For Oxshott 2 страница

“Becky—” interrupts Michael, jerking his head meaningfully.

“It’s true!” I turn to him. “Not one of the people who lives in this building is nice! I’ve met them, and they’re all absolutely—”

Abruptly I halt, as I realize what Michael’s trying to tell me.

“Except… for… Luke’s mother,” I add, trying to sound as natural as possible. “Of course.”

“Good evening, Rebecca,” comes a chilly voice behind me, and I stand up, cheeks flaming.

There she is, standing behind me, wearing a long white Grecian-style dress that falls in pleats to the ground. She’s so thin and pale, she looks just like one of her own pillars.

“Hello, Elinor,” I say politely. “You look lovely. I’m sorry I was a little late.”

“Rebecca,” she replies, and offers me a cheek. “I hope you’ve been circulating? Not just sitting here with Luke?”

“Er… kind of…”

“This is a good opportunity for you to meet some important people,” she says. “The president of this building, for example.”

“Right.” I nod. “Well, er… maybe.”

This is probably not the moment to tell her that there’s no way in a million years I’m moving to this building.

“I’ll introduce you to her later. But now I’m about to make the toast,” she says. “If you would both come over to the podium.”

“Excellent!” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic, and take a gulp of champagne.

“Mother, you’ve met Michael,” says Luke.

“Indeed,” says Elinor with a gracious smile. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you,” says Michael pleasantly. “I intended to come to the launch of your foundation but unfortunately couldn’t make it up from Washington. I hear it went very well, though?”

“It did. Thank you.”

“And now another happy occasion.” He gestures around the room. “I was just saying to Luke, how lucky he was to have landed such a beautiful, talented, accomplished girl as Becky.”

“Indeed.” Elinor’s smile freezes slightly.

“But you must feel the same way.”

There’s silence.

“Of course,” says Elinor at last. She extends her hand and, after a tiny hesitation, places it on my shoulder.

Oh God. Her fingers are all cold. It’s like being touched by the ice queen. I glance at Luke, and he’s glowing with pleasure.

“So! The toast!” I say brightly. “Lead the way!”

“See you later, Michael,” says Luke.

“Have a good one,” replies Michael, and gives me the tiniest of winks. “Luke,” he adds more quietly as she moves away, “on the subject of your mother’s charity, I’d like to have a word later.”

“Right,” says Luke after a pause. “Fine.”

Is it my imagination or does he look slightly defensive?

“But do the toast first,” says Michael pleasantly. “We’re not here to talk business.”

As I walk through the room with Luke and Elinor, I can see people starting to turn and murmur. A little podium has been set up at one end of the room, and as we step up onto it I start to feel a little nervous for the first time. Silence has fallen around the room and the entire assembled gathering is looking at us.

Two hundred eyes, all giving me the Manhattan Onceover.

Trying to stay unself-conscious, I search among the crowd for faces I recognize. But apart from Michael at the back, there isn’t a single one.

I keep smiling, but inside I feel a bit low. Where are my friends? I know Christina and Erin are on their way — but where’s Danny? He promised he was going to come.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Elinor graciously, “welcome. It gives me enormous pleasure to welcome you here tonight on this happy occasion. Particularly Marcia Fox, president of this building, and Guinevere von…”

“I don’t care about your stupid list!” comes a high-pitched voice from the door, and a couple of heads at the back turn to look.

“… von Landlenburg, associate of the Elinor Sherman Foundation…” says Elinor, her jaw growing more rigid.

“Let me in, you stupid cow!”

There’s a scuffling sound and a small scream, and the whole room turns to see what’s going on.

“Get your hands off me. I’m pregnant, OK? If anything happens I’ll sue!”

“I don’t believe it!” I shriek in delight, and jump down off the podium. “Suze!”

“Bex!” Suze appears through the door, looking tanned and healthy, with beads in her hair and a sizable bump showing through her dress. “Surprise!”

“WE THOUGHT WE’D surprise you!” says Suze after the fuss has died down and Elinor has made her toast — in which she mentions me and Luke once, and the Elinor Sherman Foundation six times. “Like a last bit of our honeymoon! So we turned up at your flat…”

“And I was, as ever, running perfectly on time…” puts in Danny, giving me an apologetic grin.

“So Danny said why didn’t we come along to the party and give you a bit of a shock?”

“It’s so great to see you.” I give her an affectionate hug. “And Tarquin.” We all glance toward Tarquin, who has been surrounded by a group of avidly interested New York ladies.

“Do you live in a castle?” I can hear one of them saying.

“Well… um, yes. Actually, I do.”

“Do you know Prince Charles?” says another, goggling.

“We’ve played polo once or twice…” Tarquin looks around, desperate to escape.

“You have to meet my daughter,” says one of the ladies, putting a clamplike arm round his shoulders. “She loves England. She visited Hampton Court six times.”

“He is spectacular,” says a low voice in my ear, and I look round to see Danny gazing over my shoulder at Tarquin. “Utterly spectacular. Is he a model?”

“Is he a what?”

“I mean, this story about him being a farmer.” Danny drags on his cigarette. “It’s bullshit, right?”

“You think Tarquin should be a model?” I can’t help a snort of laughter erupting through me.

“What?” says Danny defensively. “He has a fantastic look. I could design a whole collection around him. Prince Charles meets… Rupert Everett… meets—”

“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 getting 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.”

“Really?” I look around, feeling tentacles of excitement. “How will I know?”

“Let’s just say… you’ll know.” She gives me a wise smile. “Have you had any ideas at all yet?”

“Well, obviously I’ve had a few thoughts…”

“Good! It’s always helpful if we can narrow the search down a little. So before we start, let me ask you a few basic questions.” She unscrews her pen. “Were you after something simple?”

“Absolutely,” I say, nodding my head. “Really simple and elegant. Or else quite elaborate,” I add, my eye catching sight of an amazing dress with roses cascading down the back.

“Right. So… simple or elaborate…” She scribbles on her notebook. “Did you want beading or embroidery?”

“Maybe.”

“OK… now. Sleeves or strapless?”

“Possibly strapless,” I say thoughtfully. “Or else sleeves.”

“Did you want a train?”

“Ooh, yes!”

“But you wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have a train, would you?” puts in Suze, who is leafing through Wedding Hair. “I mean, you could always have one of those really long veils for the procession.”

“That’s true. But I do like the idea of a train…” I stare at her, gripped by a sudden thought. “Hey, Suze, if I waited a couple of years to get married, your baby would be two — and it could hold my train up!”

“Oh!” Suze claps her hand over her mouth. “That would be so sweet! Except, what if it fell over? Or screamed?”

“I wouldn’t mind! And we could get it a really gorgeous little outfit…”

“If we could just get back to the subject…” Cynthia smiles at us and surveys her clipboard. “So we’re after something either simple or elaborate, with sleeves or strapless, possibly with beading and/or embroidery and either with a train or without.”

“Exactly!” My eye follows hers around the shop. “But you know, I’m quite flexible.”

“Right.” Cynthia stares at her notes silently for a few moments. “Right,” she says again. “Well, the only way you can know is by trying a few dresses on… so let’s get started!”

Why have I never done this before? Trying on wedding dresses is simply the most fun I’ve had ever, in my whole life. Cynthia shows me into a large fitting room with gold and white cherub wallpaper and a big mirror and gives me a lacy basque and high satin shoes to put on — and then her assistant brings in dresses in lots of five. I try on silk chiffon sheaths with low backs, ballerina dresses with tight bodices and layers of tulle, dresses made from duchesse satin and lace, starkly plain dresses with dramatic trains, simple dresses, glittery dresses…

“When you see the right one, you’ll know,” Cynthia keeps saying as the assistant heaves the hangers up onto the hooks. “Just… keep trying.”

“I will!” I say happily, as I step into a strapless dress with beaded lace and a swooshy skirt. I come outside and parade around in front of Suze.

“That’s fantastic!” she says. “Even better than the one with the little straps.”

“I know! But I still quite like that one with the lace sleeves off the shoulder…” I stare critically at myself. “How many have I tried on now?”

“That takes us up to… thirty-five,” says Cynthia, looking at her list.

“And how many have I marked so far as possibles?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Really?” I look up in surprise. “Which ones didn’t I like?”

“The two pink dresses and the coatdress.”

“Oh no, I still quite like the coatdress. Put it down as a possible.” I parade a bit more, then look around the shop, trying to see if there’s anything I haven’t looked at yet. I stop in front of a rail of baby flower-girls’ dresses and sigh, slightly more heavily than I meant to. “God, it’s tricky, isn’t it? I mean… one dress. One.”

“I don’t think Becky’s ever bought one thing before,” says Suze to Cynthia. “It’s a bit of a culture shock.”

“I don’t see why you can’t wear more than one. I mean, it’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life, isn’t it? You should be allowed five dresses.”

“That would be cool!” says Suze. “You could have a really sweet romantic one for walking in, then a more elegant one to walk out… then one for cocktails…”

“And a really sexy one for dancing… and another one for…”

“For Luke to rip off you,” says Suze, her eyes gleaming.

“Ladies,” says Cynthia, giving a little laugh. “Rebecca. I know it’s hard… but you are going to have to choose sometime! For a June wedding, you’re already leaving it very late.”

“How can I be leaving it late?” I say in astonishment. “I’ve only just got engaged!”

Cynthia shakes her head. “In wedding dress terms, that’s late. What we recommend is that if brides think they may have a short engagement, they begin to look for a dress before they get engaged.”

“Oh God.” I give a gusty sigh. “I had no idea it was all going to be so difficult.”

“Try on that one at the end,” suggests Suze. “The one with the chiffon trumpet sleeves. You haven’t tried that, have you?”

“Oh,” I say, looking at it in surprise. “No, I haven’t.”

I carry the dress back to the fitting room, clamber out of the swooshy skirt, and step into it.

It skims sleekly over my hips, hugs my waist, and falls to the floor in a tiny, rippling train. The neckline flatters my face, and the color is just right against my skin. It feels good. It looks good.

“Hey,” says Suze, sitting up as I come out. “Now, that’s nice.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” I say, stepping up onto the podium.

I stare at my reflection and a feel a little glow of pleasure. It’s a simple dress — but I look fantastic in it. It makes me look really thin! It makes my skin look radiant and… God, maybe this is the one!

There’s silence in the shop.

Дата добавления: 2014-11-26