Fairytale of New York (30 page)

A welcome smile assumed centre stage on Ed’s face. ‘Come here, Duncan,’ he grinned, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close. I hugged him back, thankful for the sense of reassurance I found there.

The day before David’s wedding, Ed and I packed the delivery van and drove up to The Hamptons. I was keen to get as many of the larger pieces as possible in place by evening and had taken the unusual step of closing the store for the day, so that my whole team could pitch in.

As weddings go, the Lithgow nuptials were some of the most lavish we had ever been asked to provide for. Compared to the last time George and Phoebe had organised a wedding for their only son, this was an epic event in every sense of the word. What the Lithgows were saving on venue costs they were more than making up for in every other detail: caterers from a top Manhattan restaurant, ten white peacocks to roam the lawns, an entire service team brought in from George’s favourite hotel in Boston and a twenty-piece orchestra were just a few of the wildly expensive elements of the day. In terms of the floral displays, David and Rachel wanted lilies, peonies and gardenias lining the route for the guests and bridal party—from the footpaths leading up to the house, through each room towards the orangery itself, where the largest, most detailed displays would be. This meant long garlands made of the theme flowers with length upon length of dark green and white ivy, intertwined with
tiny white fairy lights for the footpaths, countless table pieces, four arches to surround the doorways leading to the orangery and eight huge feature displays around the area where the guests would sit for the ceremony. It was a lot of work—even with five pairs of hands.

When we arrived at the house, it was already a hive of activity. Ed and I left Marnie and the grads with the van as we dodged delivery men, security staff and members of the wedding planning team on our way to the front door.

As we passed through rooms jammed with workers, Ed let out a whistle. ‘This is crazy! I can’t believe anyone would want this much stuff at their wedding. Whatever happened to the notion of a wedding being about two people in love?’

I gave him a playful nudge as we ducked under a drooping banner being hung by two ladies on step ladders at either side of the door. ‘You old romantic, you.’

‘No, I mean it. The whole wedding industry is built on people being persuaded to pay ridiculous sums of money for things they don’t need.’

‘What, like we do?’

Ed stopped to let a delivery guy—who was pushing an enormous stack of chairs on a trolley—go in front of us. ‘Shame on you, Rosie! What
we
do is to respond to our customers’ needs, not sell them unnecessary rubbish. And may I remind you that you can
never
have too many flowers at a wedding?’

‘I think this wedding may disprove the theory,’ I grinned, despite my stomach flipping at the prospect of the task ahead. I checked my watch. ‘Right, we need to find David or Rachel to OK the schedule as soon as we can. We have a lot to do and I’d like to be able to let the team get away by six this evening. What time are we booked in at the hotel?’

Ed checked his clipboard. ‘Any time from five thirty. Dinner’s at eight, if we want it.’

‘And they’re cool with us working on the bridal party flowers?’

He nodded. ‘I spoke to the manager yesterday. He’s cleared their second dining room for us
and
is providing a coffee machine too.’

‘Nice. I definitely think we’ll need the coffee.’

‘Did someone say coffee?’ smiled David, appearing from the orangery, notebook in hand. ‘I’m sending out for Starbucks. How many in your team?’

‘Five, including Rosie and me,’ Ed replied, shaking David’s hand.

‘Before you go, can you sign this off please?’ I handed him our time schedule, detailing where we would be working through the day. As I did so, my mind flashed back to us working together in Boston prior to our own, ill-fated nuptials. There was always such electricity between us, even when we were engaged in mundane tasks. It was still there; only today, with so much now resolved, it felt good again. I’m finally moving on, I thought, smiling at him. Everything’s going to be OK now.

‘That seems fine. If you need a room cleared for your team, just talk to Jean-Claude, our wedding planner.’

Jean-Claude was a consummate professional: flamboyant and gushingly enthusiastic in front of clients; steel-willed and regimented towards everyone else. Like an omnipotent ringmaster he assumed centre stage wherever he stood, barking orders like a Gallic sergeant-major, whilst his team and countless workers scurried, jumped and ran about with his every command. As we approached, he was in the middle of a scathing attack on three delivery men, who were gawping
helplessly at him, a large pallet of tables half-emptied before them.

‘Non,
leave zese tables zere for now. You! What are you doing wiz
zese,
uh? You are meant to be arranging zem at five fifteen precisely! You have a watch, uh? Zen use it,
imbecile
!’ Turning to see Ed and me, his countenance made a lightning switch to one of zealous benevolence. ‘Ah, Mademoiselle Duncan, how wonderful to see you! Ah trust zat everything is to your satisfaction?’

‘Yes, thank you. We’d like to start with the orangery, if we may?’

Jean-Claude consulted his file—which was bigger and grander than anyone else’s for a reason. ‘Good, good. Ah will make sure you are not disturbed.’ He spun round to address the table guys again. ‘You ’ear zat,
non?
Nobody eez to disturb ze florists!’

Ed and I suppressed our giggles until we were outside.

‘What’s so funny?’ Marnie asked as we reached the van.

‘Oh, you’ll find out,’ Ed replied, lifting the van’s roller doors and swinging himself inside. ‘OK, people, let’s get to work.’

In the years since Mr Kowalski left us, I often wonder what he would make of the larger jobs Kowalski’s now handles. His philosophy was always that smaller was invariably better; the mainstay of Kowalski’s business being made-to-order bouquets and arrangements. When I first met him, he had just taken on the shop’s first large-scale commission—and it scared him half to death.

‘When you are running this store,
ukochana,
you may have more courage to venture into this kind of thing. For me, this is too heavy on my nerves. I am old already, but this task has formed more lines on my face than all my sixty years put together.’

As for the Lithgow wedding, I think it may well have given Mr K heart failure. Even with all my team working flat out, we reached 5 p.m. with the footpath garlands still to assemble. Working in the wide entrance hall, I could see Marnie and the grads—balanced at precarious angles on chairs and ladders—surreptitiously checking their watches when they thought nobody was looking. I took Ed to one side.

‘We’re not going to finish before seven at this rate. These guys need to get back.’

Ed rubbed his forehead and sighed. ‘I agree. Why don’t we see if the great Jean-Claude can spare a few bodies to help us fit the footpath flowers?’

‘Good idea.’ As he disappeared to seek an audience with the man himself, I called Marnie, Jocelyn and Jack over. ‘Right. As soon as these staircase features are set, you can head back.’

‘But what about the garlands?’ Jocelyn asked.

‘We’ll sort those. It’s only a short walk to our hotel, so Ed and I won’t be chasing the clock. Good work, everyone.’

I watched my team make their final adjustments, say their goodbyes and leave. Their commitment and work ethic filled me with an immense sense of pleasure—and it showed in the completed project. While Ed organised our impromptu ‘garland squad’, I took the opportunity to walk slowly through the house, checking the placing of each arrangement, meticulous in my attention to detail. It’s something I make an effort to do for each project Kowalski’s undertakes.

I was just inspecting the arch over the orangery doorway when I felt someone step behind me.

‘You’ve surpassed yourself,’ David breathed, his voice deep and close to my ear. ‘Everything looks amazing.’

I turned my head and met his graphite gaze. ‘Thank you,’
I replied, feeling incredibly vulnerable all of a sudden. ‘My team has worked so hard.’

‘But it’s your design, your direction.’

‘Mine and Ed’s.’

‘But
you’re
the boss, Rosie.’

‘We both are—in most things, anyway.’ I looked back at the arch and replaced one of the peonies whose petals were showing signs of age. ‘But I agree, the design’s worked well.’

‘Do you have time for a drink? Before you leave?’

‘I’m not sure. Ed and I have work to do tonight.’

David held his hands out in an honest plea. ‘Come on—one drink? Surely that won’t take long?’

‘We’re done here,’ Ed reported, arriving at my side. ‘Ready to go?’

‘I—I still have some checks to make,’ I answered, making a split-second decision as David smiled. ‘You go; I’ll be done in about half an hour.’

He looked at David, then back at me, concern barely concealed by his expression. ‘You sure? You should get some rest before the work starts again.’

‘I’ll get some, I promise. You know me. I just want to do my final checks.’

Ed shot a look at David. ‘Ever the perfectionist. Can you make sure she actually leaves here within the hour?’

David grinned. ‘I’ll guarantee it.’

‘Only when she puts her mind to something, she can lose track of time,’ Ed continued, seemingly reluctant to leave. I noticed David’s left foot tapping gently, a sign of irritation I remembered from our days in the London agency.

‘Stop worrying, mate. I won’t be long.’

Glancing at David once more, Ed nodded at me and walked out.

I followed David through a maze of doors to a large library at the rear of the house. He opened an aged wooden globe drinks cabinet filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes. Working quickly, he poured two drinks and handed one to me.

‘Southern Comfort with a splash of water,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Just the way you like it, right?’

Butterflies had begun to dance inside me. I couldn’t believe he would have remembered something like that after seven years.

‘Let’s head to the orangery,’ he smiled. ‘Then we can talk as you check.’

The setting for tomorrow’s ceremony was undeniably breathtaking. With all the displays, gold chairs and castiron wedding gazebo now in place, it was a perfect, if thoroughly ostentatious, venue for an ultra-romantic wedding. I moved around continuing my inspection, constantly aware of him watching me. The scrutiny was so disconcerting that I felt the need to make polite conversation as I worked.

‘So has Rachel seen all this yet?’

‘No. She wants it to be a surprise tomorrow.’

‘And your parents? Have they been banished from their own home?’

‘Staying with friends.’

This was hard work. I tried a different approach. ‘So how are you feeling?’

He didn’t answer, his eyes still burning into my back.

‘Nervous? Confident? Blasé?’

I felt him move closer. ‘I’m just thinking.’

‘Thinking what?’

He was at my side, his face serious when I looked at him. ‘I
was walking around here today, with all that activity, all that endeavour on my behalf—and it made me think what I missed before…’

His words cut through my softened defences. ‘David…’

He reached his hand to lightly rest on my arm. ‘I don’t mean what you think. I mean, there was so much about our wedding that I missed because I was too wrapped up in the logistics of it to enjoy the emotional stuff. I’m sorry.’

I relaxed a little. ‘No, I’m sorry. I spent so long casting you as the ultimate villain that it’s difficult to break the habit now.’

‘No need to apologise, Rosie. I more than gave you enough reason to think ill of me. So where next?’

‘Over there and then I’m done.’

We walked over to the gazebo and I began fiddling with the strands of fairy lights woven in and out of the exquisite iron-work.

‘This looks wonderful. My father found it after a mammoth search. Would you believe there’s a company in Maine that supplies gazebos for weddings all over the world?’

I laughed. ‘Actually, I would. There are more businesses founded on the crazy whims of brides than you realise.’

‘And most of them are being employed here,’ David admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Hmm, I noticed,’ I grinned, feeling the spark reignite between us. ‘I mean,
peacocks?’

‘Jean-Claude’s idea.’ His eyes were alive with mischief as he adopted a French accent in a perfect mimic of his charismatic wedding planner. ‘“You
must
’ave peacocks, Monsieur Leethgow! Ze peacocks weel be somesing
nobody
could expect. Ah would not be doing my job if you did not ’ave ze peacocks!” And Rachel was all, “Darling, the peacocks
are a definite!” So four hundred dollars later, we ’ave ze peacocks.’

‘You always were a brilliant impressionist.’

‘Yeah, but my disappearing act sucked.’

‘Yes, it did.’ It occurred to me as I answered him that only a few months ago his joke would have crushed me. It felt good to be able to laugh about it.

He looked at me for a while, a strange smile on his face. ‘We’re really OK, aren’t we?’

‘I think we are.’

‘Can I say something?’

‘Sure, go ahead.’

He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on me. ‘Meeting you again—after all this time—it’s been a revelation. I always knew you were special but now—well—you’re different…Stronger, I guess. And I was a stupid fool not to see it.’ He reached out and I found myself taking his hand as my heartbeat thundered in my ears. ‘I’m so incredibly sorry for breaking your heart. I let you down and I can never undo my stupidity.’

Squeezing his hand, I shook my head. ‘David, enough. It’s done and in the past. Let’s keep it there and move on. I forgive you. And I’m sorry for hating you. I was hurt, but letting the memory hurt me over and over again was wrong.’

‘You shouldn’t apologise.’

‘I think I want to.’

‘You’re amazing. Hell, Rosie…’

His hands were stroking my face as we stood under the wedding gazebo, his body moving closer, his breath hot and immediate as his kiss fell urgently on my lips. And the worst thing was I
let him
kiss me. For the briefest of moments, I gave in to a desire long-suppressed and hidden deep within the
shadows of my past, as memories of our life together flooded my mind and my senses.