Wedding Tiers

by Trisha Ashley

  Noah, looking bemused at this sudden transformation from the half-propitiated virago of a moment before, moved aside as I wished him an absent goodbye and went in, hen and all—though not before he had whipped that camera up again.

  I heard the whirr of the shutter and sincerely hoped he had forgotten to load it with film, or I might just appear in one of his exhibitions as ‘Portrait of the Village Idiot’.

  When I told Ben who I’d been talking to, he was cross that I hadn’t introduced him.

  ‘He’s very well known and he’s photographed a lot of famous writers and artists. If he’d known who I was, he might have taken my picture and it could have done my career a bit of good!’

  ‘He seemed to be more interested in taking mine,’ I pointed out, ‘and Aggie’s.’ Under my arm, Aggie crooned agreement.

  ‘I can’t imagine why, unless he’s doing something on village characters. You do look slightly mad in patchwork dungarees, with a hen under your arm and red rubber gloves,’ he added with a grin, and I gave him a dirty look.

  Then he compounded his insult by asking, ‘Who was the gorgeous blonde in the car?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ I snapped, and stalked past him, heading for the back door with Aggie.

  Libby squeezed in a visit to Mary’s Chinese herbalist. In fact, she phoned me from there to relay a list of rather personal questions. It was just as well that Ben was shut up in the studio and Harry distantly hammering something in his garden shed. She said really the woman would have preferred a personal consultation, ideally with Ben as well, but she was making me something up to try until my next visit to London.

  I told her she’d missed a fleeting visit by her photographer friend, though we didn’t have time to chat, she had too much to do.

  * * *

  I went over to Blessings next day and she gave me a package of pale jade-coloured pills and also a sort of herbal tea, with instructions. ‘But it can take a few months to work, and if it hasn’t by then, it probably isn’t going to,’ she warned me. ‘Ben might be the problem, so you may have to try and persuade him to consult her too.’

  ‘Thanks, Libby I hope it wasn’t too horrendously expensive?’

  ‘No, not really, and I was interested anyway, though I’m not about to do anything hasty unless Tim presses me about having offspring. I’d like it to be just us two for a while, at least—and Pia, of course, if she deigns to grace us with her presence.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘You do think she will turn up, don’t you, Josie?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do,’ I assured her with a confidence founded on Maria Cazzini’s ability to make Pia behave properly, once she came within her orbit.

  It seemed to cheer Libs up, because she stopped looking quite so worried and said, ‘Come on and I’ll show you the dresses!’

  She led the way. She and Tim had already moved into the largest bedroom in the old part of the house, though she insisted on having a new mattress made to fit the ancient four-poster before she slept in it. Of the two small chambers off it, which had probably been servants’ rooms, one was now a solidly Victorian bathroom, all brass, and blue and white porcelain, and the other Libby seemed to be using as a walk-in wardrobe. She had installed a couple of long rails on wheels, but her wedding dress hung on a wooden peg against the wall, almost indistinguishable from the plaster.

  She unhooked it and, holding it against herself, gave a twirl, so that the full skirts flew out around her. ‘What do you think? The colour is the exact match to the veil Dorrie gave me, but it took a bit of finding. You wouldn’t think there were so many shades of white!’

  ‘Lovely,’ I said, admiring the way the ivory silk and lace was ruched and draped and adorned with tiny crystals and small roses tinged with the palest hint of pink. ‘And a very modest neckline and sleeves.’

  ‘Of course! I’ve no intention of walking down a church aisle in one of these strapless ones, with my baps hanging out. It’s not my style at all, and anyway, it would be freezing in this weather. I’ve got a little fur-trimmed velvet cape to go to church in, if it’s really cold.’

  It hung on the end of the nearest rail, the fluffy edges stirring slightly in the draught caused by Libby’s twirling about. She looked like the governess in The King and I.

  ‘It’s not real fur, is it, Libby?’

  ‘No, of course not, it’s fake. Don’t get your thong in a twist.’

  ‘Briefs—cotton midi ones. Thongs are too hideously uncomfortable.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed the VPL.’

  ‘I think VPL is sexy,’ I said firmly.

  She gave me a look. ‘When I get to the church porch, I’ll take the cape off and hand it to you.’

  ‘What do I do with it?’

  ‘Hang it in the porch. I might need it on the way out, though I’d rather have the photographs without. And the rehearsal is the day after tomorrow, at four—is that OK?’

  ‘Rehearsal?’

  ‘Yes, I want everything to go perfectly on the day, so we’re going to have a walk-through. There will be me, you, Tim and Nick Pharamond, the best man—he and Tim were at school together. You’ve met him, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, when I was making their wedding cake, and of course I’ve read his cookery articles in the newspapers. I found him a bit scary, to be honest.’

  ‘Tim says he’s more bark than bite. We’ve had Sophy Winter and her husband over to dinner once, but I’m not inviting the Pharamonds until Gina gets here, because I don’t think my cooking’s up to their standards!’

  ‘I think your cooking is brilliant—or your pasta is, anyway,’ I added honestly.

  ‘Pasta is all I do, and I don’t even bother with that if Gina’s there to do it for me.’

  ‘So Gina is definitely coming to live at Blessings?’

  ‘Yes, she’s flying over before the wedding and will stay here while we’re on honeymoon. She’s packed up a lot of her things and sent them on, so she can make the flat a little home from home.’

  ‘It’s lucky Joe’s first wife was American, so Gina speaks English well, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I hope she likes it here in Neatslake, because it doesn’t really have the attractions of a city like Pisa.’

  ‘Gina says Britain is a heathen country, but it’s her duty to look after me here, though what really swung it was the thought of having her own home, so she can invite her relatives to stay.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing her again,’ I said, for when we’d visited Pisa, I’d spent many happy hours in the kitchen with Gina, learning how to do things the Italian way. ‘Did you say you’d managed to get my bridesmaid’s dress too?’

  ‘Yes, though I think it’ll need taking in at the waist. I was in a bit of a hurry after spending all day finding the perfect wedding dress and then visiting the herbalist.’

  She took a shrouded shape off the rail and I saw the warm glow of pink through the white plastic with a sinking heart. ‘I knew it: it’s a Barbie dress!’

  ‘No it isn’t. It’s pink, I admit, but it isn’t the pale pink I wanted, more a pinky-purple old-rose colour—and actually, I think it will suit you.’

  The dress was, in fact, much prettier than the stiff, flouncy, satin horror of my nightmares. It was made of fluid velvet, for a start, in a vaguely medieval style—close-fitting to the hips, then flaring out in heavy folds to the feet, with long, tight, pointed sleeves and a gothic sort of neckline.

  ‘That’s really pretty!’

  ‘It’s the last thing they offered me, in desperation—a cancelled order. Look, just slip it on, so we can see how much it needs altering.’

  It wasn’t that warm in the room, even with the old cast-iron radiator valiantly clanking away in the corner, but I removed my outer layers and slipped into the stretchy velvet. As the skirts settled around me I found myself automatically standing taller and felt…well, totally different. I turned to admire myself in the long glass and found that Libby was right—the colour did suit me, warming my skin from it
s habitual pale winter sallow and flattering my figure.

  ‘It needs taking in at the waist for a closer fit, but other than that, it could have been made for you. No wonder they didn’t sell it!’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Well, you’ve got an athletic sort of build—broad shoulders and long back, legs that go on for ever and not huge in the bum and boobs department. This makes the most of what you’ve got.’ She frowned. ‘You remind me of something…a painting, I think…can’t remember what.’ She shook her head. ‘It’ll come back to me. Now, how are we going to find someone to alter it in time?’

  ‘That’s easy. Lily Grace will do it. She’s given up dressmaking really, but she still does alterations.’

  ‘Lily…’ she mused.

  ‘You remember—the eldest one? White curly hair, Alice band with a satin bow on it, taller than the other two.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You know, they called and left me a visiting card while I was away. I’m not sure what to do with it.’

  ‘I think that’s a sign of social acceptance and I expect Dorrie suggested they do it. They haven’t got any money, but they’re still very proud. Really, you ought to return the call and leave a card with them.’

  ‘I haven’t got any cards. I could invite them to the wedding, though. It’s going to be a bit thin on my side, even if we are trying to keep it small.’

  ‘They would love that—they’d be so excited.’

  ‘Great. We’ll write out an invitation when we go downstairs, and maybe you could take it round with the dress, later?’

  ‘OK. What am I going to do about shoes?’

  ‘You’ll have to go to a wedding shop and buy ivory satin ones—I’ll pay. You can’t match that pink in the time, or I would have had them dyed. In fact, on second thoughts, I’ll come with you because it would be nice if you had some sort of wreath around your head, or a feather fascinator, or something.’

  I groaned.

  The inevitable list came out of her pocket. ‘We’ll go tomorrow afternoon. And then that’s pretty well everything except for the damned reception venue! I know it will be small, but not small enough to fit into the Great Chamber, and unless we travel more than twenty miles away, there’s absolutely nothing to be had locally.’

  ‘It might have to be a marquee then. Perhaps you can get some sort of heaters?’ I suggested.

  ‘I don’t think it will actually come to that, because on the way back from London I had a brilliant idea. We can hold it in the barn!’

  I stared at her. ‘What do you mean, the barn?’

  ‘The Old Barn, one side of the courtyard buildings.’

  ‘Libby, you can’t hold a wedding reception in a barn!’

  ‘Yes I can. Come on, let’s go and look at it.’

  There’s no stopping Libby when she has that determined expression on her face. Snatching up my coat from the back of a chair where I’d tossed it, I followed her out of the French doors in the Great Chamber, past the small, overgrown knot garden, to the U-shaped cluster of buildings near the driveway.

  Round the cobbled courtyard was a hotchpotch of buildings that seemed to have grown organically together over time, including the garage, housing an old but very swish Bentley and with the chauffeur’s flat over it, soon to be Gina’s domain. Then came a row of long-unused stables, tackrooms and various anonymous outbuildings. One entire side of the U was taken up with the Old Barn, dating to the time when the Rowland-Knowles family were local landowners with some use for such a huge structure.

  It wasn’t by any means as old as the house, but still ancient, with the same stone-slabbed roof and huge wooden beams. Perhaps at one time it had also been used to store carriages, for a huge curved doorway had been let into it, besides a smaller door at one end and several windows of thick, murky glass.

  We entered through the small door, and it was almost as cold in there as it was outside. ‘You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t snow on your wedding day, with half the guests stuck in the drifts,’ I said. ‘And then if they do get here, they’ll die of hypothermia at the reception!’

  ‘Don’t be such a pessimist. I’m sure it won’t snow. I mean, how many times did it actually snow properly in Neatslake when we were growing up? Anyway, as long as Tim and I are here, that’s all that really matters. Now come on, look around you—what do you think?’

  Great festoons of furred cobwebs hung down from the beams like dirty tinsel and motes of dust danced in the cross draught. The floor was stone and there were more long, narrow windows high up, near the roof.

  ‘Tim says some of the cars used to be garaged in here and he can remember barn dances in it, once or twice. And look—’ she crossed to a door at the end and flung it open—‘this must have been a tackroom.’

  It had a small, pot-bellied stove, a saddle horse, benches, a table and lots of hooks for harnesses.

  ‘I think it needs huge amounts of work just to get it clean, Libs, and it’s only a couple of weeks to the big day. It’s impossible!’

  ‘No it isn’t, and, what’s more, I’ve already asked Dolly Mops if they’re up to a challenge. The owner, Anthea, says yes, if she can get her staff to volunteer, because it’s a bit out of the ordinary. I expect they will, for double the usual pay. And I’ve got an electrician coming to put in more lighting tomorrow. Nothing’s impossible if you have enough money.’

  At this rate, you soon won’t have!’

  ‘I know, it does seem to be vanishing scarily fast.’ She twirled around. ‘But just imagine this place transformed! White painted walls, drapes at the windows…and thank heavens they had them put in, because it would have been dark as pitch otherwise. I thought buffet food would be easiest and I can hire tablecloths, trestle tables, cutlery, and wineglasses. And your cake can be on a little side table of its own.’

  ‘But it’s the middle of November, Libby. It’ll be almost as freezing as a marquee!’

  ‘I’ll hire big heaters too. Don’t keep putting obstacles in my way.’

  ‘I’m just trying to be practical. At least there’s lots of parking in the courtyard, on the drive and round Church Green,’ I conceded. ‘What about the buffet food?’

  ‘I’m still working on that one, though I’d like an Italian theme. I’m going to ring Maria in a bit and ask her advice.’

  ‘Have you discussed all this with Tim?’

  ‘Yes, as soon as I got back. He thinks it’s a great idea, and he says as soon as the barn’s cleaned out, he’ll whitewash the inside.’

  I looked at the cavernous interior. ‘I think he might need help.’

  When I got home I read the instructions on the herbalist’s packet and pillbox and decided to start right away. I swilled the first pill down with a beaker of the infused herbal mixture, then hid the packets behind one of the plates on the dresser.

  It didn’t matter so much if Ben caught me drinking the herbal tea, though, because I was always trying some new blend. He preferred to stick to Yorkshire Tea so strong you could stand a spoon up in it and, after tasting this horrible stuff, he might have had a point.

  The wedding rehearsal went well. St Cuthbert’s is a little jewel of a church and the vicar is very round and jolly, with a big white beard, like Father Christmas.

  There was no father of the bride to give Libby away, of course. She would be walking down the aisle in solitary splendour, unless you counted my presence lurking in her wake.

  The best man, Nick Pharamond, is scarily attractive in a dark, Neanderthal sort of way, and he’d brought his stepson, Jasper, with him, who also has the typical Pharamond height and colouring: in fact, he’s rather handsome.

  The wintry sun shone in as Tim and Libby stood at the altar, their fair heads close together, one silvery and one golden, like a pair of love-struck angels…

  I had to mop my eyes, so goodness knew what I would be like on the actual wedding day! I cry buckets when the wedding bells peal out even for total strangers, and so do the Graces.

  Hebe Winter
had sent over lots of bags of dried rose petals—the natural confetti. The ushers would hand them out to guests at the door, and Jasper had been roped in for this task. Tim had also asked Ben, so he would have to bring back one of his suits from London for the occasion, but he said he’d have to pop down for a couple of days just before the wedding anyway and could collect it then.

  In fact, things were at last starting to come together. Maria Cazzini had even managed to talk some sense into Pia, thank goodness, so she’d definitely be coming to stay for the wedding. She got her to phone her mother too, which was more than I achieved. Libby said it was mainly to veto any floweriness or cherubs in what was to be her bedroom at Blessings, but that was a hopeful sign that one day she might occasionally deign to take up residence there. But she was too late re the cherubs, because the lavishly over-the-top bed and dressing table were already on their way from Italy.

  When I got back from the wedding practice, someone from a magazine called Glorious Weddings called me, wanting to do a feature on my wedding cake business in their March issue!

  They were sending me an interview questionnaire by email, and when I had sent that back they would phone me again about any further points. They were going to send a photographer round to take pics of me with any cakes I happened to be making and I told them about Libby’s. Now I had to ask her if she would mind if they dropped by at her reception and took a photograph of her and Tim with the Pisa cake!

  When I told Ben about the interview, and that this time they were only interested in my cake-making business, not my whole lifestyle, including him and his wonderful artworks, he was distinctly miffed. But then, he had lots of press coverage when he won that major art prize, and I don’t remember much mention of me in all of that!

  Libby was fine about Glorious Weddings and I filled in their questionnaire and emailed it back. At least this way they couldn’t attribute things to me that I didn’t say, like Country at Heart did…or, at least, I hoped they couldn’t!

  ‘Gird up your loins,’ Libby advised me before ringing off, ‘because from tomorrow, it’s operation Libby’s Reception, and I want you here helping me every minute you can spare!’