If the Dress Fits (6 page)

She smiled at Theo, intending to continue with enquiries about his band’s success or queries about his family’s well-being, but what she saw reflected in the depths of his eyes flashed an unexpected jolt of desire around her disloyal body. But she was determined that her head would fight this battle and she pressed on with her attempt to prove to Theo that she had moved on.

‘My aunt left me Gingerberry Yarns, you know.’

‘Oh, wow, Cal, I’m so pleased. You loved this shop. I have so many happy memories of hanging out here with Seb and Dominic, you and Nessa. I bet you have loads of plans for it. Perhaps it could do with a lick of paint.’ Theo ran his eyes over the walls where the paint blistered like sunburnt skin.

‘I’m not keeping it.’

Theo’s smile died on his lips. ‘You’re what?’

‘I’m selling up.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

‘No.’

‘Hannah adored this shop. I can’t believe you would do that.’

‘I do have a life of my own, you know. In Pimlico. I run my own bridal boutique now. It’s successful.’ Callie didn’t know why she’d felt the need to add the last sentence.

‘Oh, yes, I heard. You make clothes for rich brides to wear.’

‘I design clothes. No, not just clothes – haute couture.’ She could hear the defensive hint that had crept into her voice, along with the surprise resurrection of her Yorkshire accent. Theo had always known what buttons to press in more ways than one.

‘How can you even think of selling Gingerberry Yarns? It’s part of the fabric of our lives. And it’s more than that. It’s an essential part of this whole community.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Theo. When was the last time you were here?’ she challenged.

Theo held her eyes for what felt like an eternity. ‘Two weeks ago, actually. Three days before Hannah passed away. Unlike you, I still live here. I haven’t run out on my friends, or forgotten what home means. I loved Hannah as much as you did, Cal.’

‘Well, I’ve moved on. My life and my career are in London. I’m leaving tonight.’

‘Tonight? So you’re not even staying on to sort out the shop? What about Delia? And aren’t you even going to catch up with Nessa? The Callie I knew would never pass up the opportunity for a chinwag with her best friend!’

‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I saw Nessa for a weekend of Christmas shopping and partying at the beginning of December and we talk all the time on the phone. But guess what, smartass, I’m not the Callie you knew any more! Something happened to change all that, didn’t it? You betrayed me.’

‘I didn’t betray you, Cal. I loved you.’

‘No, you didn’t. I was just the first girl you kissed and who was crazy enough to stick around. So if you didn’t betray me, what were you doing with that girl? The Tonsil Tango?’

She forced her duplicitous heart to recall the last image she had of Theo; the one that had lingered in her mind over the years like dripping acid in which he had his arms wrapped around the voluptuous curves of a flaxen-haired fan of The Razorclaws. She could still recall the girl’s cat-like eyes gleaming with triumph at her conquest of the lead singer.

Of course, Theo’s explanation for that terrible scene had been relayed to her from numerous sources: Seb, Dominic, her best friend, Nessa. Even his bandmate Archie had sent her a text with a plea to speak to a devastated Theo, explaining that what she had blundered in on had meant nothing; that in fact it was a regular by-product of being a member of a moderately successful band; that inevitably there would be fans, groupies, young girls who went to extraordinary lengths to gain access to their heroes, and from whom there was often no polite escape. But Archie’s protestations and explanations had only served to make her discovery worse and her pain sharpen. The incident and its fallout had solidified her sneaking suspicion that, when she could not be at Theo’s side, there was a line of girls willing to walk into her shoes.

‘I just knew you wouldn’t be able to resist bringing that up. Nothing happened with Lydia. She threw herself at me. What was I supposed to do? Throw her back?’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what you were supposed to do!’

‘But, it didn’t mean anything. It just goes with the territory. You promised to be there to watch us play. For God’s sake, Callie, it was the night we finally made it into the big time and my girlfriend wasn’t even there to share it with me. Oh, no, she had something much more important to do, like sewing sequins on some rich bitch’s dress!’

‘Well, I suppose now you are famous, that would put you in the same category as a rich bas… Where are you going?’

‘I’m leaving. You’ve done it. You should be able to recognise the signs.’

Theo wrenched open the door so hard the bell jangled on its chain and came loose, dangling down into Callie’s face. She slammed the door behind him and reached up to drop the sneck, tossing the bell from her cheek like a recalcitrant fly, only for it to swing straight back and hit her in the nose. She flapped her hand at it again but it returned to give her a sharp and painful blow on the temple.

Her eyes smarted with tears as Theo rolled his eyes at her through the glass and marched off to his battered old Saab.

Chapter Eight

Callie hesitated, staring at the screen of her iPhone before selecting Scarlet’s number. However, she knew her friend and colleague would understand.

‘Are you sure you can manage without me, Scarlet?’

‘I’m not totally useless, you know, Callie. After all, haven’t I had the most fantastic mentor a fledgling fashion designer could wish for these last three years? If you need to stay on in Yorkshire for a couple of weeks to sort out your aunt’s shop, then do it. The decision on Lilac’s wedding gown is out of our hands; there’s nothing more you can do. Anyway, I’ve got Flora, although she’s as much use as a shop-window mannequin, and there’s Lizzie.’

‘You
will
ring me tomorrow as soon as you hear anything, won’t you?’

‘It’s a promise. Pinky swear. Now do what you have to do. Actually, the break will do you good. You’ve just had the most devastating shock, and on top of the hours you’ve been putting in for the last three months it’s enough to drive anyone to the edge of their sanity. And, hey, I’m loving the broad Yorkshire accent, by the way, Callie. How long have you been back up there? You sound like you’ve just stepped off the set of
Emmerdale
!’

Callie smiled. ‘Thanks, Scarlet. You are the best friend ever. I owe you.’

‘Well, I might just extract a promise that you’ll take me along to every one of Lilac Verbois’s fittings as well as the wedding ceremony. That should repay the debt!’

‘Scarlet! We haven’t won yet.’

‘We will.’

***

Tossing back the embroidered cotton sheet and ancient woollen blankets her aunt had favoured, Callie flicked the sides of her ebony bob behind each ear and dragged her sluggish bones to the bathroom to jump-start her senses. She felt as though she had been flayed by a dominatrix’s whip.

Her heart leaden, she was aware that today held her fate in its grasp. But misery had enveloped any trace of excitement at the pending announcement, sorrow extinguishing any hopefulness. Every crevice of the tiny flat above Gingerberry Yarns where she was staying resonated with her aunt’s presence, her laughter, her jovial personality. The whole day stretched into the distance as she waited for her future path to be sealed.

Nerves tingled their insistence at her empty stomach. The only sustenance she had managed to provide it with the previous evening after her decision to stay on in Allthorpe had been a mug of Earl Grey tea; anything more solid and it would have screamed its objection. As she sagged over the kitchen table staring out of the steam-covered window, she wondered when the director of her destiny would grant her asylum from grief.

She ran her eyes over that morning’s newspaper story speculating on the identity of the designer. It listed the bookmakers’ favourite, even though the final choice would not be made public until Lilac Verbois walked down the aisle. The article displayed a selection of photographs from each of the finalists’ previous work. It was an impressive spread. The paper was obviously keen to give its readers their daily fix of the celebrity wedding fiasco that was sweeping the nation.

Everyone and their granny was talking about it. Astute in their understanding that their special day would inevitably be a media circus whether they liked it or not, Lilac and Finn had decided to embrace this fact by inviting the public’s engagement rather than railing against the offensive intrusion of their privacy. They had made themselves available for interviews, photo shoots and had even run a competition for fifty of Finn’s lucky fans to win tickets to his concert in Paris a month after the wedding.

On that crisp, clear morning, Callie did spare a thought for the other designers and their supporting teams. Today someone’s life would change for ever, if not that of their whole entourage. Of course she hoped it would be her team, but she empathised with the fact that, whoever won, it would mean others who had slogged their hearts out just as she had would be left reeling.

By four o’clock she could bear it no longer. She grabbed her iPhone and, with her hand trembling, called Scarlet.

‘Any news?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh, God, that means we haven’t won.’

‘There’s still another couple of hours…’

Callie’s stomach felt like it had contracted around a pineapple. Tears, always so ready to breach the surface, pressed up from the back of her throat to her eyelids, but she managed to gulp them down.

‘We worked so hard, Scarlet – all of us: you, Flora, Lizzie. But you know what? I can honestly say that was the best wedding gown design of my career so far. I couldn’t have produced anything better. So if we didn’t win, so be it. It’s back to the drawing board and I intend to work even harder to reach the pinnacle of bridal couture.’ She cursed the audible wobble that had crept into her voice. ‘I’m watching the TV as we speak and they’ve just shown Lilac’s PA, Nikki Coates, and her wedding planner, Tish Marshall, climbing into a limousine outside her house in Kensington. Don’t you think they would have called the winner before they left?’

‘Maybe you’re right, Callie. Oh, God, I’m devastated. I really thought we were going to win.’

***

‘Nikki, you’re going to have to break it to Lilac that she needs to choose another dress.’

‘No way – that’s your job. You’re the wedding planner, Tish.’

‘But you’ve been her PA for years. She’s going to take the bad news better from you.’

‘Are you absolutely sure there was no documentation with the gown she selected? Nothing at all?’

‘Certain.’

‘What kind of high-end bridal designer goes to the trouble of painstakingly creating such an exquisite sculpture of silk and pearls only to submit their masterpiece without their contact details?’

‘And what kind of actress just has to pick their dream dress from one of the gowns their wedding planner can’t supply?’

‘What do you mean “one of the gowns”? There was more than one?’

‘Two of the twenty that were submitted had no paperwork and the documents of one were illegible.’

Nikki watched from her desk as Tish, kneeling at the coffee table, shoved the scattered papers into a box file and cringed at the girl’s lack of orderliness. Whilst her haphazard attention to detail was unlikely to have been the cause of their current predicament, she still despaired of the wedding arrangements being perfect. Tish’s chaotic approach to life also extended to her appearance, yet Nikki had to admit she suited the tousled, just-got-out-of-bed blonde curls and not-quite-perfectly-applied blue eyeliner.

‘What about asking Lilac to go with her second choice?’

‘You were there, Nikki. You saw how she reacted to that dress. And you have to admit, it was stunning – totally made for her. I know she’s already a celebrity but she looked like a fairy-tale princess in that gown, didn’t she?’ Tish’s eyes, the colour of liquid sapphires, glazed over as she tumbled into her own fantasy world.

‘Tish, quit the Cinderella fantasy. We have to sort this fiasco out ourselves. We can’t burden Lilac with the problem. She’s got enough to worry about.’

‘So what are we going to do? I’m slammed as it is. I’ve not eaten since yesterday lunchtime. I’ve got the bridesmaids’ bouquets to finalise, the wedding cake topper to chase – you know the confectioner is crazy, don’t you? There’s the champagne still to source and I have a meeting with the printer tomorrow to finalise the wording on the invitations and orders of service. The invitations need to be sent out by the end of the week at the latest, although the whole world knows when the wedding is going to be.

‘The only thing that seems to be on schedule at the moment is the music. The organist at York Minster is sorted and he’s rehearsed the pieces Lilac and Finn have selected for the ceremony. And the band is booked and the lead singer has even written a song especially for the happy couple that he’s agreed to debut at the evening reception. Oh, Nikki, I’m so excited we’re getting to meet The Razorclaws. That lead singer, Theo Drake – what a dreamboat. I hear he’s unattached. Do you think he has come-to-bed eyes? My sister thinks he has.’

‘Good grief, Tish will you calm down with the hearts-and-flowers fixation. You’ll have to squeeze some time from somewhere and it’ll have to be straight away. We promised to inform the designer they’ve won the competition as soon as possible. Everyone who submitted will be thinking their design hasn’t been selected and they’ll start accepting new commissions. There’ll have to be a couple of fittings at least and Lilac is a busy girl. She’s on location in Croatia for three weeks before the wedding which, can I remind you, is just three and a half months away.’

Nikki was used to lurching from one crisis to the next. In fact, she thrived on the daily adrenalin rush. It made her feel worthy of her position as Lilac’s right-hand woman – her Girl Friday. She almost hated it when things went smoothly. But this wedding had proved to be the ultimate headache. Tish was so involved in the romance of it all that, on occasion, she had to restrain herself from throttling her.