Instead, the theme was a symphony of white. The cocktails were elderflower White Ladies, made from Cointreau, gin, lemon juice and elderflower syrup, whipped egg whites making them foamy and opaque; the canapés were bite-sized cream-cheese blintzes and ricotta puffs, and, for those with a sweet tooth, silvered mini-meringues. Models circulated among the guests, wearing Hervé Léger, Alexander McQueen and Marchesa wedding dresses, each dress more exquisite than the last.
Jodie stepped up onto the central podium. It was the kind on which a bride-to-be would usually stand while trying on a series of dresses, curved panels of mirrors behind her that reflected her from every angle. She looked down at the super-fashionable, skinny-thin, wonderfully dressed crowd and couldn’t help wishing for a moment that her bottom wasn’t being reflected to all of them, even held in as it was by Spanx and a very flattering Nina Ricci sheath dress: then she took a deep breath, told herself firmly – as she had to do at least once a day in her job – that size twelve wasn’t fat, and tapped the microphone to get everyone’s attention.
The DJ muted the background music, the people in front of the podium hushed and looked up at the Style editor, and Jodie, knowing that at these events you could never expect the people at the back to stop talking, smiled for the cameras and said: ‘Ladies, gentlemen, thank you so much for coming out this evening! Style is so excited to be hosting this event together with the wonderful people at Harrods and their beautiful Bridal Boutique.’
She paused briefly for applause.
‘Honestly, this is so overdue, isn’t it?’ she went on. ‘We should have launched Style Bride years ago! If there’s ever an opportunity for the style-conscious woman to put together an event which really speaks about how she sees herself, her partner, and their particular aesthetic, it’s a wedding and everything that surrounds it. And for this first issue we’ve loved being part of that process for the brides whose weddings we’ve covered. I don’t think it’s any secret to all of you here that some of those weddings were a lot more . . .’ she took a beat for effect, knowing there would be some anticipatory laughs – ‘well, let’s say it, dramatic than we anticipated! This is why we’re launching later than originally planned, of course.’
Which is a shame, as we pretty much missed bridal season – but ironically, Milly and Tarquin’s fiasco, plus Brianna Jade’s runaway bride moment, actually got us even more publicity, she thought happily. And publicity translated into more advertisers, which raised Style Bride’s page rates. Everyone wanted to run an ad in the magazine that had the exclusive to both sets of photographs.
Because, naturally, Jodie had run photographs from both weddings. Milly and Tarquin’s publicists had tried to prevent the magazine from using theirs, but the contract they had signed was locked down tight; Style had the best lawyers going, and there was no clause to say that if the wedding vows weren’t completed, the photos couldn’t be used. It had been done tastefully, of course, mainly shots of the church set-up, the chandeliers, the spectacular antipasti, Ludo’s wonderful table settings, the swing, the gazebo. There had been a few photographs of the bride and groom, though none of the actual ceremony; and plenty, from the British wedding, of Brianna Jade’s dramatic sprint across the lawns of Stanclere Hall. When living in New York, Jodie had loved the American saying ‘if life gives you lemons, make lemonade’, and she’d billed the first edition of Style Bride as ‘High Drama, High Romance’.
‘I’d like to thank my amazing team, as well,’ Jodie added. ‘For obvious reasons, we had a real scramble to pull this issue together, and we’re hugely proud of it. In fact, we’re so proud of it that our supreme leader, as I like to call her, would like to say a few words about it, live from New York!’
Oohs and aahs came from the audience, hardened London partygoers, journalists and socialites as they were: access to Victoria Glossop carried such cachet that they were perfectly aware of what an honour this was. Unprecedented, in fact. But the sheer level of publicity and advertising money that this issue had pulled in was exceptional, and Victoria was always driven by the bottom line.
Jodie gestured to a side wall, and the oohs and aahs increased in volume as the guests realized that, while Jodie had been talking, a screen had been discreetly lowered. On it was the very familiar image of Victoria: it was a reveal worthy of a stage play, and Jodie smiled happily at how well it had worked.
Sensibly, Victoria had chosen not to be filmed in her white office, knowing that its background, plus the white clothes in which she almost always dressed, wouldn’t work in this context. She was standing against a dark wall, and her white tailored trousersuit made her look like a 1940s film star. Her hair was in its classic blonde chignon, her lipstick freshly applied and redder than usual so it would pop out on screen, a huge necklace visible beneath the lapels of the suit jacket.
Murmurs of admiration rose as she said in her crisp transatlantic accent: ‘Hello, everyone, and welcome to what I’m sure is a wonderful party! Harrods always throws a superb event, doesn’t it?’
That’s Victoria, Jodie thought. Always on the ball, thanking the sponsors straight away. I learnt that from her.
More applause for Harrods; cocktails were raised and the girls from the press office smiled happily.
‘It’s certainly been a winding road as we got this issue to press, as I know you’re all aware,’ Victoria continued. ‘But at Style we love a challenge, and I truly think the first ever issue of Style Bride is better because of it. Not only do we have the most stunning cover, but we’re telling a really compelling love story with it. Weddings aren’t just about the day, the dress, the flowers, the table settings, wonderful fun though all of those are. They’re about the couple in question and the fit they make together, their love story, which is why we’re so happy with the choice we finally made for our cover. Talk about an original love story! I know you’re all dying to see it – ’ Victoria reached down to a side table beside her and picked up a copy of the long-awaited magazine – ‘so here it is! The first, but definitely not the last, Style Bride!’
In another carefully choreographed piece of staging, other, smaller screens had been lowered around the room during her speech without the audience noticing. Victoria always compelled the gaze. The clouds overhead opened, and a delicate shower of silver glitter rained down on the guests as, in perfect synchronicity, every screen lit up at once.
It’s like the reveal of the winner on the finals of America’s Next Top Model, Jodie thought, looking at the picture of Tamra on the cover of Style Bride, her head thrown back in a laugh, her hair and skin glowing golden. She was wearing the same deep pink dress she had worn for Brianna Jade’s wedding, though Massimo had made her a new version: Edmund had manhandled the first dress so much getting it off that it couldn’t be worn again.
It was the perfect dress. Both Tamra and Edmund had agreed that it was the only possible choice. It was the dress that she had been wearing on the most fateful day of their lives, the day when, as Edmund put it, the miracle had happened. And Tamra certainly wasn’t going to wear white. The fuchsia colour had been a gift to the Style Bride art designers, as it lent itself perfectly to the white and silver background that a bridal magazine demanded, and the silk flower was appropriately dramatic. Choosing Tamra for the cover had been hugely strategic: not only did she incarnate beauty for the precise demographic of women who bought the expensive goods advertised in the magazine, the story of her and Edmund’s whirlwind romance was as shocking as a plot twist in a soap opera, and Jodie had insisted on an exclusive interview with the couple.
They had been more than fine with that request. Style Bride was guaranteed to give its cover star and her new husband a favourable article. Besides, as Veronica, Tamra’s press adviser, had said, they needed to give their version of the crazy bride-switch to some interviewer. And, as Tamra had added happily, it would be the best publicity in the world for Stanclere Hall as a brand, its holiday lets and Stanclere Sausages . . .
‘Our cover star an
d her new husband, the Earl and Countess of Respers!’ Jodie said, and Edmund and Tamra, to much applause and even more excited comments, appeared behind the podium and walked up onto the stage.
In her magenta ruffled-crepe Philosophy di Alberta Ferretti gown, her hair pulled to one side in a single twist, her make-up American-immaculate, Tamra looked like a goddess. Beside her, Edmund beamed with pride. He was wearing a Savile Row suit that he had had to have newly made; he had lost nearly half a stone since the day of his first, aborted marriage. Tamra, he said happily, was wearing him out in bed; he was a shadow of his former self. Tamra grumbled that she hadn’t lost a pound, and he told her firmly that she was perfect as she was. Certainly, gazing at her right now, it was clear that he thought she outshone every woman in the room.
‘She looks amazing,’ Ludo said, raising his glass in tribute. ‘Diva-tastic. My God, that woman knows how to wear clothes. Wouldn’t you love to have a lifesize doll of her? Think of the outfits you could dress her up in!’
Father Liam, by his side, smiled at this. Since Ludo had broken down in tears in Tuscany, Father Liam had tried to be more understanding of Ludo’s needs in the relationship, had agreed to accompany his boyfriend out more socially, and the launch of a bridal magazine, after all, was appropriate to his profession.
‘They certainly make a very handsome couple,’ he said. ‘Look how happy they are! It’s a pleasure to see.’
‘When I think of Milly and Tarquin . . .’ Ludo shuddered. ‘I must say, even though it would have been a coup for me, seeing her doing her ingénue face on the cover would have rather turned my stomach.’
He was talking quietly enough not to be overheard by the crowd, and Father Liam nodded.
‘We can only be glad that didn’t come off,’ he said. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you! I heard from Eva today. She emailed me.’
‘Ooh, how are they?’ Ludo said eagerly, always keen to hear gossip.
‘Still on their walking tour,’ Father Liam said. ‘It sounds perfect for the two of them.’
Ludo grimaced. ‘Lord, first a monastery and then the Highlands with a backpack! Rather them than me.’
The monastery had been Liam’s idea: he had suggested that, after the collapse of his nuptials, Tarquin go on a retreat for some much-needed privacy, quiet and time to reflect on the disaster of his personal life. It was the perfect solution. Apart from the religious environment suiting Tarquin’s meditative nature, the paparazzi were unable to get any shots of him behind the monastery’s high walls.
Naturally, the scandal of the failed wedding had spread like wildfire, trending on Twitter for days, spreading instantly to the online gossip sites and the weekly magazines. A couple of guests, inevitably, had defied the Style ban and sneaked their mobiles into the ceremony, managing to catch some photographs towards the end of Tarquin’s confrontation with Milly, which they then sold, along with their versions of events. Tarquin’s walking away with Eva had been the icing on the cake, a twist that added intrigue, gave Tarquin an extra motive for leaving Milly at the altar, and swayed popular sentiment strongly towards her.
‘He should have issued a statement,’ Ludo sighed. ‘Everyone thinks it was his fault. Milly’s been playing the betrayed innocent very successfully ever since.’
Father Liam pursed his mouth.
‘I hear the film she’s in is absolutely pornographic,’ he said disapprovingly. ‘That must surely contradict her playing the innocent?’
‘Oh, everyone’s doing full nudity sex scenes now,’ Ludo said lightly.
‘It’s Eva I was concerned about,’ Father Liam said. ‘But I must say, she’s dealt with it better than I thought she would.’
‘You gave her very good advice,’ Ludo pointed out, knowing that these words always pleased his boyfriend tremendously and wanting to give something back in return for Father Liam’s accompanying him out tonight. ‘Telling her to give him some space while he went to that Cistercian monastery. I bet all the monks had huge crushes on him,’ he added irrepressibly. ‘Making him wait until he’d got at least some of the Milly fantasies out of his system.’
‘It’s always harder loving a real person than a fantasy,’ Father Liam observed. ‘I hope that isn’t the case for Eva.’
‘No, I don’t think Tarquin was ever a fantasy for her,’ Ludo said. ‘She’s really very like him, just more sensible. Women are always more sensible than straight men, after all.’
By the side of the podium, Brianna Jade, dressed simply in a Jonathan Saunders knee-length frock, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, hung on Abel’s arm, looking up happily at her mother. Various celebrities, sponsors and advertisers were being brought up and introduced to Tamra, an endless stream of people and photo opportunities, and she smiled with equal delight at each one, making conversation while ensuring that she mentioned the Stanclere brand as much as possible, Edmund hovering behind her.
‘Do you wish that it was you up there?’ Abel asked.
Brianna Jade turned to her fiancé, who was wearing a custom-made suit from Edmund’s tailor: nothing off the rack could have fitted him.
‘No way,’ she assured him.
She had moved into the cottage and was living in domestic bliss, relishing doing her own cleaning and cooking, running her own little house with no servants to make her feel useless and unnecessary. Abel, quite accustomed to living on his own, cooking his own dinners and washing his own clothes, was taken aback by how little his fiancée knew about the basics, having grown up in near-poverty, then gone on the road at fifteen, living out of motels and after that in the lap of luxury; she’d barely used a dishwasher or a washing machine, had only learnt to cook the most basic recipes.
Which, as it turned out, was very positive for their new relationship. Brianna Jade might be a millionairess, but she didn’t even know how to wash her own sweaters or bake a pie, and Abel and his grandmother thoroughly enjoyed the process of teaching her. Abel, who had initially been very dubious about whether Brianna Jade could really be satisfied with a tiny cottage after the luxury of Stanclere Hall, was relaxing more and more each day as he saw how happy their life together was making her. Especially as it was blindingly obvious how much she loved pig farming. Tamra, who had tried to no avail to get her daughter to read novels, was amazed to see Brianna Jade in the Stanclere Hall library with her nose in Whiffle: The Care of the Pig, looking for extra tips to fatten up the Empress.
The highlights had grown out of her hair, her nails were short and ragged from farm work, and that was just how she liked it. Tamra dragged her to a hairdresser and manicurist before parties, lectured her about wearing sunblock at all times, and Brianna Jade listened and smiled and went back to mucking out the sties.
‘You know I couldn’t be happier,’ she told Abel now. ‘I chose you! I ran out of my wedding to find you without even knowing if you’d be there, or have a girlfriend, or anything! Honestly, what more do you want?’
He grinned down at her, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it all up again; Tamra would despair when she saw him. Nothing could make Abel look fashionable, and he begged off all invitations to parties at the Hall, attending only family dinners, but Tamra insisted on him brushing his hair back when he did come out. Though he did it to please Brianna Jade’s mother, he always forgot and messed it up into his customary thatch after a while.
‘Hey, it’s Mom’s big day.’ Brianna Jade reached up and pushed back as much hair as she could. ‘Don’t give her a heart attack.’
‘Brianna Jade, could I ask you a few questions?’ said an eager voice beside her. ‘I write the gossip column for the Herald, and I’d love to have a little chat with you.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t do interviews,’ she said with her best pageant smile. ‘Plus today’s all about my mom.’
‘You’re happy for her, right? Doesn’t it feel odd at all that she’s marrying your ex-fiancé?’ the young man asked.
Brianna Jade looked back at Tamra, up on the stage, the cynosure of
all eyes, with Edmund by her side, his grey eyes full of admiration and delight in his bride.
‘You know what?’ she said to the diary writer. ‘It could not feel more completely and totally right.’
Ludo, who had realized that Brianna Jade was present and dragged Father Liam over to get a closer look at her, was eavesdropping shamelessly.
‘She’s really lovely,’ he said sotto voce to his partner. ‘And ooh, look at the size of her farmer! Lucky girl! Still, Tamra definitely has the pop and fizz. She’d make a fabulous drag queen.’
‘Ludo,’ Father Liam said, and his voice was suddenly so grave that Ludo turned away from contemplation of the Maloney women and focused on his partner’s face.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said nervously. ‘Are you cross with me?’
‘One day, this will be us,’ Father Liam said with great conviction. ‘I promise you. One day, you and I will be able to get married. I believe that from the bottom of my heart. We see changes all around us, even in the Vatican. It has to come. Even if we’re both in our eighties and tottering up the aisle on walkers, we’ll get married one day, I’m sure of it.’
‘Oh, darling.’ Welling up, Ludo took his partner’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
‘Everyone, thank you so much again for coming,’ Jodie said into the microphone. ‘There are copies of the issue in goody bags for everyone at the door.’
And I hope you’re feeling strong, she thought. We pulled in so many ads that thing’s not only two centimetres wide, it weighs more than a coffee-table book.
‘I’ll leave the last words to the Earl and Countess of Respers,’ she finished, ‘who’ve been generous enough to share their story with us – exclusively to Style Bride.’
Bad Brides Page 44
