Bad Brides

by Rebecca Chance

  The maid who was closest flicked a switch indicating to the others that she was answering the summons, and in under a minute she was knocking on the door, terrified of Tamra’s current state of mind but even more frightened of arriving late. She found the Earl of Respers’ future mother-in-law sitting on the wide upholstered seat of the curving bow window, staring out to the park beyond, and was very grateful that Tamra did not turn her head to look at her: the reflection of Tamra’s face in the glass was paralysing enough. The absolute stillness, the black holes that were her eyes, the dead-white face, as if all the golden tan had faded at the speed of light . . .

  ‘Pack up all my things,’ Tamra said to the window in a voice as dead and emotion-free as her facial expression. ‘And have my car brought around. I’m going back to London immediately.’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ the maid said, hurrying into the bathroom, beginning to sort Tamra’s toiletries and perfumes into her matched set of red lizard Aspinall of London vanity cases while paging Tamra’s driver to bring the Bentley to the side entrance where the suitcases could be loaded into it.

  The window recess had been turned into a cosy bower to Tamra’s specific design, pale grey velvet seat cushions piped in matching silk, with throw pillows in shades of darker grey velvet and slub silk scattered artfully around, sea-green velvet curtains framing the stone alcove. And yet Tamra, curled up, hugging her knees, was utterly oblivious to both the comfort surrounding her and the beauty of the newly tended park beyond, the soft colours of the oak trees in autumn and the deep green of the lawns. She stared at the mullioned window panes, her entire body aching: she felt as if she was just a shell, as if someone had hollowed her out, harvested every organ, leaving her effectively a zombie who could walk and talk but whose eyes were blank and sightless.

  All I can do is pretend that it never happened. Leave Stanclere at once, and do my best not to come back until the day of the wedding, not to see him –

  She shuddered from head to toe.

  Not to see him until he marries my daughter.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘So this is where the red carpet will go?’ Milly asked. ‘That’s terribly important, you know – everyone will be wearing heels. And besides, it’ll look much better in the photographs . . .’

  ‘Of course!’ both Ludo and Marco Baldini, the very dapper local agent who was Ludo’s fixer in Chianti, assured the bride-to-be.

  ‘The carpet will run up the little hill to the oratory,’ Ludo added, winding his arm through Milly’s. ‘And we’ll have another one crossing it, as it were, when you make your entrance from the side of the church and walk around it all the way to the gazebo. But darling, we don’t want to cover all the grass in carpet, you know? My suggestion for my more rustic spring and summer weddings is that the ladies wear heels but bring a lovely pair of elegant flat sandals as well.’

  He winked confidentially at Milly’s pretty face, which was framed delightfully between her white mohair beret and the matching fur collar of her rose-pink wool coat.

  ‘You know, when one’s had a little too much champagne, and one is dancing, it can get a little slippy on the dance floor. Flats are always a good idea, actually – I like to check that the bridal party has them just as a backup.’

  ‘This is so beautiful!’ Eva sighed to Tarquin, following behind Milly as they walked up the little slope to the oratory of the Madonna della Neve d’Agosto. The exquisite little church nestled in the heart of the Chianti hills, fifteen minutes down a narrow, winding dirt road whose rises and falls Marco Baldini’s Range Rover had navigated expertly on the last leg of their trip from Pisa airport. On their right, the hillside fell sharply away to a spectacular view of the Chianti valley below, the tight marching lines of the vineyards, the vines now stark and black, pruned back after the September harvest, and the fluffy grey-green olive trees, their fields busy with workers on ladders hand-picking the fruit.

  ‘Sadly, all that is left of the castle that once was here is this church,’ Marco Baldini was explaining to an uninterested Milly. ‘The Castello of Montagliari was the noble seat of the aristocratic Gherardini family – their name will be most famous to you from the portrait of the Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci, because it is believed that the original of that lady was Lisa Gherardini, of this family. But when that was painted, her family castle was no longer here, because the Florentine Republic became so jealous of the power of the Gherardinis that they razed the castello to the ground, leaving only the church and a well.’

  ‘A well?’ Milly repeated blankly.

  ‘For water, darling,’ Tarquin said, coming up behind her and dropping a kiss on the top of her head, or rather on the beret. ‘Rather important, water, you know? Can’t really manage without it.’

  ‘So did the Mona Lisa live here?’ Milly asked, having tuned out almost all of the historical information. ‘That would be fantastic for publicity!’

  ‘No, darling,’ Tarquin told her patiently. ‘Marco just said that the castle wasn’t here any more, and she could scarcely live in the church, could she?’

  ‘She lived in Florence,’ Marco explained. ‘She was married very young to a rich silk merchant and had many children. Her husband was called Francesco del Giocondo, which is why the portrait is also known as La Gioconda . . .’

  But he tailed off, seeing that Milly had lost interest again. She was walking up to the medieval oratory, a pale yellow building that dated back to the thirteenth century, with a wide and gracious portico running round three sides, the space generous enough to comfortably accommodate dining tables and chairs; the high loggia had arches, providing a series of frames through which diners would look out and see the jaw-droppingly beautiful Tuscan landscape beyond as dusk fell and the sun set.

  ‘Isn’t this exactly the small scale, rustic setting that you wanted, dear?’ Ludo said, keeping pace with her. ‘Very intimate and charming – totally original, they’ve only just opened it as a wedding venue, so you’ll be the first celebs to use it – and the food will be absolutely spectacular. Not just delicious, but utterly photogenic. Gabriella, who owns the place and runs it with her son Leonardo, is the most extraordinary chef.’

  ‘Will it be as special as Keira Knightley’s?’ Milly asked anxiously. ‘You know it needs to be like hers, but better.’

  ‘Of course, dear,’ Ludo sighed. ‘I haven’t forgotten that we’re looking at Style Bride taking photographs and covering this wedding! It will all be one hundred per cent Style-worthy. I know this unbelievably talented designer called Antonio di Meglio in Milan who makes chandeliers from semi-precious stones – we’re going to commission several from him to hang in the portico, especially for the wedding, and,’ he said with great satisfaction, ‘listen to this! I’m going to get him to use the same pearls and turquoises that are going to be sewn on your dress! White and pale blue are your colours, of course – but just think, the chandeliers actually echoing the bride’s dress and jewellery! How fabulous will that be? And I see lemons, too,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘In those antique birdcages you’re so obsessed with. I’m going to put them on the table and fill them with Sicilian lemons.’

  So they look less bloody twee, he thought to himself but naturally didn’t say.

  ‘Oh, that sounds lovely!’ Milly clapped her hands girlishly. They were clad in suede gloves, pale pink to match the coat: it was a pleasantly temperate day in Tuscany, lit by a pale yellow November sun, but there was enough of a breeze to justify the hat and gloves, and Milly had been determined to wear the full outfit she had planned, as Eva was tasked with taking plenty of cameraphone photos for Milly to put on social media. Tarquin, hearing the muffled clap, looked up from where he was standing with Marco and Eva, hearing more about the history of the church, and smiled happily on seeing how delighted his pastel-clad fiancée was with the destination that Ludo had selected.

  ‘And the wild flowers in the vintage teapots?’ Milly asked eagerly. ‘Have you worked out where to source those from? I’ve set my h
eart on bluebells and lilies of the valley. You know, white and pale blue – our colours – and they’ll look great with the lemons and the china and the birdcages.’

  Ludo had a minor coughing fit; when he recovered, he said smoothly:

  ‘Sorry, dear. It must be the wind. Are you sure you’re set on the vintage china side of things? I just wonder if that and the antique birdcages might veer just the slightest into cutesy territory . . .’

  ‘Oh no,’ Milly assured him very positively. ‘They’ll all look wonderful together! I’ve got a huge moodboard in Eva’s office with lots of pictures of the teapots and cups and saucers and birdcages and wild flowers, and I just sigh with happiness every time I see it, because it’s so perfect and totally on brand.’

  ‘What does Eva say about it?’ Ludo asked, casting a side eye to Milly’s best friend, who, in her skinny jeans, slouchy leather jacket, shaggy fringe and ankle boots, was considerably more fashion-forward than the rather over-girlishly dressed Milly.

  Milly paused briefly.

  ‘She gets the whole branding thing,’ she said firmly, ‘and that’s positively crucial. I mean, sometimes our aesthetics don’t completely blend, but that’s fine, and she really knows what she’s doing for the jewellery line. Everyone always says how on trend she is. But it’s my wedding, and I’m selling me and Tark together, our brand, our image, and I know what I’m doing. You should see what my followers on Instagram like! It’s all the pretty, girlie, boho-chic stuff! That overdone bitch Tamra Maloney might call me hippy-dippy, but it’s in right now, and my fans love my style!’

  She was breathing a little faster now: the memory of having been thrown so unceremoniously out of Stanclere Hall still rankled, even though, technically, it had been because she had won a huge victory. She had destabilized Brianna Jade enough that very few of the photographs from the Style online shoot had been usable, or at least the ones with Brianna Jade front and centre: Ludo’s connections at Style had reported back that considerable work had had to be done to tweak the photo shoot enough for it to be posted on the website. There could be no question of killing it, of course, not with the styling work that had gone into it, let alone the presence of Princess Sophie: but working around Brianna Jade’s frozen features and rictus smile had definitely presented a challenge that only a team as professionally skilled as Style could have managed to pull off.

  Ironically, the video from the shoot had come out much better. There was a natural liveliness to images in motion that the editor had succeeded in cutting together so deftly that even Victoria Glossop had nodded approvingly when she watched it. Milly, Sophie and Minty looked absolutely charming as they laughed, hugged each other, jumped into Dominic, Tarquin and Lance’s arms, and posed playfully on the statues in the gazebo. They were so charming, in fact, that they carried the more staid Edmund and the near-paralysed Brianna Jade along with them. But Victoria and Jodie could clearly see how much Milly and Tarquin stood out, and how Brianna Jade and Edmund faded into the background.

  Perfectly aware of how well she had come out of the Style shoot, and how poorly her rival had done, Milly was floating on Cloud Nine, very confident of snagging the prized, first ever Style Bride cover and all the attendant publicity. Still, even though it had been her own fault that Tamra had thrown her out of Stanclere Hall, even though Milly should have left well alone after upsetting Brianna Jade at the shoot and not continued to goad her the morning after, it still rankled with Milly that she had been chucked out, let alone with her underwear scattered all over the hall carpet in front of a royal princess. Milly knew perfectly well that Minty and Sophie had told the story all over London with great amusement, and even though Milly herself would have recounted all the gory details in similar circumstances, she still reserved the right to be angry about Tamra’s dramatic expulsion of her.

  Ludo cleared his throat, seeing that any further attempt of his to persuade Milly to lose either the vintage china or the birdcages would fall on deaf ears. He switched to another bone of contention instead.

  ‘Dear, the lilies of the valley and bluebells that you keep mentioning?’ he said. ‘I have managed to find a florist near here who’s going to grow them on special order. The price he quoted is frankly astronomical. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t let you know that.’

  ‘Oh, Tark makes absolutely tons,’ Milly said lightly, resting one hand on Ludo’s arm. ‘And there’s plenty of family money too.’

  ‘Of course there is!’ Ludo said, cheering up as he mentally added his customary mark-up of 20 per cent to the florist’s bill. When life gives you lemons, he told himself, call them organic Meyer citrus specialities imported at great cost from California and charge the client accordingly. ‘Isn’t it just wonderful?’

  ‘We have the ceremony here, in the gazebo,’ Marco Baldini was saying to Tarquin and Eva, indicating the pretty white iron structure set on the grass to one side of the oratory. ‘It will be hung with white curtains of course, muslin, to blow a little, very romantic. I will show you photographs over lunch – my wife Alice and I were married here last August, it was the first wedding they have here, and that gave us and the owners the idea to make it a special place for the ceremonies. It will be very exclusive – just a few couples every year, so that we can take time to make it very carefully, with all the details just how the clients choose. And the dance floor will be on the other side, overlooking the valley, with the wonderful view and a band to play music. You will have prosecco before the ceremony, then a buffet of antipasti after, with more prosecco, of course, and then dinner in the portico of the church.’

  ‘What does the name of the church mean?’ Eva asked, wrinkling her brow. ‘Madonna of the Snow in August?’

  ‘Correct!’ Marco smiled at her. ‘That is exactly right. There is a legend that God makes it snow here in August, many centuries ago. Which is of course a miracle, because it never can snow in August! And this –’ he gestured towards the stunning sweep of view beyond the church, the glorious escarpment, thick with trees, and the white ribbon of dirt road winding around the slopes – ‘this is exactly the same view that we have seen here in Chianti for many, many centuries, a panorama which Leonardo da Vinci painted in 1473, a landscape drawing in ink. The picture is now in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. We have a copy of it here to show you, of course. You will see it does not change at all.’

  ‘Wow, a Leonardo of this very place,’ Eva breathed. ‘Can we go and see it while we’re here?’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ Tarquin said eagerly. ‘We could go tomorrow, before the flight.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love that!’ Eva exclaimed.

  Ludo, walking back with Milly to rejoin the little group, was smiling smugly at the expression of enchantment on both Tarquin and Eva’s faces. He had deliberately not given his clients much information about where he was taking them, because he knew that the extraordinary history of the church – painted by Leonardo da Vinci, no less! – would be most effective as they stood in front of it, taking in the breathtaking beauty of the place and its setting.

  This was a principal reason why Ludo was one of the most highly paid wedding planners in Britain, with an impressive list of celebrity clients. Not only did he know his job backwards and forwards, he also had a finely developed, theatrical sense of how to present those clients with the solutions he had found for their requests. This location, this perfect little church nestled in the heart of the Chianti hills, was exactly what Milly and Tarquin had wanted, fairy tale without being in any way a cliché. The oratory would give them all the privacy they wanted, tucked away in a fold of the Montagliari hillside so perfectly that it could barely even be seen from the gravel and dirt road that approached it.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Tarquin observed seriously, turning around in a circle to take in the full beauty of the vista. ‘Simple, magical, isolated. Like a gem in a perfect setting.’

  Marco Baldini nodded gravely. ‘That is very beautiful,’ he said. ‘You are a poet, Mr Ormond
. We know this from your excellent music.’

  ‘The main thing is that Milly must have everything she wants,’ Tarquin said with great earnestness, his eyes wide, as his fiancée settled herself to nestle in front of him, smiling with great satisfaction at his words. ‘Money really is no object.’

  ‘Of course, dear,’ Ludo said, patting Tarquin’s hand. ‘What Milly wants is the only thing in any of our minds. And Eva’s here so that she can be Milly’s voice, as it were, when you’re off touring and Milly’s filming in Portland.’

  ‘Great!’ Tarquin’s smile was angelic as he glanced over at Eva, tall enough in her ankle boots that her eyes were on a level with his. ‘I trust Eva implicitly, and so does Milly.’

  Milly’s smile deepened at Ludo’s reference to the fact that she had snagged the coveted part in And When We Fall: filming started in January.

  ‘Why don’t Marco and I talk logistics for a little while,’ Ludo said smoothly, ‘and let you three wander round the church? And then we can show you the rooms here behind the church, where you’ll be staying for the weekend of the wedding. Gabriella has decorated them truly beautifully. There’s a villa just down the road where more guests can stay, and hotels in the nearby village for the overflow. But of course, there won’t be that many. The portico seats about seventy, which is what you said you wanted?’

  Tarquin nodded.

  ‘We don’t want this to be a big spectacle,’ he said even more seriously. ‘It’s for Milly and me, our spiritual bond being sealed for ever, and for our close family and friends, you know? It’s not at all about the world outside. This is why this spot is so perfect for us. It’s a jewel, like I said, but hidden away. Like a diamond inside a locket, kept only for the few people who know where it is, but even more special because of its secrecy and intimacy.’