“You want your boyfriend to be looking at you and not his ex-wife, whilst being respectful to all those in the family with more seniority than you?” she half asked, half stated, having perfectly summed up exactly what I wanted and needed. I smiled.
“Well then, my dear, let’s get started.” I rattled off the colour schemes, likes and dislikes as she guided me to the back of the shop where three ceiling-to-floor, deep red velvet curtains were held back by wrought iron hooks to reveal identical fitting rooms, each with a small leather armchair, dressing table with mirror and more silver gilt mirrors on either side. I was shown into the central fitting room, feeling like I didn’t live up to the sumptuousness of where I found myself.
“In you pop,” she instructed. “Undress down to your underwear and pop on the dressing gown on the hook behind the chair. I’ll bring in a selection and we can find your style. Then we can go from there. One step at a time,” she said, taking control of the situation. She let the curtain fall silently across the opening and disappeared.
When she returned she asked politely if it was okay to come in and then swept into the room laden down with a multitude of styles and colours thrown over her arms.
“Now, let’s find you that outfit,” she stated as she expertly lined up the clothes on an empty rack, moving items around to create different looks.
I was starting to feel hot and tired as the multitude of clothes came and went from the room. Eventually, though, I found the one. I turned slowly to look at myself in the mirror and involuntarily drew in a sharp breath. I had never felt so amazing. I could have hugged the shop manager.
It was a princess-cut dress, red with white swirls and beading. It closely followed the contours of my ample breasts and then flowed out beneath, hiding all my imperfections below the folds of the material. It was floaty. It was glorious. It was perfect.
A few moments later it had been teamed up with a lightweight, black bolero jacket, a fascinator (I have never been one for a hat), sturdy black heels to help me walk with confidence, even after a glass or two of bubbles, and all topped off with a slim black silk handbag. The outfit was complete.
The shop manager smiled. Not a ‘Wow, I’m going to make a big profit today’ kind of smile, but genuine satisfaction at a job well done. She had every right to feel proud, she had done an amazing job.
I smiled back. “I’d love to take it all,” I said hesitantly, “although I have no idea how much all of this will come to.”
“Don’t worry, dear, I’m sure it will be within your budget. Now then, you get yourself back into your own clothes. Leave the outfit in here and I’ll get one of the girls to pop in, remove the labels and pack it all up for you so it doesn’t get creased or scuffed.” She had clearly got the measure of me, so I did as I was told and met her by the till at the front of the shop, heart now in throat as to the size of the bill I was about to be presented with.
“There you are, dear, what do you think about this?” she asked as she pointed at the price displayed on the front of the till.
“£175?” I said in disbelief. “Oh, sorry, that is just the price of the dress,” I said, feeling foolish.
“No, dear, that is for everything. I rung it up whilst you were getting dressed. Is that okay for you?”
“Oh my goodness!” I exclaimed. “That can’t be right. That is for everything, the dress, jacket, bag, shoes and fascinator?”
“Yes, dear,” she said, now sounding a little disappointed in me. “I did tell you it would be affordable.” For the second time that day I wanted to hug her, the counter between us keeping our relationship strictly professional.
“I don’t know what to say, that is amazing, you are amazing, thank you, thank you,” I said.
“Well, dear, if you like my little shop, don’t forget to pop by again, and of course don’t forget to tell your friends about us too.”
“I will, I will,” I assured her as her assistant handed me a beautifully wrapped box with handle to make it easy to carry.
As I left the shop I turned back and gave the two smiling women a heartfelt wave, before heading back into the town bustle.
I couldn’t wait for Ed to get home that night, to tell him about my day, and, if he asked, which he did, to show him my outfit.
I stood before a silent Ed, then gave a twirl which threw out the hem of the dress. I felt like a princess, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Wow,” was all he said, but his face said it all. His smile matched mine as he strode over to me, taking my face in his hands and kissing me long, hard and passionately.
“Wow,” he said again as we separated. “You look beautiful,” he said as he took my hand and led me back to the bedroom. Unusually I undressed slowly, taking the time to carefully return the dress to the box, interspersed with tissue paper to keep it safe.
*
This blissful life, full of love and laughter continued apace. We fell into routines of chores, shopping and work. But we also made sure that we had date nights, and when our work schedules allowed we would go walking during the days and love-making whenever and wherever we could.
As the wedding approached we had regular calls with Dan and Emma, updating us on the wedding plans: seating arrangements, food, drink, flowers, gifts, order of service, parking, hotel accommodation, set lists for the DJ and much, much more. Not that I complained, it was fantastic to be included and involved.
Despite all this joy there was an elephant in the room, growing bigger by the day, and both Ed and I knew it and knew we needed to get rid of it before the big day.
One evening Ed decided to face the demon.
“Chloe,” he said with trepidation, “we need to talk about Clare.” He looked at me sideways, trying to gauge my reaction.
“Yes, we do and I suspect we are thinking the same thing. That we should meet her and Steve before the big day and just put everything to bed, so to speak.”
Ed let out a big sigh. Obviously he had been building up to this moment for some time.
“Thank you. I’m off this weekend, we could ask if they’re free and pop up and see them?” It was more of a question than a statement, but the relief in his face and voice melted my heart.
“Sounds like a good idea,” I said, trying to make my voice steady and confident, when in reality I could feel the fear beginning to rise from within. At least it would be over in a few days and if it went well it would mean the wedding itself would be a lot more relaxing. Well, it would be as soon as I had completed the reading.
Ed picked up his mobile and went into the sitting room, leaving me at the dining room table. Alone. It seemed a little strange that he decided to make the call out of my earshot, but I told myself to calm down and busied myself tidying up our dinner plates and cooking implements.
A short while later Ed returned and sat at the table.
“All arranged,” he announced. “Clare has invited us to lunch on Saturday. She has also been thinking it would be good to meet. It’s only a couple of hours’ drive, but I was thinking we could drive up on Friday night and stay nearby so that we don’t have to start too early on Saturday morning. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, smiling. It would be a welcome distraction.
I managed to get away from work a little early on Friday and found Ed already at home when I got there.
I was a mixture of emotions. I was excited about our night away but nervous about the impending meeting with Ed’s ex-wife, the woman who tempted Ed and re-awoke old feelings in him. Feelings he thought he wouldn’t feel again. Even though nothing happened then, I was still fearful that her very presence might make Ed realise that he didn’t have the same feelings for me. Better to know now than at the wedding, I thought. Bad form to break up during your son’s nuptials.
In hindsight we all had something to fear about the meeting – Ed, Clare, Steve and of c
ourse me. But I didn’t realise it as we sat in the car chatting as we sped north.
Ed had been coy about where we were staying that night. He had promised it was a hotel and we were not about to turn up on Clare’s doorstep. That wouldn’t have been a popular choice. Other than that I had no idea.
A couple of hours into the journey and starting to feel rather hungry, I asked, “Are we nearly there yet?”
Ed laughed. “Yes, not much further now.”
I looked out of the car window, not recognising the surrounding countryside. As far as I could tell we were miles away from anywhere. I was intrigued.
A few miles further up the road, Ed started indicating to turn right. I couldn’t see any hint of where we were staying. This had better not be a campsite or even a glamping site, I silently prayed. That really would be the last thing I need, to turn up looking a mess after having camped out. I reassured myself that we hadn’t packed a tent so was hopeful my fears would not be realised.
We drove down a smart paved driveway and even though it was dark, the edges of the road were illuminated by elegant, discreet white light that stretched out ahead of us. I could just about make out the trees, dark and menacing, just eluding the reach of the lights.
I was starting to feel excited. A campsite wouldn’t have a driveway like this. The road bent round to the left and suddenly in front of us, lit up like a Christmas tree, lights twinkled from behind curtains and blazed through uncovered windows. Outside big uplighters illuminated the whole facade of the nineteenth-century manor house.
“Wow,” was all I could utter as I stared at the scene before me, gobsmacked.
Ed looked like the cat that got the cream. He was looking really chuffed with the surprise and his decision to book into this hotel.
“Have you stayed here before?” I asked, a little worried that he had brought someone else here in the past.
“No, I haven’t,” he reassured me. “I’ve known about it for some time, but living nearby I never had a reason to stay. The food is meant to be great.”
“Oh good, I’m starving,” I said.
“Let’s get checked in, drop the bags in the room and then we can get some food.”
“Sounds great.”
We got out of the car and made our way in through the large, arched, stone porch into a warm and welcoming hall. I instantly looked up to the ceiling, the elaborate plasterwork picked out by the dark blue background paint. It was stunning.
Ed had moved ahead of me to the reception desk on the far side and was in the process of checking in.
I did a slow, small-step-by-small-step, 360-degree rotation, taking in this amazing building and all the period furniture, some of which was showing its age but looked totally in the right place.
I caught up with Ed as he picked up the key from the desk, which he now dangled enticingly in front of me.
The receptionist had given Ed instructions on where to find the room and he had led the way up the enormous oak staircase that rose from the centre of the hall. At the first floor we turned away from the staircase and entered a wide hallway, flanked with expensive-looking antiques perched perilously on small wooden side tables and life-size paintings in oversized gilt frames of men and women of bygone ages. It was decorated like a stately home, giving guests the feeling of opulence and grandeur but without the expense of its upkeep.
The route to our room was a journey of discovery. Ed had stopped in front of a door just a few steps ahead of me. He was looking at me, beaming. I caught up with him.
“This is it,” he said, unlocking the door and swinging it open, wide. We peered in. It was a large sumptuous room dominated by a four-poster bed with curtains, to one side. On the other side of the room was a large, slightly saggy sofa and a door which I assumed led to the en suite bathroom.
“Shall I carry you across the threshold?” Ed broke the silence.
“I think traditionally that is what a new husband and wife do, so let’s not tempt fate. And anyway I don’t want you to put your back out,” I replied.
We opted for a romantic, but less nuanced, position of Ed leading me in by the hand. “Wow,” was all we could say as we stood in the middle of the room turning in a tight circle to take it all in. It was like a dream.
I sat on the edge of bed. It felt warm and comfy as I sank into the deep bedding.
Ed put the overnight bag on the trunk at the end of the bed and sat down next to me.
We kissed, a contented, happy kiss, not a passionate one, but that would come later.
Eventually my stomach rumbled and we looked at each other and laughed.
“I guess that is our signal to get dinner,” Ed announced, continuing, “Shall we leave the unpacking until later?”
“Good plan,” I concurred.
Back in reception we were directed to the restaurant. We made our way through the bar. It was a massive oak counter that ran the entire length of a wood-panelled room, the back wall a riot of bottles every colour and shape containing every type of alcoholic beverage: gins, whiskies, vodkas and more. The other side of the room was neatly laid out with well-worn leather sofas and wing-backed chairs set out in formal groupings around low tables. It looked like how I imagine a gentleman’s club might do.
We walked hand in hand through the crowded bar, although we barely noticed anyone. We entered the restaurant to see a very smart maître d’, a tall, grey-haired gentleman in the second half of his century, decked out in black suit, crisp white shirt and russet-red bow tie. His thin hands held the sides of the wooden lectern in front of him. He looked at us over the top of his half-moon glasses.
“Good evening,” his deep, rich voice somehow in discord with his thin appearance. “Table for two?”
“Yes please.” Ed spoke for us both.
We were led to a small round table near the window, looking out onto the floodlit grounds. We could see the terrace give way to the formal lawn just beyond the stone balustrade and steps. Beyond the lawn we could just make out a moonlit lake and beyond, the blackness of a wood.
The table was very formal: starched white linen with a red runner across the centre and expertly polished silver cutlery laid out either side of swan-shaped napkins sitting tall and proud in front of us.
The maître d’ held the chair out for me, gently edging me closer to the formidable swan. In a deftly quick, much practised move, he elegantly lifted the swan by the head. Mid-air he gave it a sharp flick and finished the move by gently placing the now flat napkin in my lap. He repeated the same move for Ed, handed us menus and vanished into the background.
We made polite conversation as we perused the menu. To my horror it was all in French and my language skills really were not up for the translation of such a refined menu. I scowled at the page, somehow hoping that would solve the problem.
Ed leant forward across the table. Picking up one side of the menu he turned the page. “It’s in English on this page,” he laughed.
“Thanks,” I said, rather put out that he was laughing at me, rather than with me. “I didn’t know.”
“To be honest, I got a lucky break, it opened on the English and when I saw you scowling I thought there must be nothing on there that you like, then I turned the page and realised your concern. Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“That’s okay,” I said grudgingly, before conversation picked up on food choices, now I could see what they were, and whether we would indulge in a starter or not.
Magically, the minute we put the menus down and started up the conversation a waiter appeared at the table. Surprisingly there was no notepad. Apparently in this establishment the waiters were expected to remember the guests’ requests.
I ordered steak, medium-rare, with rich béarnaise sauce, swapping the chips, sorry, to be accurate, the ‘shards of crispy potato’, for a green salad. Ed followed suit with the steak but opted f
or a peppercorn sauce and kept the ‘shards’.
“And to drink?” the waiter enquired.
“Prosecco?” Ed asked.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I replied.
As one bottle became two we chatted and laughed as we ate the melt-in-the-mouth steaks.
After dinner we took a quick walk around the gardens, following the low lights either side of the path, but not being able to see much further into the darkness beyond. We walked hand in hand in silence, my thoughts turning to the next day.
We climbed the stairs to bed, where we curled up, entwined in each other’s bodies, but it went no further than that. We didn’t speak about it, but we just needed the comfort, support and closeness rather than the passion.
*
It was wonderful not to be awoken by an alarm the next morning. We lay in each other’s arms for some time before dragging ourselves through the shower and downstairs for a huge, satisfying and fortifying full English breakfast with all the trimmings, especially an endless supply of strong coffee, a requirement after a double-Prosecco night.
It was a leisurely affair. No need to rush, as neither of us was in a hurry to get to Clare’s, even though that was the purpose of us being in this elegant hotel. There were a few furtive glances between Ed and me. We didn’t vocalise our concerns or thoughts, but clearly we were both a little on edge.
We reluctantly returned to the room to pack, acknowledging that we would have to get this over and done with at some point, like pulling off a plaster.
As we were leaving, Ed took me in his arms and kissed me. “It’ll be okay,” he tried to reassure me as he pulled me close and squeezed me, trying to fill me with the confidence that right at that point, when I needed it most, had abandoned me.
Loves Lost and Found Page 23