If the Dress Fits (2 page)

What if something happened to the dress en route? What if it didn’t arrive? What if the courier had an accident, or stopped for a beer and overindulged, or had to deliver twins in a roadside café?

She pushed her neurotic vacillations into the crevices of her exhausted mind. Jules Gallieri, the milliner who owned the hat shop round the corner from Callie-Louise Bridal and who created exquisite wedding fascinators and tiaras for her clients, labelled her work ethic as obsessive. It was true. She’d even succumbed to regular nightmares involving Bondesque espionage by her fellow competitors. Lilac’s team would not be announcing the winning designer to the general public until her wedding day – if Callie heard nothing, it meant the Callie-Louise design hadn’t been selected. And who could blame Lilac for that? The media would have been camped outside the chosen studio for the next four months hoping for a sneak preview they could splash across their pages, and what bride wanted that?

Callie trusted no one, especially in an industry where integrity fought ignorance and ambition on a daily basis. She had sworn the whole team to absolute secrecy. If even a whiff of the design were made public, the Callie-Louise Couture entry would be disqualified. All her hopes and dreams were pinned on winning this competition, which would catapult Callie-Louise Bridal Couture into the upper echelons of bridal fashion design, the pinnacle of her lifelong ambition and the fulfilment of a promise she had made to her parents when she’d used her inheritance to start her business.

‘Take a break, will you, Callie? Flora tells me she found you snoring at your desk!’

Scarlet, as slender as a shop mannequin, lounged against the cutting table. She gazed intently at the deft weaving of the needle as Callie completed the final essential touches whilst she nibbled at the tips of her fingernails, painted the colour her name demanded.

‘You know, I still can’t grasp the reasoning behind Lilac’s crazy scheme. Why splash open your marriage to one of the hunkiest men alive in a nationwide competition to design your wedding gown? I mean, she’s one of the most sought-after actresses of her genre – especially since she won that BAFTA for best supporting actress last year. And Finn, well, what I wouldn’t do to trade places and get my mitts on those buttocks of steel!
And
they could get hitched anywhere in the world; a yacht moored off the Cote d’Azur, a white-powdered beach in Hawaii; I’m even certain that St Paul’s Cathedral would have overlooked the residence requirements. But oh, no, Lilac Verbois wanted to get married in Yorkshire. Nothing wrong with Yorkshire per se and York Minster is the most gorgeous venue for the ceremony. But, well, you know… Yorkshire?’ Scarlet wrinkled her pert, freckled nose as she twisted a glossy lock of her amber hair around her ring finger. ‘Why didn’t she go for The Plaza in New York or a palazzo in Venice? There’s no competition, in my humble opinion.’

‘Hey, quit dissing Yorkshire! You know it’s where I grew up,’ smiled Callie, exaggerating her accent. ‘The Verbois/Marchant wedding is going to be the glitziest, most glamorous wedding no matter where it’s held. And it’s what Lilac wants, Scarlet. Don’t you think a bride
should
be able to choose where she ties the knot?’

Scarlet pulled a face. ‘But why the competition to design her wedding dress? You know, I wouldn’t want the job of that poor wedding planner – what’s her name, Tish? – for all the silk in China. I bet you she’s already planning to shoot herself and the competition hasn’t even been finalised yet. It’s the end of March, the wedding’s on the thirty-first of July; that’s just four months away. I predict a confetti-infused nightmare!’

‘Well, it’s just as well she did, isn’t it, Scarlet?’ smiled Callie, tucking the sharply angled sides of her ebony bob behind her ears. She blew her fringe away from tickling at her eyelashes as she finished the last embellishment, then snipped the thread like a ceremonial ribbon.

‘Why?’

Callie rolled her eyes. Scarlet was her clear-headed second-in-command, but sometimes she seemed to inhabit a galaxy far, far away. ‘Because, Scarlet darling, in case you haven’t noticed, Callie-Louise Bridal Couture has been shortlisted through to the final stages.’

‘Oh, yes. And your design will win, Callie, I know it will. It’s a heavenly creation! I’m so proud of what you’ve done.’

‘What we’ve all done. This has been a real team effort. Even Flora has had an input.’ Callie rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes in an effort to squeeze one last drop of energy from her addled brain.

‘Sure.’ Scarlet’s perfectly outlined Cupid’s bow stretched to reveal her white, even teeth.

It was difficult not to adore Scarlet, with her signature red lips and nail polish chosen to clash violently with her auburn hair. She had, without a murmur of complaint, hand-sewn the tiniest of crystals onto the ivory silk until her fingers bled and she was banished from the studio for fear of jeopardising the pristine fabric. After that, she had assumed the mantle of caring friend, force-feeding Callie a diet of chocolate digestives and toast – the extent of her culinary knowledge – for which Callie had been immensely grateful. Some days it was the only sustenance to pass her lips and had kept the hunger pangs at bay.

Never one to hold back when delicacy was required, Scarlet would regularly burst forth with gems of her own brand of wisdom. ‘You need to get out more’ was a regular refrain delivered to Callie’s ears, and the ubiquitous ‘all work and no play’, before she went on to dispense a dose of friendly criticism of her failure to frequent the capital’s bars and restaurants. She would end with a demand that Callie join her and Flora for a night on the town when Callie could no longer focus her eyes on the wedding dress of the decade.

Callie had watched from her seat in the Grand Circle as Scarlet took her own advice and lurched from one romantic encounter to the next, leaving her heart-broken conquests littering her fragrant slipstream.

‘So, what’s new on the relationship front, Scarlet?’

‘Well, now that I’m about to be freed from the shackles of my workaholic boss, I intend to make up for my enforced dating celibacy by hitting the bars in the West End and sampling a different cocktail in every single one, starting with your personal favourite – a vodka martini. And you will be perched on the stool next to me, Callie. You haven’t had a date in months. In fact, when was the last time you agreed to go out with a guy?’

‘Oh, you know me. I don’t have time to date. I’m just too busy with…’

‘We’re all busy, Callie. But that’s not it. You always seem to come up with a convenient diagnosis of a fatal flaw in every guy you date. You seem to perform the dating equivalent of an archaeological dig in order to unearth any perceived imperfection that you can hone in on as an excuse not to take things further. Remember Marcus? He was gorgeous – a model, for God’s sake! He could make a bin liner look sexy. He was perfect!’

‘And didn’t he know it,’ muttered Callie.

Scarlet ignored her. ‘And Andrew? The paediatrician? The guy who sent you flowers every day for a month?’

‘Too attentive, too studious, and he talked about having kids the whole time!’ Callie averted her eyes from Scarlet’s stony glare.

‘What about Carter? He was an American footballer! What’s not to like? He flew you to New York for the weekend! You stayed at the Waldorf Astoria!’

‘It rained the whole time.’

‘You know, Callie, I wish I’d had half your opportunities to find “the one”. You’ve got to relax, give someone the chance to get to know you. But there’s something else going on here, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling me. What exactly are you searching for?’

Scarlet shook her head slowly, then fixed her eyes on Callie and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘It’s Theo, isn’t it?’

Chapter Two

Callie was too exhausted to disguise her emotions from her friend and she could feel her face colour. The look of sadness that washed across Scarlet’s pretty features sent a spasm of irritation into her chest at being sussed so easily.

‘I knew it. You still love Theo, don’t you? After all this time?’

‘No I don’t…’

‘It’s understandable that you still have feelings for him, Cal. You dated him right through high school and university. Hey, and wasn’t he the first guy you kissed when you were, like, twelve or something? But I thought you said you’d moved on?’

‘I have.’

‘So why is your face the same shade as my nail polish?’

‘It’s not. Anyway, Scarlet…’

‘And isn’t Theo’s band playing at Lilac and Finn’s reception? It was a real coup when Finn announced he’d pulled that one off. The Razorclaws will be on tour in Germany at the end of July so they’ve interrupted their schedule as a special favour to Finn. Wasn’t he at music school in Manchester with Theo?’

‘Yes,’ murmured Callie. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights of Scarlet’s examination technique. She hadn’t mentioned the fact that Theo and his band would be playing at the wedding to her friend for exactly this reason. Nothing got past Scarlet.

‘So you’ll get to see him again.’

‘Only if our design wins the competition and that’s by no means a given.’

Callie watched the cogs turn behind Scarlet’s emerald eyes.

‘So there’s a lot more than I thought resting on Callie-Louise Bridal Couture winning this competition.’

‘Look, Scarlet, you know I have no desire to see Theo again. I had to think long and hard about continuing with the entry when it was announced his band would be a part of the wedding arrangements. But I’ve worked my butt off to make it as a fashion designer and I couldn’t let an old relationship stand in the way of achieving my dream. If we do win, yes, I’ll need to be at the ceremony, but Theo won’t be there and my services won’t be required at the evening reception.’

‘So you’re still avoiding him?’

‘No, I just…’

‘Yes, you are. Which means you are
not
over him.’

‘Scarlet, you know what happened. You know what he did.’

‘Yes, but there are two sides to every argument.’ Scarlet affected an American accent. ‘I’ve heard
your
submission, Counsellor, now let me consider the case for the opposition.’

‘Oh, no…’ Callie buried her head in her hands and massaged her temples with her fingertips. She didn’t want to hear this right now. She didn’t have the strength to fight back.

‘Let’s see, these are the facts, Your Honour. A rep from a record company was attending one of The Razorclaws’ gigs. It was the most important night of Theo’s life and his girlfriend had promised to be there cheering him on from the wings. Said girlfriend was, once again, so engrossed in fulfilling her own dreams that she was late to the party. The Razorclaws got the contract, the champagne flowed, and they had been celebrating for hours before Theo’s neglectful girlfriend arrived to witness a drunken clinch with an anonymous girl groupie whom he said had thrown herself at him. What was Theo to do, Cal?’

Callie swallowed down her agony. Every time his name was mentioned it surprised her that the pain was still so raw and near the surface three years later. After that fateful night, she had escaped back to London and used the money her parents had left her to set up Callie-Louise Bridal Couture. She’d refused every one of Theo’s calls and made her Aunt Hannah, who had brought her up after her parents’ death, and her best friend, Nessa, swear they wouldn’t disclose her new address to Theo.

She had never thought she could experience such a kaleidoscope of emotions. Theo had always been there for her. He knew every detail of her history; they’d shared the same highs and lows, the same friends, the same dreams, or so she’d thought. When she was thirteen, Theo had borrowed his father’s spade and dug up one of his mother’s prize rose bushes. He’d raced round to collect her from her aunt’s house and dragged her to the local churchyard where he proceeded to plant the white rose bush next to the headstone of her parents’ grave. When she was fourteen, Theo had kissed her under the canopy of the old oak tree in the garden behind her Aunt Hannah’s haberdashery shop, Gingerberry Yarns, and then he’d carved her initials into the knobbly trunk. The entwined initials ‘CLH’ had, years later, become the logo for her bridal boutique. She had loved him and it still hurt a great deal that he was no longer in her life.

But he’d never understood her need to sever the rural guy ropes and branch out on her own, to forge a life for herself away from the Dales. She had been so adamant about her desire to leave Allthorpe that she had expected Theo to share her ambition, with the clamorous draw of city music venues proving too tempting to refuse. But refuse he had. He remained at home with his parents and insisted on commuting to his degree course in Manchester, crashing at his friends’ digs when he had to. He had also remained loyal to their childhood friends – four of them made up his band – but whom, apart from Nessa, she’d not seen for years. Tears always gathered on her lashes whenever she recalled the nights they had spent together in Archie’s parents’ garage, jamming and tossing around suggestions of what to call the band. The Razorclaws had been an amalgamation of Theo’s suggestion of The Northern Claws and hers of The Razors.

The three years she’d spent studying at Northumbria University’s prestigious School of Fashion and Textiles had been the best years of her life. She’d loved the people, the nightlife, the restaurants, the theatres, the fashion opportunities, even the football club. She had emerged from her time in Newcastle with a first-class honours degree in Fashion Design and Textiles and won a coveted place at the Royal College of Art to study for her MA in textiles.

Whilst in London she had striven to put her dreams of becoming a fashion designer first and had embraced the freedom of the individual creative design philosophy her MA allowed her to explore. She had served her apprenticeship with Christianna Boulet, the well-respected doyenne of haute couture with a penchant for geometric print fabric edged with neon-woven tweeds. At Christianna’s insistence, she had learnt the more mundane aspects of the fashion business as well as the techniques required to produce a glittering showcase of catwalk-quality garments.