Shopaholic Ties the Knot (42 page)

“Sssh!” I say crossly. “Don’t tell everybody! Look, you promised if things were a bit strange you’d go with it. Well, go with it!”

As we walk along arm in arm, rays of sunlight are piercing the branches of the forest, dappling the floor. Suddenly there’s a whirring noise, and to my astonishment the branches creakily begin to retreat, to reveal rainbows playing on the ceiling. A heavenly chorus breaks into song, and a fluffy cloud descends from the sky, on which a pair of fat pink doves are reposing.

Oh God. I’ve got the giggles. This is too much. Are these the tiny additional details Robyn was talking about?

I look up at Luke, and his mouth is twitching suspiciously too.

“What do you think of the forest?” I say brightly. “It’s cool, isn’t it? They flew the birch trees over from Switzerland especially.”

“Really?” says Luke. “Where did they fly the doves over from?” He peers up at them. “Those are too big to be doves. They must be turkeys.”

“They’re not turkeys!”

“Love turkeys.”

“Luke, shut up,” I mutter, trying desperately not to giggle. “They’re doves.”

We’re passing row after row of smartly dressed guests, all smiling warmly at us except the girls, who are giving me the Manhattan Onceover.

“Who the hell are all these people?” says Luke, surveying the rows of smiling strangers.

“I have no idea.” I shrug. “I thought you might know some of them.”

We reach the back of the room for a final session of photographs, and Luke looks at me quizzically. “Becky, my parents aren’t here. And neither are yours.”

“Er . . . no. They’re not.”

“No family. No ring. And we’re not married.” He pauses. “Call me crazy—but this isn’t quite how I expected our wedding to be.”

“This isn’t our wedding,” I say, and kiss him for the cameras.

I can’t quite believe we’re getting away with it. No one’s said anything. No one’s questioned a thing. A couple of people have asked to see the ring, and I’ve just flashed them the band of my engagement ring, turned round.

We’ve eaten sushi and caviar. We’ve had an amazing four-course dinner. We’ve drunk toasts. It’s all gone according to plan. We cut the cake with a huge silver sword and everybody cheered, and then the band started to play “The Way You Look Tonight” and Luke led me onto the dance floor and we started dancing. That was one of those moments I’ll keep in my scrapbook forever. A whirl of white and gold and glitter and music, and Luke’s arms around me, and my head giddy from champagne, and the knowledge that this was it, this was the high, and soon it would be over.

And now the party’s in full swing. The band’s playing a jazzy number I don’t recognize, and the dance floor’s full. Amid the throng of well-dressed strangers, I can pick out a few familiar faces. Christina’s dancing with her date, and Erin is chatting to one of the groomsmen. And there’s Laurel, dancing very energetically with . . . Michael!

Well now. That’s a thought.

“So. Guess how many people have asked for my card?” says a voice in my ear. I turn round, to see Danny looking triumphant, a glass of champagne in each hand and a cigarette in his mouth. “Twenty! At least! One wanted me to take her measurements, right then and there. They all think the dress is to die for. And when I told them I’d worked with John Galliano . . .”

“Danny, you’ve never worked with John Galliano!”

“I passed him a cup of coffee once,” he says defensively. “And he thanked me. That was, in its way, an artistic communication . . .”

“If you say so.” I grin at him happily. “I’m so pleased for you.”

“So are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course!”

“Your mother-in-law is in her element.”

We both turn to survey Elinor, who is sitting at a nearby table, surrounded by smart ladies. There’s a slight glow to her cheek and she looks about as animated as I’ve ever seen her. She’s wearing a long sweeping pale green dress and huge quantities of diamonds, and looks like the belle of the ball. Which, in a way, she is. These are her friends. This is really her party, not Luke’s or mine. It’s a wonderful spectacle. It’s a wonderful occasion to be a guest at.

And that’s kind of what I feel I am.

A group of women go by, chattering loudly, and I hear snatches of conversation.

“Spectacular . . .”

“So imaginative . . .”

They smile at me and Danny, and I smile back. But my mouth is feeling a bit stiff. I’m tired of smiling at people I don’t know.

“It’s a great wedding,” says Danny, looking around the glittering room. “Really spectacular. Although it’s less
you
than I would have thought.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“I’m not saying it’s not fantastic. It’s very slick, very lavish. It’s just . . . not like I imagined you’d have your wedding. But I was wrong,” he adds hastily as he sees my expression. “Obviously.”

I look at his wiry, comical, unsuspecting face. Oh God. I have to tell him. I
can’t
not tell Danny.

“Danny, there’s something you should know,” I say in an undertone.

“What?”

“About this wedding—”

“Hi, kids!”

I break off guiltily and turn around—but it’s only Laurel, all flushed and happy from dancing.

“Great party, Becky,” she says. “Great band. Christ, I’d forgotten how much I love to dance.”

I survey her appearance in slight dismay.

“Laurel,” I say. “You don’t roll up the sleeves of a thousand- dollar Yves St. Laurent dress.”

“I was hot,” she says with a cheerful shrug. “Now, Becky, I hate to tell you.” She lowers her voice. “But you’re going to have to get going pretty soon.”

“Already?” I look instinctively at my wrist, but I’m not wearing a watch.

“The car’s waiting outside,” says Laurel. “The driver has all the details. He’ll take you to Teterboro Airport and show you where to go. It’s a different procedure for private planes, but it should be straightforward. Any problems, you call me.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, and I glance at Danny, who’s pretending not to be listening. “You should be in England in plenty of time. I really hope it all works out.”

I reach out and hug her tightly. “Laurel . . . you’re a star,” I mutter. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Becky, believe me. This is nothing. After what you did for me, you could have had ten planes.” She hugs me back, then looks at her watch. “You’d better find Luke. I’ll see you in a bit.”

After she’s gone there’s a short, interested silence.

“Becky, did I just catch the words
private plane
?” says Danny.

“Er . . . yes. Yes, you did.”

“You’re flying on a private plane?”

“Yes.” I try to sound nonchalant. “We are. It’s Laurel’s wedding present to us.”

“She snapped up the private jet?” Danny shakes his head. “Damn. You know, I was planning to get you that myself. It was between that and the eggbeater . . .”

“Idiot! She’s president of a plane company.”

“Jesus. A private plane. So . . . where are you heading? Or is it still a big secret?” I watch as he takes a drag from his cigarette, and feel a sudden huge wave of affection for him.

I don’t just want to tell Danny what’s going on.

I want him to be part of this.

“Danny,” I say. “How do you feel about going on a little trip?”

It takes me a while to find Luke. He’s been trapped in a corner by two corporate financiers, and leaps up gratefully as soon as I appear. We go around the huge crowded room, saying good-bye and thank you for coming to all the guests we know. To be honest, it doesn’t take that long.

Last of all, we approach the top table and interrupt Elinor as discreetly as we can.

“Mother, we’re going now,” says Luke.

“Now?” Elinor frowns. “It’s too early.”

“Well . . . we’re going.”

“Thank you for a wonderful wedding,” I say sincerely. “It was really amazing. Everyone’s been saying how wonderful it is.” I bend to kiss her. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Becky,” she says in that formal way of hers. “Good-bye, Luke.”

“Good-bye, Mother.”

They gaze at each other—and for a moment I think Elinor’s going to say something else. But instead she leans forward rather stiffly and kisses Luke on the cheek.

“Becky!” I feel someone poking me on the shoulder. “Becky, you’re not going yet!” I turn round to see Robyn looking perturbed.

“Er . . . yes. We’re off. Thank you so much for everything you’ve—”

“You can’t go yet!”

“No one’ll notice,” I say, glancing around the party.

“They have to notice! We have an exit planned, remember? The rose petals? The music?”

“Well . . . maybe we could forget the exit—”

“Forget the exit?” Robyn stares at me. “Are you joking? Orchestra!” she says urgently into her headpiece. “Segue to ‘Some Day.’ Do you copy? Segue to ‘Some Day.’ ” She lifts the walkie-talkie. “Lighting crew, stand by with rose petals.”

“Robyn,” I say helplessly. “Honestly, we just wanted to slip away quietly . . .”

“My brides do not slip away quietly! Cue fanfare,” she mutters into her headpiece. “Lighting crew, prepare exit spotlight.”

There’s a sudden loud fanfare of trumpets, and the guests on the dance floor all jump. The lighting changes from disco beat to a radiant pink glow, and the band starts to play “Some Day My Prince Will Come.”

“Go, Beauty and Prince,” says Robyn, giving me a little shove. “Go!
One
two three,
one
two three . . .”

Exchanging looks, Luke and I make it onto the dance floor, where the guests part to let us through. The music is all around us, a spotlight is following our path, and all of a sudden, rose petals start falling gently from the ceiling.

This is rather lovely, actually. Everyone’s beaming benevolently, and I can hear some “Aahs” as we go by. The glow of pink light is like being inside a rainbow, and the rose petals smell wonderful as they land on our heads and arms and drift to the floor. Luke and I are smiling at each other, and there’s a petal in his hair—

“Stop!”

As I hear the voice, I feel a sudden chill, right to the marrow of my bones.

The double doors have opened, and there she is, standing in the doorway. Wearing a black suit and the highest, pointiest black boots I’ve ever seen.

Everyone turns to look, and the orchestra peters out uncertainly.

“Oh, look!” I hear someone saying in delight. “That’s so cute, they even thought of a witch!”

“Alicia?” says Luke in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“Having a good wedding, Luke?” she says sweetly, and takes a few steps into the room.

“Come in,” I say quickly. “Come on in and join the party. We would have invited you . . .”

“I know what you’re doing, Becky.”

“We’re getting married!” I say, trying to sound lighthearted. “No prizes for guessing that!”

“I know exactly what you’re doing.” She meets my eye. “I’ve got friends in Surrey, and they’ve been checking things out.”

No.

Please, no.

“I think you have a teeny little secret you’re not sharing with the rest of your guests.” Alicia pulls a mock-concerned face. “That’s not very polite, is it?”

I need my fairy godmothers, quick. I need someone to zap her with twinkle dust.

Laurel shoots me a horrified look.

Christina puts down her champagne glass.

“Code red, Code red,” I hear Robyn’s voice crackling from the bouquet. “Urgent. Code red.”

Now Alicia’s walking around the dance floor, taking her time, relishing the attention.

“The truth is,” she says pleasantly, “this is all a bit of a sham. Isn’t it, Becky?”

My eye flickers behind her. Two burly minders in tuxedos are approaching the dance floor. But they’re not going to get there in time. It’s all going to be ruined.

“It all looks so lovely. It all looks so romantic.” Her voice suddenly hardens. “But what people might like to know is that this so-called perfect Plaza wedding is actually a complete and utter . . .
arrrgh
!” Her voice rises to a scream. “Put me down!”

I don’t believe it. It’s Luke.

He’s calmly walked up to her and hoisted her up onto his shoulder. And now he’s carrying her out, like a naughty toddler.

“Put me down!” she cries. “Someone bloody well help me!”

But the guests are starting to laugh. She starts kicking Luke with her pointy boots, and he raises his eyebrows but doesn’t stop striding.

“It’s a fake!” she shrieks as they reach the door. “It’s a fake! They’re not really—”

The door slams, cutting her off, and there’s a silent, shocked moment. No one moves, not even Robyn. Then, slowly, the door opens again, and Luke reappears, brushing his hands.

“I don’t like gate-crashers,” he says dryly.

“Bravo!” shouts a woman I don’t recognize. Luke gives a little bow, and there’s a huge, relieved laugh, and soon the whole room is applauding.

My heart is thumping so hard I’m not sure I can keep standing. As Luke rejoins me, I reach for his hand and he squeezes mine hard. I just want to go now. I want to get away.

Now there’s an interested babble around the room, and I can hear people murmuring things like “deranged” and “must be jealous.” A woman in head-to-toe Prada is even saying brightly, “You know, exactly the same thing happened at
our
wedding—”

Oh God, and now here come Elinor and Robyn, side by side like the two queens in
Alice in Wonderland
.

“I’m so sorry!” says Robyn as soon as she gets near. “Don’t let it upset you, sweetheart. She’s just a sad girl with a grudge.”

“Who
was
that?” says Elinor with a frown. “Did you know her?”

“A disgruntled ex-client,” says Robyn. “Some of these girls become very bitter. I’ve no idea what happens to them! One minute they’re sweet young things, the next minute they’re throwing lawsuits around! Don’t worry, Becky. We’ll do the exit again. Attention, orchestra,” she says urgently. “Reprise ‘Some Day’ at the signal. Lighting crew, stand by with emergency rose petals.”

“You have emergency rose petals?” I say in disbelief.

“Sweetheart, I have every eventuality covered.” She twinkles at me. “This is why you hire a wedding planner!”