Year of Being Single (24 page)

‘Well that’s fab.’

Grace came back from the loo. ‘I’m doing one of those wedding fairs this weekend,’ she announced.

‘The ones James wouldn’t let you do?’ said Imogen. ‘How come?’

Grace had often mentioned how James insisted on weekends being for ‘family time’ and he didn’t want her working, and how Gideon had always been sniffy about it but secretly thoroughly enjoyed being a martyr by doing the wedding fairs on his own. ‘Gideon’s got to go to a civil ceremony in Cornwall. He’s reluctantly handing over the reins to me.’

‘How exciting!’

‘Not really. I’m really nervous. I won’t have a clue what I’m doing!’

‘Oh, you’ll be fine!’ said Frankie. ‘Do you want me to pop in? For moral support? I’m on my own this weekend. I can start raving about the hats and pretending to buy them all or something? Come with me, Imogen, it’ll be a scream!’

‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ said Imogen. ‘I promised I’d take Mum into town.’

‘Ah, shame. Well I can drop in, can’t I, Grace?’

‘I’d love it if you did,’ said Grace, although Frankie thought Grace looked less than enthusiastic. ‘I’m feeling so jittery about it.’

‘Perfect. I can pretend to be a bossy older bride and create a bit of a buzz. Right, I reckon the pizza’s gone down by now. Shall we break out the chocolates?’

Chapter Eighteen: Grace

James would have hated this, Grace thought, as she climbed the steps to The Finch Rooms with several huge bags of hat boxes and cellophane-wrapped bridal headpieces and fascinators. When they’d got married, he’d half-heartedly gone along with the whole wedding planning thing – florists and caterers and photography studios and cake-makers – but had hardly thrown himself into it. Far ‘too girly’, he would have said, about wedding fairs. ‘Full of giddy women with no taste and too much money to spend.’

She was glad it was being held here and not at some giant aircraft hangar of a conference centre. The Finch Rooms was a large Georgian house, set in picturesque grounds, with dozens of small, fabulously decorated rooms for people to wander in and out of. It was a perfect venue for small weddings, although a marquee could be attached at the back of the house for larger receptions. She remembered she’d looked round it when she and James had got married, before they’d plumped for Huntingdon Manor.

Directed to a small drawing room at the rear of the house – a carpeted square with a large sash window and duck egg wallpaper – she began setting up. She’d brought a dozen or so hatstands, but also utilised the gorgeous shelving units either side of the huge marble fireplace. Gideon had never trusted her with the displays in the shop. She always had to stand by as he executed his artistic flair, and coo enough times to satisfy him as he arranged and rotated hats and headpieces and faffed with ribbons and bits of lace. Now it was her turn, and she didn’t think she’d done a bad job. She stepped back and admired her handiwork. Actually, she’d done a
great
job. She could create a beautiful display of hats.

Grace’s silent moment of satisfaction was short-lived. A girl wearing a short sixties-style dress and black opaque tights, despite the balmy June weather, bashed noisily into the room with a folded-up table under one arm and a massive long, flat cardboard box under the other. She had dyed crimson hair scraped into a top-knot and appeared to be wearing slippers.

‘Hi, I’m Nancy,’ she said breathlessly. She expertly opened up the table with her knee, dropped the box to the floor and began to pull from it large pieces of lace and sheaths of gorgeous cream and white embossed wedding stationery. She fanned out the stationery on the lace then studded the arrangement with artfully placed fountain pens. It was a very romantic-looking display.

‘Your stationery is beautiful,’ said Grace, walking over and taking a closer look.

‘Thanks. People seem to like it.’

‘It must sell itself!’

‘Well, I have to do a bit of sales patter. Spin the whole
marriage is wonderful
line.’

She pulled a face. Grace almost wanted to shush her. You couldn’t speak like that at a wedding fair! ‘Oh. You don’t think it is?’

Nancy smiled wryly. ‘No! Not since my fiancé left me at the altar. But, hey, it’s fine. I went off on our honeymoon by myself and ended up spending two years backpacking around South East Asia.’

‘Oh, okay.’ Grace didn’t know what else to say.

‘But people keep doing it, don’t they? Marriage. The daft beggars. I can’t stop them, so I may as well earn a crust helping them. It’s not my fault I design incredible wedding stationary!’ She laughed. ‘Hey, I like your hats and stuff.’

‘Thank you. I’m a bit nervous. I’ve not done one of these before.’

‘Oh, you’ll be fine. Just take a deep breath and tell yourself you can do it.’ She smiled and adjusted one of her fans of envelopes, then glanced at Grace’s left hand, and her wedding ring. ‘You’re married?’ Grace realised she’d been unselfconsciously twiddling with it while they’d been talking.

‘Separated.’ There, she’d said it again. She’d said it at the school do and no one had dropped to the floor in a dead faint or clamped their hand to their mouth in horror. The headmistress hadn’t exploded in shock. Nancy looked delighted.

‘Great! It’s so much fun being single, isn’t it?’

‘I hate it, actually,’ said Grace. ‘I like being with someone.’

‘Have you got kids?’ Gosh, this woman was blunt. She had a slight accent; Grace wondered if she was Australian.

‘A son.’

‘Well, you’ll never be on your own, then.’

What a strange woman she was. ‘Actually I like having a man in my life.’

‘Oh.’ Nancy frowned. ‘Are you seeing someone?’ As though it were a huge betrayal to womankind.

‘Yes.’ Not that it was any of her business.

‘You jumped out of the frying pan into the fire?’

Grace was about to respond about it being a very nice fire and in any case it
really
was none of her business, when a young couple, hand in hand, came into the room and went straight to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over Nancy’s beautiful stationery. Nancy started talking to them in a new, high voice about romance and how the more expensive the card, the more sincere the wedding vows…

A couple of hours went past. The room was a hive of activity. Nancy had a constant stream of couples; Grace had plenty of brides and mothers-of-the-bride, plus six texts from Gideon demanding to know how she was getting on.

Fabulously
, she replied, to each and every one of them.

At lunchtime, she had the shock of her life.

‘Hello, Grace.’

Oh God, it was Greg. He was standing in the doorway in jeans and a white polo shirt, smiling and looking absolutely gorgeous. His hair had seen a bit of gel and it looked like he had new shoes on. What the hell was he doing here? She’d mentioned she was doing this today, when they’d chatted by text last night, but why on earth had he turned up?

She blushed crimson down to her toes.

‘What are you doing here, Greg?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was in the area. I’ve been to see a mate. I thought I’d call in and see how you were doing.’ She blushed even more. It was so clearly a lie, he
so
wasn’t just in the area! He’d just wanted to see her, hadn’t he? She beamed at him, feeling monumentally excited. He really liked her. He just wanted to
see
her! Nancy glanced over from showing an eager couple some save-the-date cards and raised a pierced eyebrow.

‘Well, I’m doing very well, thank you,’ said Grace.

‘Great, great. Glad to hear it.’ Greg went over to one of the shelves. He picked up a peach cloche and, grinning at her, plonked it on the top of his head. He put it down again and reached for a fascinator dripping with pearls and jet black beads. ‘So, Grace –’

‘Ah,
here
are those fabulous hats I’ve been hearing all about!’

Oh my God.
It was Frankie, dressed up like character from an Oscar Wilde play. She had about four scarves draped round her neck, was dangling the handbag she usually thrust over her shoulder on the end of an extended wrist and had half her face obscured by huge, fashion magazine editor sunglasses. She took off the glasses, winked theatrically at Grace, then flew over to a hat stand to examine a white trilby with silver ribbon. ‘Beautiful hats!’ she exclaimed, in an over-loud voice. Grace, horrified, tried frantically to shoot a warning glance at Greg, but he had the fascinator on and was checking out his reflection in one of the dozen mirrors Grace had propped up. He didn’t notice her exaggerated head flicks and darting, warning eyes. Nancy did. She was obviously trying hard to conceal a laugh.

‘I think this is really me, Grace,’ said Greg, turning round.

Frankie’s head also shot round, at lightning speed. One of her scarves – butterfly-printed chiffon – whacked her in the face. She stared at Greg. Greg froze. Grace froze. Even the couple at Nancy’s table froze. Nancy had a very mischievous look on her face.

‘Is there anything in particular you’re looking for,
Frankie
?’ stammered Grace.

‘Aw, you’re not supposed to know my name!’ said Frankie, her high, silly voice abandoned. ‘How can I be your mystery shopper and big you up if you say you know me! Don’t blow my cover! Who’s this?’ She was still looking directly at Greg.

‘This is Michael, one of our suppliers,’ said Grace quickly.

‘Yes, hello, I’m Michael,’ said Greg. ‘I supply…er…pearls. From the Indian Ocean.’

‘That’s right,’ said Grace. ‘Michael was just popping in to see how his fascinators are selling.’

‘Yes,’ said Greg, ‘my fascinating fascinators. They’re…marvellous.’

‘Pearls from the Indian Ocean, eh?’ said Frankie. ‘Very flash.’

‘We try our best,’ said Greg.

‘Right, Michael, so you said you had your next appointment to get to…?’ said Grace.

‘Yes, absolutely, better get going. People to see, pearls to…erm…sell.’

And Greg removed the fascinator, gave a short bow and left the room.

‘Blimey,’ said Frankie, her eyes flashing. ‘He’s gorgeous!’

‘Michael? Yes, he’s not bad.’

‘Not bad! He’s an absolute dreamboat. Is he single? Why don’t you ask him out? Can
I
ask him out?’

‘I’m
single
, remember. For a whole year. Just like
you
.’ Frankie looked momentarily sheepish. ‘We’re not supposed to be asking anyone out. And he’s probably gay.’

‘He doesn’t
look
gay.’

‘How would you know? Your gaydar’s absolutely rubbish.’

‘True,’ Frankie nodded. ‘But, wow. You should definitely find out if he is or not, next time he comes calling, with his
pearls.
’

‘I’m single for a year,’ said Grace. ‘Don’t deter me from my path.’

Frankie stayed for the next couple of hours and had great fun flitting in and out, and squealing at hats when there were customers around, and generally being quite annoying. Grace sent her packing fifteen minutes before the end of the day and she and Nancy started packing up their stalls.

‘See,’ said Nancy, putting paper and envelopes into her lidded box. ‘You did it. You did it on your own.’

‘Yes, I did,’ replied Grace, carefully placing hats back into boxes, using fresh tissue paper. She was very happy with the way the day had gone.

‘That was quite a performance, by the way,’ said Nancy. ‘Before. That your bloke?’

‘Yes,’ said Grace. She didn’t bother to try and hide the pride in her voice.

‘Your friend’s right,’ said Nancy. ‘He’s really good-looking. Why are you keeping him a secret? Is he married?’

‘No,’ said Grace. ‘It’s complicated. But as you may have heard, I’m supposed to be single.’

‘Clear as mud,’ said Nancy, shrugging. ‘Well, none of my business.’

There’s a first
, thought Grace.

‘I must say, though, he looks almost too good to be true.’

‘Well, he’s not,’ said Grace firmly. ‘He
is
true.’ Thank goodness it was the end of the day. She’d had quite enough of this awful Nancy and her unsolicited comments. Still, nothing, not this annoying woman, or even the near miss with Frankie, could dent her fabulous mood. Greg had turned up out of the blue on the flimsiest of excuses. She hadn’t paid him; there was no business transaction. He’d simply wanted to see her. Grace sighed happily and felt a tingle up and down her body. He must like her.
Really
like her! And this could work – if she could just persuade him to give up the escorting. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? He’d already taken the first step.

After Nancy had left the room, saying she hoped to see Grace again, which Grace pretended to agree with, she went to the sash window. A young couple, their arms round each other, giggled in the car park and got into their car, and Grace twisted her wedding ring then slowly eased it off her finger. Yes, she could make it on her own. She’d proved that today. But she was so glad she didn’t have to.

She smiled as she wrapped her ring in a square of pale pink tissue paper and put it in her bag. It was time to take things to the next level with Greg. And Ascot was where she would make it happen.

Chapter Nineteen: Imogen

It was windy and not quite warm enough. Dresses were blowing up. Fascinators were hurled off heads and into puddles. Pashminas were turned into billowing kites. There were goose-bumped arms and legs. Bright, dry lips smacked together. False eyelashes flapping in the gale. Red soles, real and fake. Tottering. Tittering. Skittering.

A lot of women looked under-dressed and over-done, but some looked
amazing
, elegant in beautiful dresses and show-stopping heels, and with the most sensational hats Imogen had ever seen. She must take a few surreptitious photos later, so she could show Grace.

Imogen hoped she matched up to the best of the bunch. She felt pretty amazing herself, as she walked through the coach car park at Ascot, with Richard. The new shoes, a buffed bod, an exquisite tight-fitting cream silky dress. She’d barely eaten all week. She knew it was wrong, and today she’d eat like one of Ascot’s champion thoroughbreds, but she wanted to look sensational.