House of Lords

Five

Four

WHO CARES ABOUT bloody Elinor, anyway?

We’ll have a lovely wedding, with or without her help. As Mum said, it’s her loss, and she’ll regret it on the day, when she doesn’t feel part of the celebrations. We cheered up quite a lot after we left Claridges, actually. We went to the Selfridges sale and Mum found a nice new bag and I got some volumizing mascara, while Dad went and had a pint of beer, like he always does. Then we all went out for supper, and by the time we got home we were all a lot more cheerful and finding the whole situation quite funny.

The next day, when Janice came round for coffee, we told her all about tea with Elinor and she was really indignant on our behalf, and said if Elinor thought she was getting her makeup done for free, she had another think coming! Then Dad joined in and did a good imitation of Elinor looking at the clotted cream as if it was about to mug her and we all started giggling hysterically — until Luke came downstairs and asked what was funny, and we had to pretend we were laughing at a joke on the radio.

I really don’t know what to do about Luke and his mother. Part of me thinks I should be honest. I should tell him how upset she made us all, and how Mum was really hurt. But the trouble is, I’ve tried to be honest with him in the past about Elinor and it’s always led to a huge row. And I really don’t want to have any rows now, while we’re just engaged, and all blissful and happy. So I didn’t say anything.

The following day we left to come back to New York, and when we said good-bye, Mum gave Luke a huge affectionate hug, as though to make up for the way she feels about Elinor. After all, he can’t help his mother, can he? Then she hugged me, and wrote down my fax number for the zillionth time and promised she’d be in touch as soon as she’d talked to some caterers.

Apart from the small issue of Elinor, everything is going perfectly. Just to prove it, on the plane back to New York, I did this quiz in Wedding and Home on “Are You Ready for Marriage?” And we got the top marks! It said, “Congratulations! You are a committed and loving couple, able to work through your problems. The lines of communication are open between you and you see eye to eye on most issues.”

OK, maybe I did cheat a tiny bit. Like for the question “Which part of your wedding are you most looking forward to?” I was going to put (a) “Choosing my shoes” until I saw that (c) “Making a lifelong commitment” got ten points whereas (a) only got two.

But then, I’m sure everyone else has a little peek at the answers too. They probably factor it in somehow.

At least I didn’t put (d) “Dessert” (no points).

“Becky?”

“Yes?”

We arrived back at the apartment an hour ago and Luke is going through the post. “You haven’t seen that joint account statement, have you? I’ll have to give them a ring.”

“Oh, it came. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

I hurry into the bedroom and take the statement from its hiding place, feeling a slight beat of apprehension.

Come to think of it, there was a question about financial matters in that quiz. I think I ticked (b) “We have similar patterns of expenditure and money is never an issue between us.”

“Here you are,” I say lightly, handing him the sheet of paper.

“I just don’t see why we keep going overdrawn on this account,” Luke’s saying. “Our household expenses can’t increase every month…” He peers at the page, which is covered in thick white blobs. “Becky… why has this statement got Wite-Out all over it?”

“I know!” I say apologetically. “I’m sorry about that. The bottle was there, and I was moving some books, and it just… tipped over.”

“But it’s almost impossible to read!”

“Is it?” I say innocently. “That’s a shame. Still, never mind. These things happen…” And I’m about to pluck it from his fingers when suddenly his eyes narrow.

“Does that say…” He starts scraping at the statement with his fingernail, and suddenly a big blob of Wite-Out falls off.

Damn. I should have used tomato ketchup, like last month.

“Miù Miù. I thought so. Becky, what’s Miù Miù doing in here?” He scrapes again, and Wite-Out starts to shower off the page like snow.

Oh God. Please don’t see—

“Sephora… and Joseph… No wonder we’re overdrawn!” He gives me an exasperated look. “Becky, this account is supposed to be for household expenses. Not skirts from Miù Miù!”

OK. Fight or flight.

I cross my arms defiantly and lift my chin. “So… a skirt isn’t a household expense. Is that what you’re saying?”

Luke stares at me. “Of course that’s what I’m saying!”

“Well, you know, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the two of us just need to clarify our definitions a little.”

“I see,” says Luke after a pause, and I can see his mouth twitching slightly. “So you’re telling me that you would classify a Miù Miù skirt as a household expense.”

“I… might! It’s ‘in the household,’ isn’t it? And anyway,” I continue quickly. “Anyway. At the end of the day, what does it matter? What does any of it matter? We have our health, we have each other, we have the… the beauty of life. Those are the things that matter. Not money. Not bank accounts. Not the mundane, soul-destroying details.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, feeling as though I’m making an Oscar-winning speech. “We’re on this planet for all too short a time, Luke. All too short a time. And when we come to the end, which will count for more? A number on a piece of paper — or the love between two people? Knowing that a few meaningless figures balanced — or knowing that you were the person you wanted to be?”

As I reach the end, I’m choked by my own brilliance. I look up in a daze, half expecting Luke to be near tears and whispering, “You had me at ‘And.’ ”

“Very stirring,” says Luke crisply. “Just for the record, in my book ‘household expenses’ means joint expenses pertaining to the running of this apartment and our lives. Food, fuel, cleaning products, and so on.”

“Fine!” I shrug. “If that’s the narrow… frankly limited definition you want to use — then fine.”

The doorbell rings and I open it to see Danny standing in the hallway.

“Danny, is a Miù Miù skirt a household expense?” I say.

“Absolutely,” says Danny, coming into the living area.

“You see?” I raise my eyebrows at Luke. “But fine, we’ll go with your definition…”

“So did you hear?” says Danny morosely.

“Hear what?”

“Mrs. Watts is selling.”

“What?” I stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“As soon as the lease is up, we’re out.”

“She can’t do that!”

“She’s the owner. She can do what she likes.”

“But…” I stare at Danny in dismay, then turn to Luke, who is putting some papers into his briefcase. “Luke, did you hear that? Mrs. Watts is selling!”

“I know.”

“You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sorry. I meant to.” Luke looks unconcerned.

“What will we do?”

“Move.”

“But I don’t want to move. I like it here!”

I look around the room with a pang. This is the place where Luke and I have been happy for the last year. I don’t want to be uprooted from it.

“So you want to hear where this leaves me?” says Danny. “Randall’s getting an apartment with his girlfriend.”

I look at him in alarm.“He’s throwing you out?”

“Practically. He says I have to start contributing, otherwise I can start looking for a new place. Like, how am I supposed to do that?” Danny raises his hands. “Until I have my new collection ready, it just won’t be possible. He might as well just… order me a cardboard box.”

“So, er… how is the new collection coming on?” I ask cautiously.

“You know, being a designer isn’t as easy as it looks,” says Danny defensively. “You can’t just be creative to order. It’s all a matter of inspiration.”

“Maybe you could get a job,” says Luke, reaching for his coat.

“A job?”

“They must need designers at, I don’t know, Gap?”

“Gap?” Danny stares at him. “You think I should spend my life designing polo shirts? So how about, ooh, two sleeves right here, three buttons on the placket, some ribbing… How can I contain my excitement?”

“What will we do?” I say plaintively to Luke.

“About Danny?”

“About our apartment!”

“We’ll find somewhere,” says Luke reassuringly. “Which reminds me. My mother wants to have lunch with you today.”

“She’s back?” I say in dismay. “I mean… she’s back!”

“They had to postpone her surgery.” Luke pulls a little face. “The clinic was placed under investigation by the Swiss medical authorities while she was there and all the procedures were put on hold. So… one o’clock, La Goulue?”

“Fine.” I shrug unenthusiastically.

Then, as the door closes behind Luke, I feel a bit bad. Maybe Elinor’s had a change of heart. Maybe she wants to bury the hatchet and get involved with the wedding. You never know.

I’d planned to be really cool and only tell people I was engaged if they asked me “How was your trip?”

But when the time comes I find myself running into the personal shopping department at Barneys where I work, thrusting out my hand, and yelling “Look!”

Erin, who works there with me, looks up startled, peers at my hand, then claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“I know!”

“You’re engaged? To Luke?”

“Yes, of course to Luke! We’re getting married in June!”

“What are you going to wear?” she gabbles. “I’m so jealous! Let me see the ring! Where did you get it? When I get engaged I’m going straight to Harry Winstons. And forget a month’s salary, we’re talking at least three years’…” She tails off as she examines my ring. “Wow.”

“It’s Luke’s family’s,” I say. “His grandmother’s.”

“Oh right. So… it isn’t new?” Her face falls slightly. “Oh well…”

“It’s… vintage,” I say carefully — and her entire expression lifts again.

“Vintage! A vintage ring! That’s such a cool idea!”

“Congratulations, Becky,” says Christina, my boss, and gives me a warm smile. “I know you and Luke will be very happy together.”

“Can I try it on?” says Erin. “No! I’m sorry. Forget I mentioned it. I just… A vintage ring!”

She’s still gazing at it as my first client, Laurel Johnson, comes into the department. Laurel is president of a company that leases private jets and is one of my favorite clients, even though she tells me all the time how she thinks everything in the store is overpriced and she’d buy all her clothes from Kmart if it weren’t for her job.

“What’s this I see?” she says, taking off her coat and shaking out her dark curly hair.

“I’m engaged!” I say, beaming.

“Engaged!” She comes over and scrutinizes the ring with dark, intelligent eyes. “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy. I’m sure you will be. I’m sure your husband will have sense enough to keep his dick out of the little blonde who came to work as his intern and told him she’d never met a man who filled her with awe before. Awe. I ask you. Did you ever hear such a—” She stops midtrack, claps her hand to her mouth, and gives me a rueful look. “Damn.”

“Never mind,” I say comfortingly. “You were provoked.”

Laurel has made a New Year’s resolution not to talk about her ex-husband or his mistress anymore, because her therapist, Hans, has told her it isn’t healthy for her. Unfortunately she’s finding this resolution quite hard to keep. Not that I blame her. He sounds like a complete pig.

“You know what Hans told me last week?” she says as I open the door of my fitting room. “He told me to write down a list of everything I wanted to say about that woman — and then tear it up. He said I’d feel a sense of freedom.”

“Oh right,” I say interestedly. “So what happened?”

“I wrote it all down,” says Laurel. “And then I mailed it to her.”

“Laurel!”

“I know. I know. Not helpful.”

“Well, come on in,” I say, trying not to laugh, “and tell me what you’ve been up to. I’m a little behind this morning…”

One of the best things about working as a personal shopper is you get really close to your clients. In fact, some of them feel like friends. When I first met Laurel, she’d just split up with her husband. She was really low, and had zero self-confidence. Now, I’m not trying to boast, but when I found her the perfect Armani dress to wear to this huge ballet gala that he was going to be at — when I watched her staring at herself in the mirror, raising her chin and smiling and feeling like an attractive woman again — I honestly felt I’d made a difference to her life.

This morning Laurel is looking for a couple of suits for work. I know her so well now it’s easy to pick out what will sit well on her tall frame. We have a nice easy chat, and talk about the new Brad Pitt movie, and Laurel tells me all about her new, very sexy golf coach.

“My entire game has fallen to pieces,” she says, pulling a face. “I’m no longer aiming to hit the ball in the hole. I’m just aiming to look thin and attractive and the ball can go where the hell it likes.”

As she gets changed back into her own daywear I come out of the fitting room, holding a pile of clothes.

“I can’t possibly wear that,” comes a muffled voice from Erin’s room.

“If you just try it—” I can hear Erin saying.

“You know I never wear that color!” The voice rises, and I freeze.

That’s a British accent.

“I’m not wasting my time anymore! If you bring me things I can’t wear—”

Tiny spiders are crawling up and down my back. I don’t believe it. It can’t be—

“But you asked for a new look!” says Erin helplessly.

“Call me when you’ve got what I asked for.”

And before I can move, here she is, walking out of Erin’s fitting room, as tall and blonde and immaculate as ever, her lips already curving into a supercilious smile. Her hair is sleek and her blue eyes are sparkling and she looks on top of the world.

Alicia Billington.

Alicia Bitch Longlegs.

I meet her eyes — and it’s like an electric shock all over my body. Inside my tailored gray trousers, I can feel my legs starting to tremble. I haven’t laid eyes on Alicia Billington for well over a year. I should be able to deal with this. But it’s as though that time has concertinaed into nothing. The memories of all our encounters are as strong and sore as ever. What she did to me. What she tried to do to Luke.

She’s looking at me with the same patronizing air she used to use when she was a PR girl and I was a brand-new financial reporter. And although I tell myself firmly that I’ve grown up a lot since then, that I’m a strong woman with a successful career and nothing to prove… I can still feel myself shrinking inside. Turning back into the girl who always felt a bit of a flake, who never knew quite what to say.

“Rebecca!” she says, looking at me as though highly amused. “Well, I never!”

“Hi, Alicia,” I say, and somehow force myself to smile courteously. “How are you?”

“I had heard you were working in a shop, but I thought that must be a joke.” She gives a little laugh. “Yet… here you are. Makes sense, really.”

I don’t just “work in a shop”! I want to yell furiously. I’m a personal shopper! It’s a skilled profession! I help people!

“And you’re still with Luke, are you?” She gives me mock concerned look. “Is his company finally back on track? I know he went through a rough time.”

I cannot believe this girl. It was she who tried to sabotage Luke’s company. It was she who set up a rival PR company that went bust. It was she who lost all her boyfriend’s money — and apparently had to be bailed out by her dad.

And now she’s behaving as though she won.

I swallow several times, trying to find the right response. I know I’m worth more than Alicia. I should be able to come up with the perfect, polite, yet witty retort. But somehow it doesn’t come.

“I’m living in New York myself,” she says airily. “So I expect we’ll see each other again. Maybe you’ll sell me a pair of shoes.” She gives me a final patronizing smile, hoists her Chanel bag on her shoulder, and walks out of the department.

When she’s left, there’s silence all around.

“Who was that?” says Laurel at last, who has come out of the fitting room only half dressed, without me noticing.

“That was… Alicia Bitch Longlegs,” I say, half dazed.

“Alicia Bitch Fatass more like,” says Laurel. “I always say, there’s no bitch like an English bitch.” She gives me a hug. “Don’t worry about it. Whoever she is, she’s just jealous.”

“Thanks,” I say, and rub my head, trying to clear my thoughts. But I’m still a bit shell-shocked, to be honest. I never thought I’d have to set eyes on Alicia again.

“Becky, I’m so sorry!” says Erin, as Laurel goes back into the fitting room. “I had no idea you and Alicia knew each other!”

“I had no idea she was a client of yours!”

“She doesn’t show up very often.” Erin pulls a face. “I never met anyone so fussy. So what’s the story between you two?”

Oh, nothing! I want to say. She just trashed me to the tabloids and nearly ruined Luke’s career, and has been a complete bitch to me from the very first moment I met her. Nothing to speak of.

“We just have a bit of a history,” I say at last.

“You know she’s engaged too? To Peter Blake. Very old money.”

“I don’t understand.” My brow wrinkles. “I thought she got married last year. To a British guy. Ed… somebody?”

“She did! Except she didn’t. Oh my God, didn’t you hear the story?” A pair of customers are wandering past the personal shopping area, and Erin lowers her voice. “They had the wedding and they were at the reception — when in walks Peter Blake as someone’s date. Alicia hadn’t known he was coming, but apparently the minute she found out who he was, she totally zeroed in on him. So they started chatting and were really getting on — like, really getting on… but what can Alicia do, she’s married!” Erin’s face is shiny with glee. “So she went up to the priest and said she wanted an annulment.”

“She did what?”

“She asked for an annulment! At her own wedding reception! She said they hadn’t consummated it so it didn’t count.” Erin gives a little gurgle of laughter. “Can you believe it?”

I can’t help giving a halfhearted laugh in response. “I can believe anything of Alicia.”

“She said she always gets what she wants. Apparently the wedding is going to be to die for. But she’s a complete bridezilla. Like, she’s practically forced one of the ushers to have a nose job, and she’s sacked every florist in New York… the wedding planner’s going nuts! Who’s your wedding planner?”

“My mum,” I reply, and Erin’s eyes widen.

“Your mom’s a wedding planner? I never knew that!”

“No, you moron!” I giggle, starting to cheer up. “My mum’s organizing the wedding. She’s got it all under control already.”

“Oh right.” Erin nods. “Well — that probably makes things easier. So you can keep your distance.”

“Yes. It should be really simple. Cross fingers!” I add, and we both laugh.

I ARRIVE AT LA Goulue at one o’clock on the dot, but Elinor isn’t there yet. I’m shown to a table and sip my mineral water while I wait for her. The place is busy, as it always is at this time, mostly with smartly dressed women. All around me is chatter and the gleam of expensive teeth and jewels, and I take the opportunity to eavesdrop shamelessly. At the table next to mine, a woman wearing heavy eyeliner and an enormous brooch is saying emphatically, “You simply cannot furnish an apartment these days under one hundred thousand dollars.”

“So I said to Edgar, ‘I am a human being,’ ” says a red-haired girl on my other side.

Her friend chews on a celery stick and looks at her with bright, avid eyes. “So what did he say?”

“One room, you’re talking thirty thousand.”

“He said, ‘Hilary—’ ”

“Rebecca?”

I look up, a bit annoyed to miss what Edgar said, to see Elinor approaching the table, wearing a cream jacket with large black buttons and carrying a matching clutch bag. To my surprise she’s not alone. A woman with a shiny chestnut bob, wearing a navy blue suit and holding a large Coach bag, is with her.

“Rebecca, may I present Robyn de Bendern,” says Elinor. “One of New York’s finest wedding planners.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well… Hello!”

“Rebecca,” says Robyn, taking both my hands and gazing intently into my eyes. “We meet at last. I’m so delighted to meet you. So delighted!”

“Me too!” I say, trying to match her vivacity while simultaneously racking my brain. Did Elinor mention meeting a wedding planner? Am I supposed to know about this?

“Such a pretty face!” says Robyn, without letting go of my hands. She’s taking in every inch of me, and I find myself reciprocating. She looks in her forties, immaculately made up with bright hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a wide smile exposing a row of immaculate teeth. Her air of enthusiasm is infectious, but her eyes are appraising as she takes a step back and sweeps over the rest of me.

“Such a young, fresh look. My dear, you’ll make a stunning bride. Do you know yet what you’ll be wearing on the day?”

“Er… a wedding dress?” I say stupidly, and Robyn bursts into peals of laughter.

“That humor!” she cries. “You British girls! You were quite right,” she adds to Elinor, who gives a gracious nod.

Elinor was right? What about?

Have they been talking about me?

“Thanks!” I say, trying to take an unobtrusive step backward. “Shall we…” I nod toward the table.

“Let’s,” says Robyn, as though I’ve made the most genius suggestion she’s ever heard. “Let’s do that.” As she sits down I notice she’s wearing a brooch of two intertwined wedding rings, encrusted with diamonds.

“You like this?” says Robyn. “The Gilbrooks gave it to me after I planned their daughter’s wedding. Now that was a drama! Poor Bitty Gilbrook’s nail broke at the last minute and we had to fly her manicurist in by helicopter…” She pauses as though lost in memories, then snaps to. “So, Rebecca.” She beams at me and I can’t help beaming back. “Lucky, lucky girl. Tell me, are you enjoying every moment?”

“Well—”

“What I always say is, the first week after you’re engaged is the most precious time of all. You have to savor it.”

“Actually, it’s been a couple of weeks now—”

“Savor it,” says Robyn, lifting a finger. “Wallow in it. What I always say is, no one else can have those memories for you.”

“Well, OK!” I say with a grin. “I’ll… wallow in it!”

“Before we start,” says Elinor, “I must give you one of these.” She reaches into her bag and puts an invitation down on the table.

What’s this?

Mrs. Elinor Sherman requests the pleasure of your company…

Wow. Elinor’s holding an engagement party! For us!

“Gosh!” I look up. “Well… thanks. I didn’t know we were having an engagement party!”

“I discussed the matter with Luke.”

“Really? He never mentioned it to me.”

“It must have slipped his mind.” Elinor gives me a cold, gracious smile. “I will have a stack of these delivered to your apartment and you can invite some friends of your own. Say… ten.”

“Well… er… thanks.”

“Now, shall we have some champagne, to celebrate?”

“What a lovely idea!” says Robyn. “What I always say is, if you can’t celebrate a wedding, what can you celebrate?” She gives me a twinkling smile and I smile back. I’m warming to this woman. But I still don’t know what she’s doing here.

“Erm… I was just wondering, Robyn,” I say hesitantly. “Are you here in a… professional capacity?”

“Oh no. No, no, nooooo.” Robyn shakes her head. “It’s not a profession. It’s a calling. The hours I put in… the sheer love I put into my job…”

“Right.” I glance uncertainly at Elinor. “Well, the thing is — I’m not sure I’m going to need any help. Although it’s very kind of you—”

“No help?” Robyn throws back her head and peals with laughter. “You’re not going to need any help? Please! Do you know how much organization a wedding takes?”

“Well—”

“Have you ever done it before?”

“No, but—”

“A lot of girls think your way,” says Robyn, nodding. “Do you know who those girls are?”

“Um—”

“They’re the girls who end up weeping into their wedding cake, because they’re too stressed out to enjoy the fun! Do you want to be those girls?”

“No!” I say in alarm.

“Right! Of course you don’t!” She sits back, looking like a teacher whose class has finally cracked two plus two. “Rebecca, I will take that strain off you. I will take on the headaches, the hard work, the sheer stress of the situation… Ah, here’s the champagne!”

Maybe she has got a point, I think as a waiter pours champagne into three flutes. Maybe it would be a good idea to get a little extra help. Although how exactly she’ll coordinate with Mum…

“I will become your best friend, Becky,” Robyn’s saying, beaming at me. “By the time of your wedding, I’ll know you better than your best friend does. People call my methods unorthodox; they say I get too close. But when they see the results…”

“Robyn is unparalleled in this city,” says Elinor, taking a sip of champagne, and Robyn gives a modest smile.

“So let’s start with the basics,” she says, and takes out a large, leather-bound notebook. “The wedding’s on June 22nd…”

“Yes.”

“Rebecca and Luke…”

“Yes.”

“At the Plaza Hotel…”

“What?” I stare at her. “No, that’s not—”

“I’m taking it that both the ceremony and reception will take place there?” She looks up at Elinor.

“I think so,” says Elinor, nodding. “Much easier that way.”

“Excuse me—”

“So — the ceremony in the Terrace Room?” She scribbles for a moment. “And then the reception in the Ballroom. Lovely. And how many?”

“Wait a minute!” I say, planting a hand on her notebook. “What are you talking about?”

“Your wedding,” says Elinor. “To my son.”

“At the Plaza Hotel,” says Robyn with a beam. “I don’t need to tell you how lucky you are, getting the date you wanted! Luckily it was a client of mine who made the cancellation, so I was able to snap it right up for you then and there…”

“I’m not getting married at the Plaza Hotel!”

Robyn looks sharply at Elinor, concern creasing her brow. “I thought you’d spoken to John Ferguson?”

“I have,” replies Elinor crisply. “I spoke with him yesterday.”

“Good! Because as you know, we’re on a very tight schedule. A Plaza wedding in less than five months? There are some wedding planners who would simply say, impossible! I am not that wedding planner. I did a wedding once in three days. Three days! Of course, that was on a beach, so it was a little different—”

“What do you mean, the Plaza’s booked?” I turn in my chair. “Elinor, we’re getting married in Oxshott. You know we are.”

“Oxshott?” Robyn wrinkles her brow. “I don’t know it. Is it upstate?”

“Some provisional arrangements have been made,” says Elinor dismissively. “They can easily be cancelled.”

“They’re not provisional!” I stare at Elinor in fury. “And they can’t be cancelled!”

“You know, I sense some tension here,” says Robyn brightly. “So I’ll just go make a few calls…” She picks up her mobile and moves off to the side of the restaurant, and Elinor and I are left glaring at each other.

I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Elinor, I’m not getting married in New York. I’m getting married at home. Mum’s already started organizing it. You know she has!”

“You are not getting married in some unknown backyard in England,” says Elinor crisply. “Do you know who Luke is? Do you know who I am?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“For someone with a modicum of intelligence, you’re very naive.” Elinor takes a sip of champagne. “This is the most important social event in all our lives. It must be done properly. Lavishly. The Plaza is unsurpassed for weddings. You must be aware of that.”

“But Mum’s already started planning!”

“Then she can stop planning. Rebecca, your mother will be grateful to have the wedding taken off her hands. It goes without saying, I will fund the entire event. She can attend as a guest.”

“She won’t want to attend as some guest! It’s her daughter’s wedding! She wants to be the hostess! She wants to organize it!”

“So!” A cheerful voice interrupts us. “Are we resolved?” Robyn appears back at the table, putting her mobile away.

“I’ve booked an appointment for us to see the Terrace Room after lunch,” says Elinor frostily. “I would be glad if you would at least be courteous enough to come and view it with us.”

I stare at her mutinously, tempted to throw down my napkin and say no way. I can’t believe Luke knows anything about this. In fact, I feel like ringing him up right now and telling him exactly what I think.

But then I remember he’s at a board lunch… and I also remember him asking me to give his mother a chance. Well, fine. I’ll give her a chance. I’ll go along and see the room, and walk around and nod politely and say nothing. And then tonight I’ll tell her equally politely that I’m still getting married in Oxshott.

“All right,” I say at last.

“Good.” Elinor’s mouth moves a few millimeters. “Shall we order?”

Throughout lunch, Elinor and Robyn talk about all the New York weddings they’ve ever been to, and I eat my food silently, resisting their attempts to draw me into the conversation. Outwardly I’m calm, but inside I can’t stop seething. How dare Elinor try and take over? How dare she just hire a wedding planner without even consulting me? How dare she call Mum’s garden an “unknown backyard”?

She’s just an interfering cow, and if she thinks I’m going to get married in some huge anonymous New York hotel instead of at home with all my friends and family, she can just think again.

We finish lunch and decline coffee, and head outside. It’s a brisk, breezy day with clouds scudding along the blue sky.

As we walk toward the Plaza, Robyn smiles at me. “I can understand if you’re a little tense. It can be very stressful, planning a New York wedding. Some of my clients get very… wound up, shall we say.”

I’m not planning a New York wedding! I want to yell. I’m planning an Oxshott wedding! But instead I just smile and say, “I suppose.”

“I have one client in particular who’s really quite demanding…” Robyn exhales sharply. “But as I say, it is a stressful business… Ah. Here we are! Isn’t it an impressive sight?”

As I look up at the opulent facade of the Plaza I grudgingly have to admit it looks pretty good. It stretches up above Plaza Square like a wedding cake, with flags flying above a grand porticoed entrance.

“Have you been to a wedding here before?” asks Robyn.

“No. I’ve never been inside at all.”

“Ah! Well… In we go…” says Robyn, ushering Elinor and me up the steps, past uniformed porters, through a revolving door, and into an enormous reception hall with a high, ornate ceiling, a marble floor, and huge gilded pillars. Directly in front of us is a light, bright area filled with palms and trellises where people are drinking coffee and a harp is playing and waiters in gray uniforms are hurrying around with silver coffeepots.

I suppose, if I’m honest, this is quite impressive too.

“Along here,” says Robyn, taking my arm and leading us to a cordoned-off staircase. She unclasps a heavy rope cordon and we head up a grand staircase, and through another vast marble hall. Everywhere I look are ornate carvings, antiques, wall hangings, the hugest chandeliers I’ve ever seen…

“This is Mr. Ferguson, the executive director of catering.”

Out of nowhere, a dapper man in a jacket has appeared. He shakes my hand and beams at me.

“Welcome to the Plaza, Rebecca! And may I say, you’ve made a very wise choice. There’s nothing in the world like a Plaza wedding.”

“Right!” I say politely. “Well, it seems a very nice hotel…”

“Whatever your fantasy, whatever your cherished dream, we’ll do everything we can to create it for you. Isn’t that right, Robyn?”

“That’s right!” says Robyn fondly. “You simply couldn’t be in better hands.”

“Shall we go and look at the Terrace Room first?” Mr. Ferguson’s eyes twinkle. “This is the room where the ceremony will take place. I think you’ll like it.”

We sweep back through the vast marble hall and he opens a pair of double doors, and we walk into an enormous room, surrounded by a white balustraded terrace. At one end is a marble fountain, at the other steps up to a raised area. Everywhere I look, people are scurrying around, arranging flowers and draping chiffon and placing gilt chairs in angled rows on the richly patterned carpet.

Wow.

This is actually… quite nice.

Oh, sod it. It’s amazing.

“You’re in luck!” says Mr. Ferguson with a beam. “We have a wedding on Saturday, so you can see the room ‘in action,’ as it were.”

“Nice flowers,” says Robyn politely, then leans toward me and whispers, “We’ll have something far more special than these.”

More special than these? They’re the hugest, most spectacular flower arrangements I’ve ever seen in my life! Cascading roses, and tulips, and lilies… and are those orchids?

“So, you’ll come in through these double doors,” says Robyn, leading me along the terrace, “and then the bugles will play… or trumpets… whatever you wish… You’ll pause in front of the grotto, arrange your train, have some photographs. And then the string orchestra will begin…”

“String orchestra?” I echo dazedly.

“I’ve spoken to the New York Phil,” she adds to Elinor. “They’re checking their tour schedule, so, fingers crossed…”

The New York Phil?

“The bride on Saturday is having seven harpists,” says Mr. Ferguson. “And a soprano soloist from the Met.”

Robyn and Elinor look at each other.

“Now that’s an idea,” says Robyn, and reaches for her notebook. “I’ll get onto it.”

“Shall we go and look at the Baroque Room now?” suggests Mr. Ferguson, and leads us to a large, old-fashioned elevator.

“The night before the wedding, you’ll probably want to take a suite upstairs and enjoy the spa facilities,” he says pleasantly as we travel upward. “Then on the day, you can bring in your own professional hair and makeup people.” He smiles. “But I expect you’ve already thought of that.”

“I… er…” My mind flicks madly back to Janice and Radiant Spring Bride. “Kind of…”

“The guests will be served cocktails as they pass along the corridor,” explains Robyn as we leave the elevator. “Then this is the Baroque Room, where hors d’oeuvres will be served before we go into the Grand Ballroom. I expect you haven’t even given hors d’oeuvres a thought yet!”

“Well… um… you know…” I’m about to say that everyone likes minisausages.

“But for example,” she continues, “you could consider a caviar bar, an oyster bar, a Mediterranean meze table, sushi, perhaps…”

“Right,” I gulp. “That… sounds good.”

“And of course, the space itself can be themed however you like.” She gestures around the room. “We can transform it into a Venetian carnival, a Japanese garden, a medieval banqueting hall… wherever your imagination takes you!”

“And then into the Grand Ballroom for the main reception!” says Mr. Ferguson cheerfully. He throws open a pair of double doors and… oh my God. This room is the most spectacular of all. It’s all white and gold, with a high ceiling and theatrical boxes, and tables set around the vast, polished dance floor.

“That’s where you and Luke will lead the dancing,” says Robyn with a happy sigh. “I always say, that’s the moment of a wedding I love the most. The first dance.”

I gaze at the shining floor, and have a sudden vision of Luke and me whirling round among the candlelight and everyone looking on.

And seven harps.

And the New York Phil.

And caviar… and oysters… and cocktails…

“Rebecca, are you all right?” says Mr. Ferguson, suddenly seeing my expression.

“I think she’s a little overwhelmed,” says Robyn with a little laugh. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

“Well… yes. I suppose so.”

I take a deep breath and turn away for a moment. OK, let’s not get carried away. This may all be very glitzy, but I am not going to be swayed by any of it. I’ve decided I’m going to get married in England — and that’s what I’m going to do. End of story.

Except… just look at it all.

“Come and sit down,” says Robyn, patting a gilt chair beside her. “Now, I know from your point of view it still seems far off. But we’re on a pretty tight schedule… so I just wanted to talk to you about your overall view of the wedding. What’s your fantasy? What, for you, is the image of pure romance? A lot of my clients say Scarlett and Rhett, or Fred and Ginger…” She looks at me with sparkling eyes, her pen poised expectantly over the page.

This has gone far enough. I have to tell this woman that none of this is actually going to happen. Come on, Becky. Get back to reality.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve always loved the end of Sleeping Beauty, when they dance together,” I hear myself saying.

“The ballet,” says Elinor approvingly.

“No, actually, I meant… the Disney film.”

“Oh!” Robyn looks momentarily puzzled. “I’ll have to catch that again! Well… I’m sure that will be inspirational too…”

She starts writing in her book and I bite my inner lip.

I have to call a halt to all this. Come on. Say something!

For some reason my mouth stays closed. I look around, taking in the molded ceiling; the gilding; the twinkling chandeliers.

Robyn follows my gaze and smiles at me. “Becky, you know, you’re a very lucky girl.” She squeezes my arm affectionately. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

Дата добавления: 2014-11-26