The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) (23 page)

‘Well, you would lose your bet,’ said Rosie. ‘Fanny was about to let herself into her flat one evening when she heard this whimpering and crying. She found him and his brothers and his sisters in a plastic bag. They’d been dumped in a skip. The others were all dead and Caspar was a sickly little scrap of skin and bone.’

‘Omigod, that’s horrible!’ gasped Cat.

‘What happened next?’ asked Tess.

‘Fanny took him up to her apartment then she called a vet. Over the next six months she nursed him, fed him, trained him, loved him, and of course she loves him still. Anyone who’s mean to Fanny usually gets bitten where it hurts. But anyone who’s mean to Caspar’s dead.’

Then, as if on cue, Caspar put his elegant long nose round Fanny’s bedroom door to check out what was happening in the inner sanctum.

‘Come in, Caspar, sweetheart,’ Rosie said.

So Caspar jogged into the room on springs, or so it seemed to Cat. He jumped on Fanny’s bed, arranging his long legs into a graceful arabesque.

‘It’s fascinating, watching Fanny zooming round and bossing everyone about and making everyone do what she wants, especially if they don’t want to do it,’ added Rosie. ‘I’m taking lots of notes.’

She brushed her hair back and clipped it with some pretty jewelled slides. ‘One day, I’ll have my own promotions business,’ she continued. ‘My sister will be starting her final year at Oxford in October, and when she’s finished there she’s going to come and work with me. She’s the creative one and I’m the go-getter. She’s the intrepid traveller and I’m the stay-at-home. So she can open offices for us all over the world, and between us we’ll do very well. We’ll be even richer and even more successful than Fanny is herself. You wait and see.’

‘But won’t Fanny mind you starting up your own promotions company?’ asked Cat. ‘You’ll be competition, after all.’

‘On the contrary, she’s been most supportive and encouraging,’ said Rosie. ‘Anyway, there’s loads of work for both of us, and I won’t be chasing any of her high-end clients. I’ll be starting small.’

‘But you’ll go on to bigger things?’

‘I expect we will.’ Rosie smiled enigmatically. ‘That’s certainly the plan.’

‘How did you two meet?’ asked Tess.

‘Mummy and Fan are friends,’ Rosie replied. ‘They went to the same school. But Mummy was a prefect when Fanny was a frightened little first year, far away from home and missing teddy. Mummy helped her settle in, and I think Fan was grateful. They’ve always kept in touch.’

‘I can’t imagine Fanny being scared of anything,’ said Tess.

‘Fanny was a mouse who was afraid of her own shadow, Mummy says, and everybody’s scared of something, Tess.’ Rosie started putting on mascara. ‘Me, I’m terrified of snakes and spiders – tarantulas, my God, some people keep the things as pets, can you imagine? Fan has to be fairly nice to me, in any case. Mummy’s put a lot of work her way, including all that competition stuff at Melbury Court.’

‘Don’t tell me, let me guess – your mother owns it?’ Cat asked Rosie.

‘No, she doesn’t own it. But Daddy was related to the owner, that’s before the house was a hotel. When Fan was looking for a country house to feature in her new wedding promotion, Mummy said, why don’t you use Aunt Daisy’s lovely place? The people who have it now could do with the publicity.’

Aunt Daisy – Daisy Denham, Rosie Denham – yes, of course, thought Cat. ‘Did you know Daisy Denham personally?’ she enquired, now making the connections and realising that Rosie and the actress had to be related.

‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘My granny and Aunt Daisy were great friends. I used to visit regularly when I was a little girl.’

‘You sat on a famous film star’s knee?’

‘I can’t remember doing that,’ Rosie said. ‘But I expect I did. Aunt Daisy didn’t have children of her own, but she was very fond of Granny’s four, especially Aunt Lily and my dad.’

‘What are you two going on about?’ demanded Tess.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ Cat replied.

‘Yes, we ought to go and see what Fanny thinks,’ said Rosie.

‘Why should it matter what Fanny thinks?’ Tess frowned. ‘We all look gorgeous, don’t we?’

‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ Rosie shook her head. ‘You think she’s dressed us up because she wants us to prettify her party? We’re promoting Lulu’s dresses, Tess. So if Fanny says we need to change, we come back up and change.’

‘Come on, Tess,’ said Cat, as Tess looked mutinous. ‘It’s flattering to be allowed to model Lulu’s gowns. Fanny could have said you had to be a maid instead.’

‘Yeah, right,’ muttered Tess, ‘and she’d have got the maid from hell. You could have bet your Birkin fake and every other bag you own on that.’

As Cat and Tess and Rosie trooped downstairs to be inspected and – Cat hoped – passed fit by Fanny Gregory, three dumpy little women in black dresses and low heels came bustling in and started sorting out the food and wine.

The doorbell rang and soon the atrium was filling up.

Apart from Rosie, who was clearly working, who was meeting, greeting and doing her assistant thing, Cat could see that only she and Tess were under thirty-five.

But this was fine, because the men all looked at them appreciatively, they all had lovely manners, and they said nice things to both of them but didn’t pinch their bums.

The women were so rich, so beautiful and so well-dressed themselves that they didn’t seem to mind that these two interlopers in their borrowed frocks were ten years younger and quite attractive, too.

‘A lovely party, Fanny, darling.’

Cat heard this repeated again, again, again as Fanny circulated, as she played the gracious hostess. She looked divine in soft black velvet with a huge amount of powdered cleavage on display.

Caspar was the height of canine beauty, glossy, black and gorgeous, with a jewelled collar around his velvet neck.

‘What about this painting, then?’ said Tess, as she and Cat watched Fanny and her greyhound work the room.

‘It starts tomorrow, I expect,’ said Cat. ‘These people wouldn’t want to get magnolia emulsion on their gowns from still-damp walls.’

‘Your Fanny’s up to something. I don’t know why she got you to come here. But I’m sure as hell no painting’s in her cunning plan.’

‘You may be right.’

‘So what happens next?’

‘God only knows,’ said Cat. ‘You look great in blue,’ she added, trying to change the subject. She didn’t want to think about what Fanny might have planned for later.

‘You look ace in green. I’m going to pinch these babies,’ Tess continued, glancing at her shoes. Then, when Cat looked horrified, she grinned. ‘I was only joking, don’t give birth.’

‘I hope you’re having lots of fun, my darlings, among us geriatrics?’ Silent as a serpent, Fanny had come up behind them and had put her arms around their shoulders, leaning on them for support.

She was clearly sloshed, but Cat was certain – sloshed or sober – Fanny never, ever dropped her guard. She hoped Fan hadn’t heard what Tess had said about stealing the shoes.

‘Yes, it’s great.’ Cat nodded vehemently. ‘We were just saying about the frocks and shoes, they’re wonderful.’

‘Yes, of course they’re wonderful, my darling – everything’s couture. I think we’re ready for some music,’ she continued, or rather she announced. She snapped her fingers and, as if by magic, two young men in black – one tall and handsome, one shorter and more ordinary-looking – appeared as if from nowhere, trundling speakers and a deck. ‘Okay, people, party, party, party!’

‘Yeah, and about time, too,’ said Tess.

As music started pulsing through the barn Tess kicked off her shoes. Then she was dancing, and very soon a dozen of the men were jigging up and down looking like they’d been electrocuted, trying to out-peacock one another, obviously anxious to impress.

Cat was being talked at by a fifty-something woman in a dress made out of scarlet feathers who was also wearing lots of diamonds when Fanny sidled up to them and whispered someone lovely had arrived. Someone she knew Cat would like to meet because they had an awful lot in common.

‘Oh, who’s that?’ asked Cat, who had been knocking back the champagne cocktails, and whose other self knew she was drunk, even though the first self wasn’t going to admit it.

‘Just you wait and see!’ Fanny grinned, and Cat resigned herself to being lectured by some bloke who had a private gallery in Soho or Mayfair. Or by some old geezer who would spend a full ten minutes staring-but-not-staring at her chest, but who probably didn’t want to hear about a salvage yard in Walthamstow. Or by a woman who wanted some authentic Jacobean panelling, or perhaps Victorian garden art …

‘Come along, my angel.’

Fanny led her from the atrium and out into the hallway. The front door was open, letting in the gentle summer breeze and making Cat feel suddenly stone cold sober. ‘Fanny,’ she began, ‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I—’

‘Off you go,’ said Fanny, giving Cat a gentle but insistent little shove, then skittering back inside to join the party.

Cat felt Caspar rub his face against her hand and she was momentarily reassured.

But then she felt sick, because at last she realised what this charade, this pantomime, this farce was all about. She’d seen the man in the black dinner jacket standing on the drive, his back towards the house.

As he turned around, she backed away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she began. ‘I can see all this has been set up at huge expense, and Fanny must have taken endless trouble. But I still don’t want to talk to you.’

Adam went on checking through the final set of drawings.

Next year, he decided, the Scottish castle would look really good. It would look more than good, in fact. It would look fantastic. He’d be inundated with commissions. He’d be working for the sort of people who had bank accounts the size of Russia.

They might even be Russian – or Chinese or Canadian or South American. They might live in Moscow or Toronto or Beijing or Buenos Aires – in fact, they could live anywhere, because he could go anywhere. He could do anything. He would be an international player and he’d be winning this particular game.

Although his personal life was a disaster – Cat hadn’t come to meet him at the Lion that Wednesday afternoon, and he’d been almost certain she’d turn up. But, as was usual when it came to women, he’d been wrong, wrong, wrong – his professional life was looking set to work out fine.

At nine o’clock he closed his laptop, shoved some stuff into a holdall, left the flat and started walking, heading for Euston station where he’d catch the train to Aberdeen.

There was a lot of traffic, and so he didn’t know his phone was grumbling in his pocket until the caller had got bored and given up on him.

He fished it out, he crossed his fingers and he prayed it had been Cat.

Fanny Gregory, it said.

He sighed and shook his head. My God, she was persistent. Some people, did they never take a break? She must know today was Saturday?

What did she want now?

The Tudor sundial she’d decided she must have, like the one she’d seen at Hampton Court?

The Italian marble nymph he had assured her he could almost definitely source, but she might have to wait a month or two – she couldn’t have it tonight?

He was regretting ever giving her his business card, ever getting involved with finding stuff for that old barn in Surrey which she was determined to restore, revamp, refurbish in record-breaking time.

As for the other stuff – she could forget it all.

She could forget he had agreed to meet her for a drink to talk about some work which he might do on her old barn. She could forget she’d somehow got him to confess that yes, he liked the girl from Chapman’s yard. She hadn’t been mistaken when she’d seen him look at Cat like that at Melbury Court.

Yes, he’d seen her since, because he’d done more business with the yard. Yes, she was sweet and smart and pretty. Yes, she definitely knew her way around the architectural salvage trade. Yes, her boss was lucky to have an office manager like Cat.

But no, it wasn’t going anywhere. No, he didn’t care if she had finished with her fiancé. What did that have to do with him, and no he didn’t do parties. He couldn’t dance, and he didn’t like talking nonsense to a lot of suits. It wasn’t him at all.

So no, he wasn’t going to her party, even though she’d said he must, even though she’d told him she was desperate for handsome men to make the whole thing look a bit more glamorous, my sweet, and he was the sexiest and most gorgeous man she knew, my angel, darling heart.

Flatter, flatter, flatter – she was so transparent that he couldn’t help but laugh, and she was so vain she thought that when he laughed she’d won him over.

‘So you will try to make it, sweetheart, won’t you?’ she’d concluded, with a winning flutter of the lashes and a charming widening of the eyes.

‘No,’ he’d said. ‘I’m busy.’

‘What are you doing, then?’

‘I’m going to Aberdeen.’

‘But it will be a lovely opportunity for you! I could introduce you to some influential people who have country houses, and who could put a lot of work your way, make you recession-proof.’

‘Fanny, what bit of no, I’m busy, don’t you understand?’

‘You can go to Scotland some other time, my angel. I want you at my barn on Saturday.’

The phone began to jig around again.

‘Yes?’ he said resignedly, aware that if he didn’t talk to Fanny Gregory now, she would go on pestering him all night.

He listened patiently to what she had to say.

Or was trying to say.

He had to make allowances because she was so drunk she couldn’t seem to get her words out right.

‘I can’t come to your party,’ he repeated. ‘I’m going to catch a train to Aberdeen. Fanny, it’s my work – my livelihood. I can’t just not turn up. I can’t tell my client I’ll try to fit him in some other time.’

‘Your livelihood, you say,’ slurred Fanny, hiccupping. ‘Darling Adam, sometimes you’re so stupid.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘This is about your life.’

‘Babe, the feeling’s mutual,’ drawled Jack, as Cat insisted she didn’t want to talk to him.

‘So why did Fanny tell me to come out here and see you?’