it comes to marriage.”
“It is?”
I stared at her in surprise, and she nodded conspiratorially. “Look, you won’t read this in magazine articles, but in my opinion, for what it’s worth, the truth is that in marriage you should either love someone completely, or not at all. If you love them completely, you’ll forgive them anything; if you don’t love them at all, you won’t expect anything. Not loving someone provides a perfectly sound footing for marriage. Particularly if he loves you. It’s better that way.”
“Really?” I asked dubiously. “That’s not what Max said. He said it was the most important decision I’d ever make.”
“Max?”
“A…a friend,” I said awkwardly, as Helen raised an eyebrow.
“Right. And this friend, he’s married, is he?” Vanessa asked.
I shook my head.
“Marriage counselor?”
“No.” I shrugged. “No, he knows about as much about marriage as I do.”
“Well, then,” Vanessa said sternly. “You listen to me. Blissful ignorance or sensible realism, that’s your choice. Both work, but for very different reasons. It’s the ones who aren’t sure that come unstuck. The ones who think they’re in love then realize they’re not—they can’t adjust their expectations, you see.”
“Exactly,” Helen said, clapping her hands together. “There’s nothing to worry about, Jess. Nothing at all.”
I bit my lip. “I thought marriage was about being in love, about being best friends, inseparable.”
Vanessa laughed. “That’s the problem with romantic books and films. They’ve got people confused,” she said matter-of-factly. “Used to be that marriage was about money, land, gene pools, even international diplomacy. People knew where they were then, wouldn’t you say? Now they expect thunderbolts—no wonder they’re disappointed.”
I frowned. “I suppose. So, marrying someone for the wrong reasons…it’s not necessarily the wrong thing to do?”
“Marrying someone for the right reasons can be just as precarious,” Vanessa said.
I nodded thoughtfully.
“So, do you want to try on some more dresses?” she asked kindly.
I looked at her for a moment, then I shook my head. “No, I think I’ve made my choice.”
“The organza?” Helen asked, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, get that one. It’s lovely. It’s the best of the lot.”
“No,” I said. “The organza deserves a romantic wedding. I’ll take the lace.”
“The lace?” Helen’s face twisted into a grimace. “Really?”
“Really.” I nodded.
“The lace…,” Vanessa said, frowning to hide her disappointment as she thumbed the rail. Then she drew out the dress, the dress that said any old bride, the dress that scratched my skin slightly. “This one?” she said, brightly.
“That one,” I said, nodding firmly, taking it from her to try on one last time. “I think this dress is just the ticket. I think it’s going to be perfect.”
Chapter 26
PROJECT: MARRIAGE DAY 34
To do
1. Avoid Fenella.
2. Avoid Max.
3. Avoid Mr. Taylor.
I have no idea how people organize weddings without the help of Party Party Party, or while holding down full-time jobs. It was a full-time job just keeping pace with Fenella and her constant demands for information; I barely saw Helen and barely had time to speak to Gillie about the various ideas she had for the big day (doves was her latest one. Lots of white doves. I wasn’t convinced; Fenella went into a tiz about the potential for bird droppings and eventually the hotel manager put his foot down and said that no livestock were permitted on the premises). The only way I could keep in touch with everyone was by text message—even Anthony. As for Max, well, I didn’t seem to have much time to talk to him at all; it wasn’t like I was avoiding him, it was just that I had a lot on. As Vanessa so wisely put it, weddings are very stressful things.
And being busy was good. Getting everything organized felt good and productive, like I was achieving something, like getting married wasn’t a big deal at all but just the culmination of a huge long to-do list. I’d gotten used to the sound of Fenella’s e-mails pinging into my inbox, demanding answers, confirmations, approvals. And I stopped worrying about the bigger picture because I was too busy thinking about concepts, colors, designs, personalized vows, menu plans, vegetarian options, the first dance…
“Have you seen Marcia?”
I looked up distractedly to see Max with a worried expression on his face.
“Marcia? No.” I turned back to my computer sc
reen, where an e-mail had recently arrived from Fenella.
“You don’t know when she’s coming back?”
“I have no idea,” I said, barely looking up this time. Fenella wanted to know whether I wanted to arrive at the ceremony in a Jaguar, a Bentley, or a London Taxi painted in white. And whom I would be arriving with. And whether I wanted the driver to wear a cap or not.
“Right,” Max said. “I see.”
He didn’t move. Eventually I forced my eyes away from Fenella’s latest list of demands and looked up. “Sorry, Max,” I said, with a little sigh. “I wish I knew where she was, but you know Marcia. Is everything okay?”
Max shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, I’m sure it’s…fine…”
“You don’t sound very fine,” I said, then kicked myself. I’d realized that the less time I spent with Max, the happier I felt about my impending nuptials, and vice versa. Having a conversation with him was really not a good idea. I should have just closed him down, made it clear I wasn’t interested in whether or not he was fine.
“Chester’s going to be here for a meeting,” he said. “In five minutes. Anthony’s not here and now I can’t find Marcia.”
“I’m sure she’ll turn up,” I said, as another e-mail pinged into my inbox. What color bow ties would we like the ushers to wear, she wanted to know. And had we assigned them each individual jobs or were we happy for her to manage their workload?
Max nodded. Then he looked at me seriously. “For the record,” he said, “I think you were right to concentrate on the wedding instead of Project Handbag.”
“Yes, me too,” I said brightly, then frowned as I scrolled down to the end of Fenella’s message. And the flowers are sorted, I presume. Can you fax me the proposed designs so I can make sure everything coordinates? Immediately I went white.
“And everything’s going okay?”
I looked up in alarm. The flowers. I’d forgotten the bloody flowers. One job. One job that was mine and I forgot all about it. “Okay?” Panic started to rise up within me. “God yes,” I managed to say. “More than okay. Everything’s just great!”
Max nodded. “Well, I’m pleased to hear it. Weddings are…well, they’re…”
“A big commitment, a huge deal, yes, I know,” I said defensively, bringing up Google and typing in wedding florist London. “They’re also hell to organize, so if you don’t mind…”
“Of course, sorry. I’d better continue trying to track down your fiancé and Marcia…”
“Anthony’s at client meetings all morning,” I said, hitting on a link to GILES WHEELER, FLORIST TO THE STARS. His client list read like a who’s who of the celebrity fraternity. Immediately I started typing him a desperate message. “But as I said, I don’t know about Marcia.”
“Okay, well, thanks anyway,” Max said, then frowned. “Isn’t that the lawyer from the funeral?” he asked, looking over at reception. “What on earth is he doing here?”
“Lawyer?” I asked vaguely, hitting SEND.
“Yes, you know, Mr. Taylor, wasn’t it?”
My heart stopped immediately and I turned around. Then my eyes widened. Max was right. Mr. Taylor was right there. Talking to Gillie in reception. As quickly as I could, I jumped up and raced toward him.
“Jess?” Max called after me, but I could barely hear him.
“Mr. Taylor,” I said, nearly colliding into him in my panic. “What…what are you doing here?”
“Ah, Mrs. Milton,” he said. “I was hoping to talk to you. You’re very difficult to get hold of, you see. I thought perhaps that the mountain should come to Muhammad, so to speak.”
“Mountain?” I shook my head desperately. “No, no. I mean, Muhammad will come to you. I will. Just as soon as…Just as…” I turned my head slightly to see Gillie staring at me curiously. I had to get him out of the building. But more urgently, I had to get him away from Gillie and other prying eyes. “Um, look, why don’t you…come to the meeting room,” I said quickly.
“Lovely,” he said cheerfully, picking up a large briefcase that I eyed with alarm. Maybe the meeting room wasn’t such a good idea. What if he asked me for identification papers? What if someone came in?
“Jess?” I looked up at Max, who was walking toward me.
“Not right now,” I said anxiously. “I’m just…I won’t be a minute. I’ll be in the meeting room.”
“But I need the meeting room,” Max said, frowning. “Chester’s going to be here any minute.”
“Ah, Anthony. How nice to see you again,” Mr. Taylor said brightly, holding out his hand to Max, who eyed it suspiciously.
“No,” he said. “I’m…”
“Very busy,” I interrupted, tugging Mr. Taylor’s arm. This was almost as bad as my dream. If I’d been naked, it would have been.
“He’s very busy indeed.” I looked back at Max uncomfortably. Then I bit my lip. Mr. Taylor thought Max was Anthony, thought we were married. I was so close, I couldn’t ruin it all now. “Um, darling, why don’t you try Marcia again and see if she’s on her way in?”
“Darling?” Max stared at me.
“Not now, sugar,” I said, my voice rising several octaves as I felt my hands going clammy. “I’ll be with you just as soon as I can.”
“He seems rather perturbed,” Mr. Taylor said concernedly. “Is he okay?”
“Anthony? Oh, he’s fine,” I said quickly. “He’s just fine and dandy.” I pulled him into the meeting room, but as I did so I heard a familiar voice and stopped in my tracks.
“Hey, guys. Great to see you. So, Jessica, how are the preparations going? Anthony tells me you’re doing an amazing job.”
I turned around abruptly—Chester had just arrived in reception.
“Chester!” Max attempted a broad smile. “Hi!”
My heart sank. “Chester! Great to see you, too.”
“Preparations?” Mr. Taylor asked, behind me. “What are you preparing for?”
“A…a launch,” I said quickly. “A project we’re working on.” I bit my lip. “Um, look, now isn’t really a great time for our meeting. Maybe it would be better if I called you later?”
He shook his head. “Later might be too late, that’s the problem.”
“It won’t be,” I assured him. “I’ll call you really soon. Very soon indeed.”
He looked at me reluctantly as I dragged him back to reception. “You do realize that you’re running out of time, Mrs. Milton?” he said, as we passed Chester. “You’ve got just over two weeks to complete the paperwork. You know that, don’t you?”
“Mrs. Milton? Not yet, she isn’t,” Chester said affably, apparently overhearing what Mr. Taylor had said. “Week or so to go, huh, Jess?”
I smiled weakly. “Oh, something like that,” I managed to say.
“Not yet? What does he mean?” Mr. Taylor asked, looking at Chester with confusion.
“He means…,” I said, biting my lip and doing my best to walk Mr. Taylor quickly toward the main doors, “that I…I haven’t changed my name. Yet. But I’m going to.”
“You are?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I see,” Mr. Taylor said thoughtfully.
“So, I’ll call you next week?” I said, opening the door for him. “And thanks for coming around. Sorry I couldn’t be more…”
“Jess!” As the door opened, Anthony swept through, Marcia behind him, both carrying shopping bags. “Hi, gorgeous.”
I frowned at him. He’d been shopping? I thought he was at a client meeting. Then I shook myself. Mr. Taylor was this close to finding out the truth and I was worrying about a shopping trip?
I tugged at Mr. Taylor’s sleeve and tried to avoid Anthony’s eyes but it turned out Anthony wasn’t interested in looking at me; instead, he grabbed me and kissed me smack on the lips. Then he looked up and saw Chester. Immediately he let go of me and walked over to clap him on the back. “Chester. Good to see you. How’s it going?”
Mr. Taylor’s eyes widened as Marcia tot
tered past him, avoiding my eyes.
“And that is?” he asked, looking utterly baffled.
“Um, that’s Anthony’s best friend,” I said, my mind racing frantically to explain the kiss, the term of endearment. “He…he always calls me gorgeous. He’s…gay,” I concluded.
“Gay?” Mr. Taylor asked, his voice suddenly a whisper. “Well, well. Well I never.”
“Yes,” I said, attempting a smile. “So, there we are. And now you’re going to go, and I’m going to see you soon?”
“I do hope so,” Mr. Taylor said as I almost pushed him out of the building. “I do hope so very much.”
“He thought you were called Jessica Milton,” Gillie said a few seconds later, as I passed her reception desk on the way back to my desk. “I tried telling him you were still Jessica Wild for the time being, but he didn’t seem to understand.”
“No,” I said, wiping some drops of sweat from my forehead. “No, he’s a bit…deaf, I’m afraid. Bit senile, too. Gets confused.”
Gillie nodded sagely. “That’ll explain it, then.”
“Explain what?” I asked tentatively.
“Explain why he looked all funny when I asked him if he was going to the wedding.”
“You…you asked him that?”
“Shouldn’t I have?”
I gulped. “And did you…did you tell him when it was?”
Gillie shook her head. “Of course not. I’m not stupid. I figured if he didn’t know about it, you didn’t want him to know.”
“Exactly,” I breathed.
“So I pretended I was talking about Liz Hurley’s wedding.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “He didn’t know who she was, either, though.” She shrugged. “To be honest, I think he’s a few marbles short of a chess set, if you get my drift.”
I leaned over the reception desk and kissed her on the cheek. She giggled and pushed me away to answer the phone. “Hello, Milton Advertising? Yes, she is. Just one moment.” She raised an eyebrow. “Jess, it’s for you. Want to take it here?”
I turned around reluctantly. “For me? Who…who is it?”
The Importance of Being Married: A Novel Page 25