The Secret Diary of a Wedding Planner

 

Who Needs Hearts and Flowers?

 

Cindy tottered back from her first meeting with Elizabeth Vane and said, ‘I don’t think I can do this.’  Then she shut herself up in her rose-scented sitting room with a bucket of black coffee and didn’t come out for the rest of the morning. 

This is not normal.  Cindy loves her work.  She’s the Bob the Builder of Planet Wedding Planner.  She has sourced thrones, druids, violets in December and a parachute patterned with bridal lace.  (Don’t ask.)  She once built a full scale Elfin Grotto for a couple who had met at a Fantasy Convention.  Cindy believes we can do anything and mostly she’s right. 

So I knew there were big problems when she eventually emerged into the reception area of Your Dreams Come True and said palely, ‘I give up.  Maybe you can do something for them, Natalya. ‘

I was dubious.  Cindy is the front woman in our firm.  She has the Vision and clinches the deals.  I do the trouble shooting.  If Cindy couldn’t get her head round the wedding, with all her infectious enthusiasm, there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance that I would.  I opened my mouth to say so, I really did.  But Cindy looked so sad and defeated that I hadn’t the heart. 

‘S’pose it’s worth a shot,’  I muttered.  ‘I’ll call her office for an appointment.’

Cindy shot upright.  ‘No.  You call her private line and you only speak to Elizabeth Vane herself.  She insists or the deal’s off.  And we’re not to tell anyone that she’s talking to us.’

It wouldn’t be the first confidentiality agreement we’d signed.  I shrugged and said okay, called the woman’s private line and sort of forgot about it.  Big mistake. 

Connecting with Elizabeth Vane was like meeting a spy under surveillance by seriously efficient secret police.  She turned up wearing dark glasses and a hoodie, with the hood up.  Then she stuffed me into a scratched and battered Toyota and drove me to a secret location.  It was a cottage down a lane so overgrown that you wouldn’t have known it was there unless you were looking for it.   I saw where the Toyota had picked up its scratches.

She took a Marks and Sparks carrier bag out of the back and then turned the key in several locks.

‘Now,’ she said briskly, leading the way into a room of such chilly anonymity I shivered.  ‘Lunch, while I tell you what I want.’ 

What I want.  No mention of the bridegroom.  We wedding planners notice things like that.  I began to see what had set Cindy off on her caffeine jag.  

We’d worked for confident brides and neurotic brides, dreamy, spiritual brides and brides who could give Labradors a course in bouncing.  Some knew what they wanted.  Some hadn’t a clue.  Most were in the middle.  We had handled them all.  But a millionaire paranoid control freak bride was a new one.

It wasn’t all that surprising, I suppose.  Elizabeth Vane was one of those sharp business women who make their fortune by being in control at all times.  According to the research we’d done before Cindy went to visit her, Elizabeth made her first million before she was twenty-one.  Her father was Ferdinand Vane, the software billionaire.  So she was presumably used to people doing what they were told.  I was no exception.

I went into the cottage with her and sat at the kitchen table while she got rid of the hooded jacket and set out salad and cold meats, talking crisply and to the point.  I had the feeling that she multi-tasked in her sleep.  I started to have a sneaking fellow feeling for her.

She paused from stripping cling film off a tray of antipasti and reached up to flick a wooden salad bowl off a shelf.  In spite of the fact that this place looked as anonymous as a holiday cottage, I was beginning to suspect that it was her own.  ‘ The other one.  Candy, is it?’

‘Cindy.’

‘Oh yes.  Cindy.’  She tipped salad leaves into the bowl and reached for a chopping board, again on auto pilot.  Yes, this house was definitely belonged to her.  ‘Cindy seemed to think it couldn’t be done.’

‘Really?’  This was news to me.  Like I say, Cindy thinks we can do anything.  ‘Er – what did you ask her for exactly?’

Elizabeth Vane looked up from chopping avocado and gave me a startlingly sweet smile.  ‘I want a wedding but I want a built in exit strategy too.  Do you think you can handle that?’

I goggled.  ‘An exit strategy?’

She waved the knife.  ‘You know, like those sequential logic games.  At each stage they ask you: go on, or exit?’

‘You want us to ask if you want to go ahead with your own wedding?’

She beamed.  ‘Exactly.’

Oh boy. 

‘At every stage?’

‘Yes.’

Normally I never comment on a client’s requirements, however barmy.  But this time I forgot, in sheer astonishment.  ‘Well that’s a new one.’

Elizabeth Vane didn’t seem to mind.

‘It probably sounds weird.  But someone told me that Your Dreams Come True are good at weird.  Was she wrong?’

I was about to deny it hotly.  Then I thought about the Elfin Grotto.  ‘No, we’re definitely good at weird,’  I said with feeling.

She gave me another of those blinding smiles.  ‘Well, that’s a relief.  I thought your Cindy was going to faint, when I told her.’

‘Her instincts are pretty traditional.’

‘And you’re not?  Good.  Because I need someone with no hang ups about hearts and flowers.  Who needs ‘em?’ 

Elizabeth set the table and put the serving plates on the pine table, along with a baguette.  It did not look like a millionaire’s lunch.  She waved at me to help myself.

‘Okay.  Cards on the table.  I want two things.’

Only two?  That was another first.  This time I managed not to blurt it out, though.  I nodded and tried hard to look intelligent and adaptable.

‘It has to be a secret wedding.  No one to know in advance.  Not a soul.  Just you and me.’

I goggled some more.  ‘The bridegroom?  I said faintly.

She looked a bit non plussed.  ‘Tim?  Oh well yes, obviously.  But he doesn’t  – ‘

For a horrible moment I thought she was going to say ‘count’ and held my breath.

‘ – care,’  she finished.  ‘As far as he’s concerned the wedding is my department.’

‘O – kay,’  I said slowly.  ‘I guess a lot of guys would prefer that, if they could get away with it.’

‘Well at our age, we’re not doing the full Disney number.’

She talked as if she were a hundred but in fact Elizabeth Vane was early to mid thirties, at a guess.  Her hoodie and sweat pants did nothing for her but her lack of make-up revealed a beautiful creamy skin.  She had the most gorgeous red hair, too, all smooth and gleaming.  It was badly cut in a pudding basin style that did nothing for her rather long face but the potential was there.  She’d obviously never been pretty but she had elegant cheekbones and a long graceful neck.  With a decent hairdresser and some style advice she could be stunning.  Well, as stunning as a bride needed to be.

But a fairytale wedding dress wasn’t on her wish list.  Nor was stunning.  In fact, it turned out to be the shortest wish list I’d ever had from a bride.

‘So that’s it.  One:  complete secrecy, including from the guests.’  She cocked an eyebrow.  ‘Not fainting yet?’

I shook my head.  ‘We’ve done secrecy before.  Not complete, but I’m sure I can hack it.  How many guests?’

She looked confused again.  For an efficient woman, she seemed to have left an awful lot out of her calculations.  ‘Oh, maybe a dozen.’

‘A dozen?’  Hell’s teeth.   I swallowed my astonishment and said neutrally.  ‘The smaller the guest list, the easier it will be to keep the details secret.  We can invite them to something else and then only tell them it’s your wedding at the last moment.’

She pondered.  ‘That could work.’

‘It will.  It takes a lot of management but we’ve done it before. ‘

‘Okay.  Two: the exit strategy.’

‘That’s where I fall off the cliff,’  I said honestly.  ‘Could you explain a bit more?’

She hesitated.  ‘Look, I’m a venture capitalist.  When you invest in something, you want the company to end up going public and make everyone rich.  But lots of things can happen along the way, that upset the big strategy.  So you have a Plan B, C and D to deal with them.  Some of those plans would just put you back on track.  Some simply get you out of there.  Do you see?’

‘Yes, I see how that works in business but – ‘

She clicked her tongue impatiently.  ‘I just want Plans B, C and D in case things don’t work out.  Is that so much to get your head round?’

Ways of getting out of her wedding?  That didn’t sound good. 

‘Without huge cost,’ she added.

Ah.  Maybe the venture capitalism business wasn’t going too well for her these days.  I said as gently as I could,  ‘I’m sorry, but that really wouldn’t work.’ 

She frowned.

‘You see, at Your Dreams Come True, our suppliers are small businesses like ourselves.  We can’t honourably make bookings knowing that that you might pull out of them.  Those guys have expenses, invest their time, turn away other clients  . . .  they just couldn’t afford to bear the loss.  And we can’t afford to lose their good will.  Sorry.’

Her frown cleared.  ‘Oh, there’s no problem about paying them.  I didn’t make myself clear.  In my business, I want to get out without losing money.  As far as the wedding thing goes, I want to get out without anyone getting hurt.’

She heard what she’d said and pulled a face.  ‘I mean, theoretically.  If –’

‘If the big strategy goes wrong?’

‘Yes.’

I’m no marriage counsellor.  God knows, with my track record I have no right to tell anyone else how to run their relationships.  But this was a no-brainer.

‘If you’re that uncertain, maybe you shouldn’t be getting married at all.  Or not yet, anyway.’

Elizabeth Vane looked alarmed.  ‘Oh no.  No.  I want to be married.  I just want – call it insurance when it comes to the wedding.  Like taking an umbrella when you go out, to make sure it doesn’t rain.  It’s just to keep the disaster potential under control.’

There it was again.  Control.  She really couldn’t get by without it.

I suppose I must still have looked dubious because she burst out,  ‘I don’t want people weeping all over me if it doesn’t happen.  My mother -   I just can’t bear it.  All right?’

She got me right there.  I knew about bereft mothers and people weeping all over you and it was far, far worse than being left standing at the altar. 

‘All right,’  I said gruffly.  ‘I’ll do what I can.’

She gave a huge sigh of relief.  ‘Thank you.’

After that she cleared up our meal (and brought the rubbish back to London with us) and we left the cottage looking as clean anonymous as when we arrived.  

 

Like any good businesswoman, she wanted to see an outline proposal before she signed the contract.  It wasn’t easy but I ended up doing it like one of those old revision books we used to have at school for foreign languages, with the English on one page and the Spanish, or whatever, on the opposite one.  The right hand page was entitled If you go ahead . . . The left hand was And if you don’t . . .  Elizabeth laughed like a drain when she saw it.  But she agreed that it was exactly what she wanted.  She signed the contract.

That was when she let me meet the bridegroom. 

I half expected another financial hotshot, like herself, or at least a city whizz kid.  Probably a super sophisticate who she felt was out of her league.    Certainly a heartthrob.  I was wrong on all counts.  He was an army officer, rather quiet and self-contained, and beautifully courteous.  In fact, his manners were so good, I wondered how you would ever get to know what he really felt. 

It didn’t seem to bother Elizabeth.  They were very, very polite to each other.  Ceremonious, even.  Only it was almost as if they were strangers.  Colonel Tim clearly admired her enormously.  And she did remember to consult him – just.   But it didn’t feel like a marriage in the making.  A first date, maybe.  Still, the good thing was they both wanted it to work.  You could see that.  But they might as well have been on different planets for all the intimacy between them.

I wondered whether she’d shown him our ‘If you do … If you don’t’ wedding plan.  I doubted it somehow.

 

Actually, Tim was the first one to give me anything like a normal request.  He wanted them to marry in a church.

Elizabeth was surprised.  ‘Really?  Why?  You don’t go to church.’

‘I do for the big stuff.’

I thought that was encouraging.  At least, I did until I saw Elizabeth’s face.  The colour shot up under her pale redhead’s skin and she looked away, as if she couldn’t meet his eyes.  She didn’t look like a woman who had just been told she was important.  She looked as if she were going to cry.  

‘Okay,’ she said after a moment.  ‘If that’s what you want.’

Tim looked at her thoughtfully.  ‘I do.’

There was one of those uncomfortable silences which leave wedding planners thinking: why the hell didn’t they sort this out before calling me in?  But they hadn’t, and I was a problem solver, wasn’t I?

I said,  ‘Have you got a church in mind?’

Elizabeth was still not looking at either of us.  She shook her head.

But Tim had.  It was in Sussex near his grandparents’ home, in a village where he had spent a lot of his childhood.  I’d been assuming a London wedding.  This added a whole new dimension of problems – like spiriting the guests out there on the day, without any of them getting suspicious.  But either the problems didn’t occur to Elizabeth, or she assumed that I would solve them, because she didn’t argue.   And, of course, she was right.  Enough money will solve most practical problems.  It wasn’t going to solve her not being able to look at Tim.

I bit back a sigh and got out my net book.

‘Name of church?’

He wasn’t sure.  And of course he didn’t know anything useful like the name of vicar or his contact details.  But I could find that out.  There was one other thing, however, that the vicar was going to ask me and I needed to know the answer.

‘Okay.  I’ll find it.  Now, have either of you been married before?’

Elizabeth gave a gasp.  She looked genuinely shocked.

Tim said calmly, ‘This is about divorced people getting remarried in church, right?’

I nodded.

‘You don’t need to worry.  Elizabeth is single and I’m a widower.’

A widower.  That was a shock.  He looked younger than Elizabeth, to be honest.  He was fit and tanned, with a sort of slow burning sexiness that took you a while to register.  Maybe he was a bit of a heartthrob after all.   

I mumbled, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

He smiled kindly.  ‘It was a long time ago.  But thank you.’

I told Cindy about the new development that evening.  It only reinforced her prejudices.

 ‘It’s doomed.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.  They both seem to be working hard at it.’

‘The woman doesn’t think about anything but business.  God knows why she wants to get married.  Has she told you how they met?’

‘No.’

‘He probably tried to borrow money off her.’ 

‘Well, she’s a venture capitalist.  It goes with the territory.’

‘Maybe she said she’d only lend it to him if he married her.’  She looked sort of appalled and fascinated at the same time.

 I choked.  ‘You’ve got to give up reading those bodice rippers, Cindy. People don’t buy husbands in the real world.’

But Cindy was undeterred. ‘I bet Elizabeth Vane does.   She’s the type who thinks that as long as she’s paying, she’s got the right to tell people what to do.  And she’s the one paying our bill.’

I shrugged.  ‘She’s the millionaire.  It stands to reason.’

‘And is she asking his opinion on one damn thing?  Hasn’t she got you reporting direct to her?  Are you even copying stuff to him?’

I shuffled a bit.   If you do … If you don’t …  

‘There,’ said Cindy.  ‘You like her and even you can’t deny it.’ She sounded sad.  ‘God help the poor bridegroom.’

 

But as the day of the wedding drew closer, it was Elizabeth I worried about.  Tim seemed to be holding together just fine.  He was working in London, on a last assignment before he left the army.  And at least one of Cindy’s suspicions turned out to be right:  he and a friend were setting up in business together and he first met Elizabeth when they approached her company for start up capital. 

‘She’s a wonderful business woman,’  he said.  ‘Asked questions that William and I wouldn’t have thought of.  Working with her has been a real master class.’

William was going to be his best man.  He did actually tell William about the wedding.  It was the first time I saw Elizabeth lose her rag.

We were in Tim’s London flat, this time.  It was as tidy as Elizabeth’s country cottage but in a quite different way, as if he liked having order but he liked his things as well.  You had the feeling that Tim knew where every one of books and CDs was on those neat shelves.  The furniture was old and a bit shabby but incredibly comfortable.

Elizabeth couldn’t settle among the battered cushions.  She kept jumping up to look out of the window or get something out of her briefcase, or just plain prowl.  She was prowling when the row started.  She swung round on him.

 ‘We said we wouldn’t tell anybody.’  Her voice shook with fury.  ‘You promised.’

‘You said we wouldn’t tell anybody.  I just agreed to keep it quiet from the press and the gossips.’

Her eyes narrowed.  ‘So who else have you told?’  When she was really mad, she went quiet.  It was like a snake hissing.  If I’d been Tim, I’d have started apologising fast. 

But they make them tough in the British Army.  He said firmly,  ‘Not telling William would be the same as lying.  I can’t lie to a friend, especially when we’re going into business together.  It’s a question of trust.’

Her eyes narrowed just a bit more, like a cobra about to spit.  It is cobras that spit, isn’t it? 

‘But breaking your promise to me is okay?’

‘I promised I wouldn’t let your mother and sister find out.  And they won’t from William.  He’s good at keeping secrets.  I trust him.’

‘But I don’t,’  she spat. ‘And it’s my secret.’

Whoops.  That was my cue to tiptoe away before she said something unforgiveable.  Although, ‘my secret’, probably was unforgiveable, when you come to think about it.  I started to gather up my things.

‘Don’t move!’  spat Elizabeth, not looking at me.

I subsided.

Tim leaned back in the saggy old sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him.  He even put his hands behind his head. But he didn’t say anything.  It was pure provocation. 

I wondered whether he’d had enough of Elizabeth’s control freakery at last.  If so it was a shame.  I liked him.  I liked them both.

She shouted,  ‘Don’t just sit there.  Say something.’

He grinned. ‘Had a bad day, dear?’

She stared at him as if she could not believe it.  Then, without a word, she grabbed up her briefcase, turned on her heel and walked out.  We heard the slam of the front door behind her.

Colonel Tim was undisturbed.  ‘She’ll be back,’  he said.  ‘Now what about a drink?’  Elizabeth had declined for both of us.  ‘Then we can get on with the rest of your list.’

That bang of his front door had sounded final to me.  But he went on serenely planning, as if nothing had happened.  He was good at it, too.  Better than Elizabeth.  Maybe he’d done a lot of decoy work in the Army, because he was really inventive.

‘The women will want to dress up a bit, right?  I’ll say I’m taking everyone to a smart day at the races as an end-of-the-army junket.  Get them together at the Sports Club and hire a coach to take us on from there.’

I couldn’t have thought of anything better myself. 

‘Shall I book it now or – er – wait?’

It would increase the cost and I worried about that, even if Elizabeth said money was no object.  The second page of the wedding plan – the If you don’t side – currently said, ‘Speak Tim.  Pay Your Dreams Come True. Cost: X days consultancy.’  Elizabeth was not making up her mind on everything else.  She hadn’t even got a wedding dress to cancel.  

He smiled affectionately.  ‘Don’t worry about this evening’s spat.  She’ll get over it.  Elizabeth’s very jumpy about getting married but she’s a gent and she keeps her promises.  Go ahead and book it, church, vicar, charabanc, the lot.’

‘Okay.’

But my heart was heavy.  Because Tim didn’t know that, as agreed with Elizabeth, I would actually be booking the boxes at Goodwood for his coach load of guests.  Just in case there was no wedding, in the end, and they ended up at the races after all, courtesy of Elizabeth Vane.

I went back to the office;  made the bookings;  amended the wedding plan.  Cost had quadrupled. 

 

She called the next day, very early.

‘Sorry about yesterday.  Tim says I was rude.’

‘Not to worry.  Brides all get nervous.’

I could actually hear her shiver at that word bride. ‘Not nervous, exactly.  But I admit it got to me last night.’  Her voice brightened.  ‘But Tim says it wasn’t wasted and you’ve got his side of the wedding all under control.’

I gave her a run down, including my estimate of cost increase. 

‘Fine,’ she said without interest.  ‘And – er – good work.  Thank you.  I – er  –  we really are grateful.’  

I could hear Tim in those awkward thanks and smiled to myself.  ‘You’re welcome.’

 

Whether it was Tim’s moderating influence or not, I don’t know, but Elizabeth was a lot more reasonable after that.  We didn’t have any more secret assignations, anyway.  She even agreed to choose a wedding dress and came with me for her first fitting without insisting on a wig and dark glasses.

Tim’s guest list was 32.  Hers was three: her mother, her sister, her best friend.  The sister and the best friend were great – Elizabeth invited them to a girls’ day out at a luxury spa, where I would have someone pick them up and bring them to the church, after getting them to choose a wedding outfit at the very expensive spa shop.  They could even have their hair done.  That was my idea, not Elizabeth’s.  I suppose you guessed that.   

The problem was her mother.  And, oh boy, was I wrong in my vision of a mother desperate for her successful daughter to marry a nice boy and have a family.   Mrs Vane – though she didn’t call herself Mrs or Vane any more – didn’t do spas, girls’ days out or, indeed, shopping.  Amanda Smith, as she now styled herself, was on her third degree in female empowerment and she wasn’t going to take a day off for anything, not even an invitation from her daughter.  Weddings were definitely unmentionable. 

Elizabeth was in despair.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said, pacing the floor in her office.  Yes, she had let me visit her at work by now, to the evident curiosity of her staff.  ‘My mother is like iron.  She makes up her mind and nothing will change her.  Nothing.’

‘I’ll think of something.’

‘Fat chance,’ she muttered.  But she looked comforted. 

I crossed my fingers that I could bring it off.

The trouble was, Amanda was one tough cookie.  She made no bones about it.  I joined one of her classes and found her laying down the law during coffee.

‘We have to teach our daughters to take hold of their lives.  My husband mortgaged the roof over our head.  Left me with a load of debt when he split.  I said to my girls: no debt.  If you want something, save up for it.’

The others smiled tolerantly – they had clearly heard this before – but someone said what about university and student loans.

‘No student loans,’ said Amanda  ‘When my eldest wanted to go to university, I told her: get a job.’

That shocked them.

‘And did she?’  I asked.  I was genuinely curious.

Amanda sniffed.  ‘She was very underhand.  She told me she was going away to work but actually she’d got herself a place at college without telling me.  But she did find a way to fund herself, I’ll give her that.’

I didn’t ask any more.  I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.  But the conversation came back to me when I was driving down to Sussex to see the Vicar with Tim.  (Elizabeth was flying back from a business trip to Brighton airport and would meet us there.)  I wondered if he knew any more about it.  He did.

‘Christ, yes.  The woman’s barking,’ he said with feeling.  ‘Elizabeth worked her way through college.  She started off living in a terrible slum.  Mushrooms growing on the wall.  That was when she realised that there was an untapped buy-to-let student market and started her first company.  She got a loan from the bank and bought a couple of derelict flats.  She and her best friend did them up in the Easter holidays.  Got a team of tradesmen on board and just redecorated throughout at the end of every year.  Good regular work for the guys, no legal hassles with the students.  She got the arithmetic of it down to a fine art in the end.  Not only paid for her own university course, but Mel’s as well.’

‘Impressive.’

‘You think so?  So do I.  Her mother disapproved.  Said Mel should stand on her own two feet, not borrow from her sister.  Like I said, the woman’s mad. ’

And another control freak by the sound of it.  I said so.

He looked thoughtfully down the sunlit motorway.  ‘Elizabeth’s not a control freak, exactly.  She’s had a bad experience or two and she’s cautious.’

‘Well, a lot of people let you down,’ I said with feeling.

He nodded slowly.  ‘Fair enough.  But not everyone.  She has to get used to me doing what I say I will without her having the check up on me all the time.  We’ll get there.’

Good luck, I thought. 

 

But they came out from seeing the Vicar holding hands.  That was a first, since I’d known them.  Maybe it was going to be all right, after all.

The church was gorgeous, old and friendly and full of sunlight and lovingly embroidered kneelers.  There was a newish local Gourmet Restaurant that was willing to do a wedding lunch for 40 or so.

Tim went off to see his grandparents and Elizabeth took me back to London in a chauffeur driven limousine.  Now he had gone she was tense again.

‘Has he told you exactly what he wants?  It’s going to be so different from his real wedding.’

I sat bolt upright.  ‘What?’

She flushed.  ‘His first.  I mean his first wedding.  They had hundreds of guests you know, and regimentals and an arch of swords and a big dance afterwards.’

‘I’ve seen no sign that he wants swords or a dance,’ I assured her.

‘Oh.  Well.  Good.  I do want – ’ She blinked rapidly.  ‘They were childhood sweethearts, you know.  And she died so young.  It just broke him.  He doesn’t talk about it.  We couldn’t ever be the same but I so want to give him a bit of comfort, make his business work, look after him a bit.’

From our brief acquaintance, I didn’t think that Colonel Tim was the sort of man who wanted to be looked after but I didn’t say so.  What was the point?

Later, when we were in the outskirts of London and the chauffeur was concentrating on traffic, she turned towards me and lowered her voice.

‘I want you to do something for me, Natalya.  I want you to say to me, every day, “Are you sure you want to go through with it?”’

‘What?’

She went on, ‘I’ve been saying it to myself, every morning, ever since he asked me to marry him.  But these last few days, I – well, I keep forgetting.’

‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

She gave me a look of black despair.  ‘Everyone thinks that the worst thing was when my father ran off and left us.  But it wasn’t.  It was all the years before.  After every exploit, my mother used to say to Mel and me, “That’s it.  He can’t hurt me any more now.”  But he always did.  She always says that if only she’d had someone to tell her to run away on the wedding day, it need never have happened.  So just say it to me.  “Are you sure?” So I really have to stop and think about it.’

‘All right,’ I said reluctantly.

 

Cindy phoned me up that night.   ‘How’s it going?’

I told her what she needed to know – that our arrangements were all on track and Your Dreams Come True was going to earn shedloads.  Because we were, whatever happened. 

‘I give them a year, tops,’ said Cindy, usually so romantic.

If they get to the altar, I thought. 

 

Elizabeth was getting more and more frantic about her mother, so I turned the problem on its head.  If the woman wouldn’t miss a day of her course, then we had to shift the course.  I went to see the Course Director.

He was one of those academic lunatics who will do anything that is a challenge, especially if it comes with a healthy donation to course funds. 

‘What we need is a day trip,’ he said, hauling a big book of maps off his shelf.  ‘Let’s have a look.  Sussex, Sussex, Sussex .  I know.  Mary Roy, nineteenth century astronomer.  Her papers have just come to light in the library at Gilbert Manor.  I know the librarian.  I’ll organise a day there.  Will  your client foot the bill for the beer and sandwiches?’

She’d probably buy the damn library if she thought it would get Amanda Smith to her wedding.  I peered at the map.  It was seven miles from Tim’s chosen church.  ‘Too right.  Go for it.’

He did.  Most of the course were delighted and Amanda agreed to go along with rest of the class.  It was a step in the right direction.  Mind you, I could still see Amanda refusing to turn up to the church itself, when the time came.  I’m afraid I let my doubts slip to Tim.

‘We can’t have that.  The woman’s a pain but it would upset Elizabeth.  And I’ll have my mother and father and a couple of grandparents there, so it’s only fair.’  He pondered.  ‘I suppose, there’s always kidnap.’

I gave a hollow laugh.  ‘I can source most things.  But there isn’t a kidnapper in my contacts book.’

‘There might be in mine.’

That was alarming.  ‘Let’s keep it legal, right?’

Tim laughed.  ‘I see why you get on with Elizabeth.  Okay, legal it is.’

 

I was up at five on the wedding day.  It was one of those chilly, misty days that sometimes turn golden and sometimes just stay miserable.  I double checked my Emergency Kit and my To Do file.  We were onto the last page now.  With a bit of luck, we’d get through without ever having to activate.  If you don’t . . .  I laid my wedding suit on the back seat of the car, with Elizabeth’s dress in its muslin cover on top of it and went to collect the bride.

It was 6.30 because that was when she had asked to be picked up.  I was fully prepared to find her still in bed but she was waiting for me, in jeans and another of her terrible sweat shirts.  She looked very pale and when she sat beside me in the car, I could feel her trembling.  Just a little but it didn’t stop, all the way to Sussex.

‘It’s going to happen,’ she said.  ‘It’s really going to happen.’  She sounded numb.

 Anyway, the roads were empty at that hour so we got down to the church in record time.  Elizabeth had shown no interest in the decoration of the church and all Tim said was that he didn’t want posies of flowers tied to the end of every pew and the church looped in white ribbon.  So I’d talked to the church flower ladies and a local genius produced a scheme of green leaves and branches.  Now they were at work, filling every niche and planter with ivy and laurel and long graceful swathes of willow – and incidentally making the church smell like spring.  All very hopeful and burgeoning, I thought, but it was Elizabeth’s opinion that counted.  I held my breath.

She stood there looking like an urban tearaway staring at a huge display of greenery on the altar steps.  Slowly, as if it were an animal that might jump away if she frightened it, she put out a hand and touched a sprig of young birch leaves tenderly. 

‘I never thought -  it’s beautiful.’  She turned to the head flower arranger and gave her one of those irresistible blazing smiles.  ‘You’ve brought the woodland in doors.  Gorgeous.’

Phew!  Thank God for that.  It looked as if she had stopped trembling, too.

I took her back to the pub where I’d booked us both rooms.  Since she had no bridesmaid, it was going to be down to me to get her into the dress and up the aisle on time.  So I left her with a light breakfast and the papers while I did a quick round of the collection points.

I gave all my helpers dedicated mobile phones and told them to turn off their own until the wedding was over.  I hoped that I could send them off to the races when they’d delivered their guests to the church, but I didn’t tell them that yet.  Tim’s party might still end up having their lunch at Goodwood.  I’m not superstitious and Elizabeth seemed to like the church but I’m a realist.  That file of mine had an exit plan right up to the moment she went through the church door.  She could still do a runner.

But everything seemed to be going all right.  Elizabeth went off to have a scented bath and get dressed in good time for her noon wedding.  The spa girls were ecstatic.  One of Tim’s guests picked up a puncture on the way to the meeting point but he pushed it as far as a lay-by and the coach did a detour to pick him up.  I would get the keys off him and have the tyre replaced and the car brought to the wedding reception.  In fact, it was while I was meeting the coach that it all blew up.

Elizabeth had been fine up to then.  She looked lovely in a simple cream dress.  She had let her hair grow, under pressure from our favourite stylist, and the hairdresser looped it up softly with a pearl and filigree necklace shed inherited from a godmother.  The unstructured look made her seem younger and like a bride, at last.  She seemed happy. 

Of course, I should have taken her mobile phone off her but – well, I didn’t think.  I was in my wedding suit by then and running, as I usually did.  I belted up to the church, met the incoming coach, lifted the car keys registration number off Tim’s friend and belted back, when my mobile went.

‘Yes?’

It was the academic.  Amanda Smith had had a major fight with the woman I had sent to pick her up from the Manor.  When last seen Amanda was heading off in a taxi, announcing that she would stop this wedding if it was the last thing she did.

I broke into a run.  

There were a couple of people in the bar and the landlord called out to me, but I ignored them all and pelted upstairs to Elizabeth’s room.  She’d backed up against the wall, as if she were facing a firing squad.  Amanda Smith was ranting at her.  Elizabeth had lost all colour. 

‘You’re stupid, stupid.  You’re ruining your life.  How many times have I told you?  I knew that the marriage was wrong on my wedding day, but all the presents and guests and people in their best frocks, meant I couldn’t get away.  And now look at you – ‘  She gestured at Elizabeth’s graceful gown as if it were a prison uniform.  ‘You’ve built your own trap.’

Elizabeth looked sick.  But she said very clearly, ‘You and I are different, Mother.’  

‘Yes we are,’ said Amanda grimly.  ‘After all you’ve achieved, you’re still falling over yourself to buy into male domination . . .’

‘Tim isn’t like that.’

‘All men are like that.’

I could see that Elizabeth’s hands were shaking again. 

‘No they’re not.  And if you can’t see that, I’m sorry for you.’

‘Oh God, you’re going to be so wretched.  He only cares about your money.  Why won’t you listen to me?’

She closed a claw-like hand round Elizabeth’s wrist and tried to drag her towards the door.  Elizabeth stumbled and then, quite fiercely, pushed her mother away. 

Amanda started at her for a moment in total astonishment.  And then she started to cry.  It was a loud, ugly sound.  Amanda just stood in the middle of the room and let it all out, not trying to hide her face or mop away her tears, just gulping and yelling like an hysterical toddler.  Elizabeth flinched but she went and put her arms round her mother’s shoulders.  Suddenly I could see the long complicated years of being the daughter of this angry woman and trying to protect her.  This wasn’t about feminism.  This was about never getting over your broken heart.

They both sat on the bed, with Elizabeth’s arm still round Amanda’s shoulders.  She looked wildly round for a handkerchief but I’d already fished a tissue out of the Emergency Kit and I kept them coming.

‘Look,’ she said gently, when Amanda’s wails abated a bit.  ‘I did listen to you.  Honestly, I did.  Didn’t I, Natalya?’

‘Oh you did.’

‘And I haven’t gone into it blindly.  Or trapped myself.  Or anything else that you’re afraid of.  I want to marry Tim.  It’s as simple as that.’

Well, it wasn’t of course.  But somehow the confrontation with her  mother seemed to have put an end to Elizabeth’s own doubts.  She tried to calm Amanda down, and when that didn’t work, she went into the en suite bathroom and came back with the box of tissues.  She dumped it on the end of the bed beside Amanda.

‘Sorry Mother, I haven’t got time for this.  You can come to the church or not, as you like.  But I have a man who needs marrying.’

She stomped off downstairs to the waiting limo, while I tried to get Amanda to bathe her face and stop hiccupping.  It was an uphill struggle but in the end we made it.  The cars had all gone by then, so I walked Amanda up the hill to the church, one restraining hand under her arm, with my Emergency Kit over my shoulder and the Wedding File under my other arm.   

‘I can’t bear it,’ she kept muttering.  ‘I can’t bear it.’

It was just as well Elizabeth hadn’t wanted her mother to give her away.  She’d always planned on walking into the church on her own, and that’s exactly what she was going to do.  She was in the porch composing herself, sniffing at the small posy of lilies of the valley which I had got for her to carry.  She gave me a good brave smile though, as I steered her mother into church and plonked her in the front pew, next to Mel and the best friend.  I just hoped they could keep her under control.

Then I went back to the porch, straightened her skirt and fulfilled Item 2 on my brief for the last time. 

‘Elizabeth, are you absolutely sure you want to go ahead with this?’

She gave a choke of laughter and her eyes lit up.  ‘Yes, thank you, Natalya.  I’m absolutely sure.’

‘Okay then.  Let’s roll.’

I slipped into church and gave the organist the high sign, and he changed to some Handel march that Tim liked and Elizabeth didn’t give two hoots about.  There was a shuffling and people stood up.  Elizabeth walked steadily down the aisle, through a bower of greenery.

I nearly – nearly – let my guard down then.  After all, what could go wrong now?  But vigilance is our watchword at Your Dreams Come True, so I stood at the back and scanned the church for falling foliage, fainting bridegrooms.  What I didn’t expect was Amanda Smith to make a break for it down the aisle, with her head lowered to but her daughter in the stomach like a scrum half going for broke.  Elizabeth saw her and feinted to the left, just as I took off and, too late, so did Tim and his best man.  I did the only thing I could to stop Amanda.  I threw the Wedding File. 

The damned thing took her on the shoulder, where it broke open.  Papers fluttered everywhere as Amanda spun round and tumbled ungracefully backwards over the bar of one of the empty pews.  Just as well, really, or I think Tim might have hit her. 

He steadied Elizabeth and said, ‘Are you okay?’

She nodded, but she was clearly shaken.  The organist faltered and then started the Handel again, only a lot softer.

William the best man picked up the scattered papers.  I dived into the Emergency Kit for Rescue Remedy and told Elizabeth, ‘One stopper’s worth on your tongue and breathe deeply.’

I turned to Amanda.  But Tim was before me, hauling her to her feet.

‘You,’ he told her, ‘are as mad as a box of frogs.  This has got to stop. I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out but, frankly, I’m not surprised.  Elizabeth and I will be fine, because not only is she gorgeous and clever and kind, she is a reasonable woman.  Now sit down and shut up.’

Elizabeth stared at him as if she had never seen him before, the Rescue Remedy half way to her lips.

William, on his knees with a fistful of paper in his hands exclaimed and then hurriedly made a business of getting to his feet and dusting off his trouser knees.  But it was too late.  Tim held out a hand for the papers and scanned them quickly.

’Ah.’

I winced.  I could guess what he was looking at.  If I do…   If I don’t …

She should have told him, I thought.  How is a guy going to take it when he finds, on his wedding day, that his future wife has been boosting her confidence with assorted plans to run away from him? This could just be where Tim stops being calm and accommodating and throws the strop of a lifetime

There was a nerve killing silence.  Even though they didn’t know the details, everyone else could see that this was crunch time.  All thirty-five guests held their breath. 

‘Oh Lizzie,’ he said and took her in his arms.  He murmured into the pearl-twined auburn hair, now slightly slipping,  ‘There’s no need to worry, my darling.  We’re going to be brilliant.’

I caught the Rescue Remedy as it fell from her nerveless fingers, while thirty-five guests beamed romantically.  Make that thirty-four.  Amanda Smith was too shell shocked to beam.  But at least she’d dropped the hand to hand combat and the barmy muttering.

This time I really was certain that nothing could go wrong.  I shot outside and sent the helpers off to the races in the hired coach.  Then I gave the be-punctured guest’s car keys, registration number and map co-ordinates to the local mechanic who promised to have the car back at the restaurant by four at the latest.    

They walked out into sunshine in a blaze of glorious music and even Amanda Smith cracked a smile for the photographer.

After that, I got Tim and Elizabeth into the bridal car and sent it off to the restaurant, with a couple of local taxis ferrying the other guests.  Or there were maps for those who wanted to walk the ten minutes down the hill to the restaurant. I did it in four.

The restaurant had a very pretty garden.  By the time I got there, Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of their stone fountain, with Tim standing over her.

‘ – were just kids,’ he was saying.  ‘If she’d lived, we would both have changed together.  But she didn’t.  And I’m not the same idiot I was then.  This is the real thing for me, Lizzie.  Don’t ever doubt it.’

I coughed and stamped a bit and took them both a glass of champagne.

‘I suggest that you swig this down, then stand on the door step, shake hands with people as they arrive and shunt them in fast.  I’ll get them circulating.’

Elizabeth said, ‘I suppose there will be a lot of questions about what happened in the church.’  She didn’t sound worried.

Tim kissed her hand.  ‘Blame your mother,’ he said firmly.  ‘Start as you mean to go on, that’s what I say.’

I’d got a better idea.  ‘Blame the wedding planner.  I should have kept it under better control.’

They were toasting each other just at that moment, their eyes distinctly intent over the top of the champagne flutes.  But at that they stopped and stared at me in amazement.

‘God preserve me from intelligent women,’  said Tim.  ‘Blame you?  Odds are, Lizzie would have bolted weeks ago, if hadn’t been for you. 

Elizabeth gave her wonderful blazing smile, only treble wattage.  ‘He’s right, you know Natalya.’  And she gave me a huge hug.

 

So when I got home, before I took off my work clothes or made a cup of tea or got in the bath, I couldn’t resist texting Cindy.

‘Arrangements perfect.  Wedding lively.  Happiest couple ever.  Who needs hearts and flowers?’