If the Dress Fits

by Daisy James

  ‘Do you think those ladies are her assistants?’ asked Tish, her mouth gaping as she watched a lady in a wheelchair roll over to the table by the door and help herself to a selection of cupcakes from a giant pyramid to take back to the gathering.

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Nikki, her hand over her eyes as she strained to understand what was going on inside. ‘I think some of them are sewing.’

  ‘It looks like lingerie,’ murmured Lilac.

  ‘Oh, God!’ spluttered Tish.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, nothing,’

  ‘What?’ Lilac tucked her wavy bob, the colour of liquid caramel, behind her ears and placed her hands on her hips. ‘You’ve forgotten to order my lingerie, haven’t you, Tish?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tish scrunched up her shoulders and creases appeared across her brow as she waited for the blow to fall. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter; I’ll sort it. Now, are we going to risk being labelled a trio of sad voyeurs or are we going inside?’

  ‘I think we should go back to the car and wait until this, erm, this meeting has finished,’ suggested Nikki striding back towards the sleek limo with blacked-out windows and the most handsome driver she’d set eyes on. It was probably the uniform that did it, though… it was one of her weaknesses that she was working hard on eradicating. Or maybe it was the spicy cologne, or his broad muscular shoulders, or his…

  ‘Oh, God, let me through.’ Lilac pushed past Tish and Nikki and opened the door. The bell tinkled above her head. ‘Quaint!’

  The chatter ceased and all heads swung in unison to look at the elegant, six-foot-tall movie star who had stumbled into their world from another planet.

  ‘Oh, this is adorable. You must be Callie-Louise?’ Lilac stepped into Gingerberry Yarns and was immediately enveloped by a sense of calm and comfort. ‘I’m Lilac Verbois. I love your shop! Are you having a party? Oh wow, these cakes! Do you import your pastries from Paris?’

  Callie rose from her place at the head of the gigantic mahogany table and took a couple of steps forward. ‘Yes, I’m Callie-Louise. What can I… What are you… Why?’

  Lilac drew herself to her full height, straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. In her best presenter’s voice she said, ‘I’m here to announce that Callie-Louise Bridal Couture has won the Lilac Verbois Wedding Gown Competition! Congratulations!’

  There was a moment’s silence. Callie’s hand flew to her mouth but Nessa was quicker off the mark. ‘Oh, my God! Awesome!’ she shrieked and the room burst into noisy chatter, only now it was a full octave higher than before the announcement.

  Nessa and Delia gathered a stunned, silent Callie into their arms and kissed her. ‘Well done, Callie!’

  It took half an hour for the ladies to calm down and have a variety of items autographed, by which time their Cupcakes & Couture session had ended and they had to start packing away.

  ‘So, Cupcakes & Couture,’ mused Lilac, who had been given the Throne of Honour at the head of the table where she was being shown the various finished products of the group’s toil. ‘I love this bridal lingerie. I think you might have just saved someone’s skin, ladies.’ Lilac smirked as she shot a look across at Tish who was loitering next to the cake table, her hand held under her chin to catch the crumbs from the fifth pistachio macaroon she’d indulged in. ‘Are they silk?’

  ‘Yes, it’s organic silk. I source it for the salon in London from a small women’s collective in India. Everything has been hand-sewn and embellished by the Cupcakes & Couture ladies.’

  ‘I particularly like this teddy. I’d like to order seven, please, in different shades, one for each night of our honeymoon. And could you design me a bridal basque in this fabric please, and matching knickers?’

  ‘Erm, yes, of course.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you make these delectable little cakes yourself as well, Callie?’ Lilac bit into a cupcake topped with the palest pink icing and sprinkled with edible glitter. ‘Absolutely heavenly. How are the macaroons, Tish?’ Lilac giggled at the look on her wedding planner’s face when she realised she’d been caught in the act.

  ‘Delicious,’ Tish mumbled through a mouthful of buttercream, ‘and these peppermint millefueille are to die for, if a little difficult to eat.’

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Verbois. These are supplied exclusively for our Cupcakes & Couture evenings by internationally trained pastry chef, Tom Wallington,’ announced Marcia. It was the first time she’d spoken since Lilac and her entourage had arrived, but the pride in her eyes on Tom’s behalf caused Callie’s heart to flutter.

  ‘Wow, you do have some fabulously talented people in this village, don’t you? I have my five-tier wedding cake ordered already.’ Lilac raised her eyebrows at Tish, just to check, but she was teasing her. ‘Do you think it would be possible for your supplier to prepare, say, twenty-five of these cupcake pyramids? The children that we’ve invited to the wedding will adore them – it’s a much better option than stodgy fruit cake. Oh, I’m so excited!’

  Lilac kicked off her shoes and sat back in her chair, casting her eyes around the women. ‘You know, I really do miss all this female camaraderie. Getting together with a group of friends to spend the evening gossiping, swapping secrets, asking for advice. You’re lucky, Callie. Now I understand why you have a branch of Callie-Louise in Yorkshire. It’s your home; these are your friends who are willing to support you through life’s ups and downs. I was born in Yorkshire, too, but sadly I don’t have a bunch of friends to come home to.’

  Callie smiled at Lilac, but tears prickled at her eyes. Why had it taken such a devastating loss for her to realise how fortunate she was that she still had roots in her home town? That there were friends here who loved her no matter how long she’d been away? Nessa, Seb, Dominic, Archie – even Theo, if she let him. It was time she started to appreciate her good fortune and gave something of herself back.

  She shoved her guilt at her recent behaviour into the far crevices of her mind for later dissection. Tonight was an evening of celebration. It was the best night she’d had for years.

  She made a decision.

  As she would now have to return to London to start working on Lilac’s wedding gown, she would accept Theo’s invitation to attend The Razorclaws’ rehearsal concert and take Nessa as a thank you for being her best friend.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Wow, look at this place. It’s magnificent! I really can’t decide whether to faint at the architectural splendour of it all or drool with envy. Like everything else about this wedding, Harewood House is such a perfect venue for an actress and rock star to hold their fairy-tale wedding, don’t you think?’ Scarlet clutched her chest and performed a theatrical swoon.

  Callie giggled. ‘Stop it. You’re reminding me of Tish.’

  ‘Of course, our very own twenty-first-century Cinderella would have ordered the Georgian façade to be bedecked with a cornucopia of pink ribbon and lily of the valley wreaths, and the coats of the prancing ponies welcoming us out front would have to be dyed to match the bridesmaids’ dresses.’

  ‘Oooh, that sounds so romantic, Scarlet,’ sighed Flora before she executed a wide yawn in Callie’s face.

  Flora had complained the whole journey from King’s Cross to Leeds about missing out on her requisite nine hours of sleep and how early mornings played havoc with her delicate body clock. Sadly, her psychic had not seen fit, or indeed been seen at all, to warn Flora of the unexpected last-minute jaunt up to Yorkshire.

  Callie had received a call the previous day from Nikki to inform her that Lilac and Finn were visiting with the chef at Harewood House the following afternoon for a tasting session of the menu they’d chosen for their wedding breakfast. If Callie could get up there in the morning, Lilac could squeeze her in for an extra dress fitting. It was an opportunity Callie couldn’t afford to refuse and it also meant she could call in and see how Delia was getting on at Gingerberry.

  Since being informed of winning the wedding gown comp
etition, Callie had been bouncing between Allthorpe and London, trying to keep all the plates in her life spinning in unison. But mostly she’d been spending her time holed up in her workshop with Scarlet as they made numerous tweaks to the dress in accordance with Lilac’s wishes. It was shaping up to be the most complicated design brief Callie had ever had, but she was definitely up to the challenge.

  There was a real buzz about the salon which they’d struggled to keep under wraps for fear of giving the secret away and finding the paparazzi camped out on their doorstep. Unsurprisingly, Flora was the weakest link. She really was the worst secret keeper ever. Apart from that morning when she’d been deprived of her beauty sleep, she tended to spend her days smiling and humming to herself. One of their newest bridal clients had even asked if she had mental health issues and added how lovely it was that Callie was acting as her mentor.

  They climbed the worn stone steps of Harewood House to the columned entrance, pushed open the surprisingly unimpressive front door and found themselves in the entrance hall. Callie stared up at the ceiling and smiled. It would be a wonderful place to hold a wedding reception.

  ‘Hi, you must be Callie-Louise Henshaw? If you follow me, I’ll show you up to Lilac’s suite. Tish and Nikki are already there. There’s been a bit of a hitch, I’m afraid, but I’m going to let them tell you about it. Oh, I’m Craig Carver, by the way – Lilac and Finn’s wedding photographer and videographer. Come this way.’ Craig smiled at them, displaying perfectly even teeth, and his gentle chestnut eyes crinkled attractively at the corners. With his stocky build and broad shoulders Callie suspected that in his spare time he played prop forward for the local rugby team.

  They followed Craig up the sweeping staircase. His rear view was even more impressive than the front and confirmed Callie’s theory that he was probably more comfortable on a sports pitch than in a stately home, herding recalcitrant wedding guests into group photos. The fact that his muscular legs took the stairs two at a time only served to enhance the tautness of his buttocks.

  ‘Do you think the lady of the house would let us slide down the banister after we’ve seen Lilac?’ asked Flora, running her hand along the smooth mahogany wood.

  ‘Maybe not, Flora,’ giggled Callie who’d had the exact same thought.

  ‘Here we are. Before you go in there I feel I should warn you – Nikki Coates is not a happy PA bunny. If you see her with anything in her hand, you might want to duck. Maybe I’ll see you in the bar before you leave?’ Craig suggested, his eyes lingering on Flora. ‘Good luck!’

  He cracked open the door to Lilac’s suite and fled.

  ‘Hi,’ said Callie, the word dying on her lips. ‘Where’s Lilac?’

  ‘Upstairs puking in the en suite bathroom,’ snarled Nikki.

  ‘Oh, erm, poor Lilac. That’s awful.’

  ‘Well, it is for the chef. We made it absolutely clear to the catering company we engaged that Lilac had an intolerance to shellfish. It was even included as a term in their contract. And what did the moron offer on the tasting menu? Mini Thai fishcakes. She’d popped one in her mouth before we realised. She’s throwing up for England. But that’s not the worst of it – you should see her lips; ‘bee-sting swollen’ doesn’t even cover it! Looks like she’s indulged in a course of extreme Botox, and you know what Lilac’s position is on chemical enhancements.

  ‘Finn’s with her and he’s fuming. And she’s had to cancel her flight across to Croatia tonight, which has set the filming schedule back. The producer’s having a hissy fit, screaming about budget, timescales, the changing light, you name it. And of course the chef’s stormed off screaming and swearing that no one told him about any dietary issues, so Tish has another item on her already infinite to-do list – finding a replacement chef who can coordinate the catering for one hundred and fifty discerning guests from the movie and music business in just two weeks. Talk about Mission Impossible!’

  Callie cast a glance over to the full-height windows overlooking the gardens where Tish stood with her iPhone clutched to her ear, her voice wobbling as she pleaded with the person on the other end to help her. The poor girl looked exhausted and had certainly lost weight since the last time Callie had seen her. She wondered if this wedding would be the one to finally cure Tish of her hearts-and-flowers obsession.

  ‘You should have been here when the chef left. It’s been a long time since I heard such a tirade of vibrant language during the working day. The air almost thrummed with verbal electricity, I tell you. Gordon Ramsay, eat your heart out! But Tish stood her ground marvellously. It was a masterclass on how-to-keep-your-temper-when-all-around-you-are-crumbling. She was amazing. To be honest, I didn’t think she had it in her.’

  ‘Are you Callie-Louise?’

  Callie turned to the door where the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on had appeared, scratching at his short, trendy beard. His eyes were so startlingly blue they seemed to draw her towards him and she couldn’t help staring, her jaw gaping unattractively.

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ she stuttered.

  ‘Lilac’s asked me to come down and fetch you. She’s still tinged with an attractive hue of green, I’m afraid, but she says she’s feeling well enough to stand up in her wedding gown. She wants everything to be just perfect. If you ask me, though, I still say we should’ve grabbed that jet out to Hawaii. I know her mother would have killed her, but now it seems the chef has got there first.’

  Callie dispatched Scarlet to fetch the dress and followed Finn up to the bedroom suite with Flora scampering in her wake. It was the swiftest and quietest fitting Callie had ever performed, but she was grateful to Lilac for making the effort. She did not look very well at all as she took occasional sips from a glass of tepid water and forced a weak smile onto her swollen lips. They left her to rest as soon as the fitting was done.

  ‘Thanks, Callie,’ Lilac muttered, climbing back onto the bed and pulling the sheet over her head.

  ‘Let’s hit the bar,’ suggested Scarlet.

  ‘God, yes, please,’ said Flora, skipping ahead of them down the corridor, clearly keen to reacquaint herself with the hunky photographer. She wrenched open a pair of double doors with a flourish. ‘Oooops, not in here. Looks like a ballroom.’

  The girls peered inside the room. Two men clad in black jeans and Black Sabbath T-shirts were busy unravelling coils of cable as they worked on setting up what looked like a stage for a disco that evening. A third man was fiddling with the dry-ice machine, sending bulbous clouds of vapour floating out onto the polished dance floor.

  Eventually they found the bar. Tish gave them a wave of acknowledgement as she hunched over a corner table, her phone glued to her ear. A huge glass of white wine – more a goldfish bowl, really – rested on a pile of box files in front of her.

  Nikki was laughing at something the wedding photographer was saying. He looked so incongruous sitting amongst the antiques and the Chippendale chairs in his khaki flak jacket, the pockets hopefully filled with a variety of camera lenses rather than grenades.

  ‘Can I get you ladies a drink?’ Craig offered, standing up to greet them.

  ‘Oh, yes, please,’ breathed Flora, concentrating her attention on the optics behind the bar before turning to the barman. ‘I’d like a Mai Tai. Do you have any of those cute little umbrellas?’

  The sides of Craig’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. He raised his eyebrows at Callie and Scarlet.

  ‘White wine would be great. We’ll share a bottle of Pinot Grigio.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  ‘Be back in a minute,’ said Callie, giving Scarlet’s arm a squeeze. She made her way to where Tish had just finished her telephone conversation and was running her fingers distractedly through her curls as she scribbled notes on a jotter in front of her.

  ‘Oh, hi, Callie. I don’t suppose you have a best friend who is a Michelin-starred chef who has nothing else to do with his time but drop everything to cater for a hundred and fifty celebrity guests, do
you? No, I thought not.’

  ‘Actually, Tish, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Whilst I don’t think he has a Michelin star, I do have a friend who has trained in the kitchens of a five-star Parisian hotel. Would you like me to introduce you?’

  ‘Oh, my God! Yes! Give me his number and save a girl’s life – or her sanity at least!’

  ‘Here. His name is Tom Wallington and he’s already supplying the wedding with the most magnificent cupcake tiers for the younger guests. Just tell him you got his number from me.’

  ‘Thank you, Callie, thank you.’ Tish was already keying in his number and Callie left her to it.

  She settled down at a bashed copper table with Scarlet, Flora, Nikki and Craig and, as the wine flowed, she began to relax.

  ‘Oh, God, what was that awful noise?’ squeaked Scarlet.

  ‘They’re testing the sound system in the ballroom. The crew have been up there all day,’ Craig explained before turning his full attention to Flora. ‘So, has this whole food-poisoning fiasco put you off weddings?’

  ‘Only weddings like this one. If it was me getting married, it would be a tiny church in the country with a handful of special friends – or, no, elopement to somewhere exotic!’

  ‘At last, a girl after my own heart.’

  ‘What do you mean? You’re a wedding photographer, for Christ’s sake,’ laughed Callie. ‘You must adore all this romance stuff. Capturing that perfect, dreamy “look of love” between the bride and groom with your camera lens for all eternity.’

  ‘You’d think so, but no. Actually, I’d much rather be out on an assignment in Iraq or Afghanistan, recording the facts as they happen and informing the world about the desperate scenes of terror that are unfolding out there. I was a war photographer before… well, before I got injured in the line of duty, so to speak.’

  ‘Wow, like a soldier?’ Flora’s eyes widened.

  Craig laughed. ‘No, those guys are the real heroes. I’m nowhere near as brave as they are. But I have seen my fair share of action. Anyway, enough about me.’ Craig turned his attention to Flora. ‘You must have a fantastic life being a bridal fashion designer in the bright lights of London?’