Shopaholic Ties the Knot (16 page)

“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.

“Do you feel it here?” says Cynthia, clutching her stomach.

“I . . . don’t know! I think so!” I give an excited little laugh. “I think I might!”

“I knew it. You see? When you find the right dress, it just hits you. You can’t plan for it, you can’t work it out on paper. You just know when it’s right.”

“I’ve found my wedding dress!” I beam at Suze. “I’ve found it!”

“At last!” There’s a ring of relief to Cynthia’s voice. “Let’s all have a glass of champagne to celebrate!”

As she disappears I admire myself again. It just shows, you can’t tell. Who would have thought I’d go for trumpet sleeves?

An assistant is carrying past another dress and I catch sight of an embroidered silk corset bodice, tied up with ribbons.

“Hey, that looks nice,” I say. “What’s that?”

“Never mind what that is!” says Cynthia, handing me a glass of champagne. “You’ve found your dress!” She lifts her glass, but I’m still looking at the ribboned bodice.

“Maybe I should just try that one on. Just quickly.”

“You know what I was thinking?” says Suze, looking up from
Brides
. “Maybe you should have a dress that
isn’t
a wedding dress. Like a color!”

“Wow!” I stare at Suze, my imagination gripped. “Like red or something.”

“Or a trouser suit!” suggests Suze, showing me a magazine picture. “Don’t those look cool?”

“But you’ve found your dress!” chips in Cynthia, her voice slightly shrill. “You don’t need to look any further! This is The One!”

“Mmm . . .” I pull a tiny face. “You know . . . I’m not so sure it is.”

For an awful moment I think Cynthia’s going to throw the champagne at me.

“I thought this was the dress of your dreams!”

“It’s the dress of
some
of my dreams,” I explain. “I have a lot of dreams. Could we put it down as another possible?”

“Right,” she says at last. “Another possible. I’ll just write that down.”

As she walks off, Suze leans back on the sofa and beams at me. “Oh, Bex, it’s going to be so romantic! Tarkie and I went to look at the church you’re getting married in. It’s beautiful!”

“It is nice,” I agree, quelling an automatic wave of guilt.

Although nothing’s been decided yet. I haven’t definitely chosen the Plaza. We still might get married in Oxshott.

Maybe.

“Your mum’s planning to put this gorgeous arch of roses over the gate, and bunches of roses on all the pews . . . and then everyone will get a rose buttonhole. She thought maybe yellow, but it depends on the other colors . . .”

“Oh, right. Well, I’m not really sure yet . . .” I tail off as I see the shop door opening behind me.

Robyn is coming into the shop, dressed in a mauve suit and clutching her Mulberry bag. She catches my eye in the mirror and gives a little wave.

What’s Robyn doing here?

“And then on the tables, maybe some sweet little posies . . .”

Robyn’s heading toward us. I’m not sure I like this.

“Hey, Suze!” I turn with what I hope is a natural smile. “Why don’t you go and look at those . . . um . . . ring cushions over there?”

“What?” Suze stares at me as though I’ve gone mad. “You’re not having a ring cushion, are you?
Please
don’t tell me you’ve turned into an American.”

“Well, then . . . the tiaras. I might have one of those!”

“Bex, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” I say brightly. “I just thought you might want to . . . oh, hi, Robyn!” As she approaches, I force myself to give her a friendly smile.

“Becky!” says Robyn, clasping her hands. “Isn’t that gown beautiful? Don’t you look adorable? Is that the one, do you think?”

“I’m not sure yet.” My smile is so fixed, it’s hurting. “So, Robyn, how on earth did you know I’d be here? You must be telepathic!”

“Cynthia told me you’d be coming in. She’s an old friend.” Robyn turns to Suze. “And is this your chum from England?”

“Oh . . . yes. Suze, Robyn, Robyn, Suze.”

“Suze? The maid of honor herself? Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Suze! You’ll look simply wonderful in—” She stops abruptly as her gaze takes in Suze’s stomach. “Dear, are you
expecting
?”

“I’ll have had the baby by then,” Suze assures her.

“Good!” Robyn’s face relaxes. “As I say, you’ll look wonderful in violet!”

“Violet?” Suze looks puzzled. “I thought I was wearing blue.”

“No, definitely violet!”

“Bex, I’m sure your mum said—”

“Well, anyway!” I interrupt hurriedly. “Robyn, I’m a bit tied up here—”

“I know, and I don’t want to get in your way. But since I’m here, there’s just a couple of things . . . Two seconds, I promise!” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her notebook. “First of all, the New York Philharmonic will unfortunately be on tour at the time of the wedding, but I’m working on an alternative. Now, what else . . .” She consults her notebook.

“Great!” I dart a quick glance at Suze, who’s staring at Robyn with a puzzled frown on her face. “You know, maybe you should just give me a call sometime, and we can talk about all this . . .”

“It won’t take long! So the other thing was . . . we’ve scheduled in a tasting at the Plaza on the 23rd in the chef’s dining room. I passed on your views on monkfish, so they’re having a rethink on that . . .” Robyn flips a page. “Oh, and I still really need that guest list from you!” She looks up and wags her finger in mock reproof. “We’ll be needing to think about invitations before we know it! Especially for the overseas guests!”

“OK. I’ll . . . I’ll get into it,” I mumble.

I don’t dare look at Suze.

“Great! And I’m meeting you at Antoine’s on Monday, ten o’clock. Those cakes . . . you are going to swoon. Now I have to run.” She closes her notebook and smiles at Suze. “Nice to meet you, Suze. See you at the wedding!”

“See you there!” says Suze in a too-cheerful voice. “Absolutely.”

The door closes behind Robyn and I swallow hard, my face tingling.

“So, ahm . . . I might as well get changed.”

I head to the fitting room without meeting Suze’s eye. A moment later, she’s in there with me.

“Who was that?” she says lightly as I unzip the dress.

“That was . . . Robyn! She’s nice, isn’t she?”

“And what was she talking about?”

“Just . . . wedding chitchat . . . you know . . . Can you help me out of this corset?”

“Why does she think you’re getting married at the Plaza?”

“I . . . um . . . I don’t know!”

“Yes you do! And that woman at the party!” Suddenly Suze’s voice is as severe as she can manage. “Bex, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!”

Suze grabs my shoulder. “Bex, stop it! You’re not getting married at the Plaza. Are you?”

I stare at her, feeling my face grow hotter and hotter.

“It’s . . . an option,” I say at last.

“What do you mean, it’s an option?” Suze stares at me, her grip on me loosening. “How can it be an option?”

I adjust the dress on the hanger, playing for time, trying to stifle the guilt rising inside me. If I behave as though this is a completely normal situation, then maybe it will be.

“It’s just that . . . well, Elinor’s offered to throw this really spectacular wedding for me and Luke. And I haven’t quite decided whether or not to take her up.” I see Suze’s expression. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ ” expostulates Suze. “What about (a) your mum’s already
organizing
your wedding? What about (b) Elinor is a complete cow? What about (c) you’ve gone off your head? Why on
earth
would you want to get married at the Plaza?”

“Because . . . because . . .” I close my eyes briefly. “Suze, you have to see it. We’re going to have a great big string orchestra, and caviar, and an oyster bar . . . and Tiffany frames for everyone on the tables . . . and Cristal champagne . . . and the whole place will be this magical enchanted forest, and we’re going to have real birch trees and songbirds . . .”