Wedding Season

by Katie Fforde

  ‘It's lovely. And you do it professionally?’

  Elsa nodded. 'Mm. I make wedding dresses mostly.’

  ‘You haven't got a business card in your reticule have you?' said Natasha.

  Elsa was writing her website address down for what felt like the tenth time when a woman said, 'You don't take on work-experience students, do you? My daughter's doing A level Art but all she ever does is sew. She loves it and wants to go to fashion college.’

  Elsa considered. 'Although I do occasionally have help, I've never had anyone for work experience. But I have got a big commission coming up. It might be very useful if your daughter can really use a needle.' She thought of all the crystals that would have to be sewn on by hand. She could try her out at least.

  ‘It's in a fortnight. If you say you'd have her, my Mummy Points will sky rocket,' said the woman. 'The only work experience that is even near what she wants is working in a clothes shop.'

  ‘Well, my work will be quite menial but it'll be with lovely fabrics. Tell her to get in touch.’

  Elsa was quite happy chatting to these women eager for her services about what she knew best but then Laurence touched her elbow.

  ‘Come on, we've got to do a victory waltz. On our own. This is when we really find out if your dancing lesson paid off!’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Something happened. Perhaps because Elsa was feeling good about herself after her work had been validated by all those eager people, or because they'd already had a trial run, or for some other, inexplicable reason, but something happened. A switch went on and she and Laurence truly connected.

  She didn't notice the applause, she only heard the music and felt Laurence's arm lightly on her back, intimating to her which way to go. She floated, rising and falling on the music of the Viennese waltz. In her head she was in the Vienna Opera House for the night of the Opera Ball. Round and round they went and she felt she was in heaven.

  The feeling wasn't only about the dancing, she knew that. She felt a charge between them; now they felt like a man and a woman, not just two random people who happened to be at the same party.

  She was aware of other couples joining them on the dance floor and when the music finally ended she and Laurence were at the edge. He was smiling faintly; the corners of his eyes creased slightly. Apart from the fact that he was pleased with her, she couldn't quite interpret his expression. She felt a flutter of excitement in her chest as he looked deeply into her eyes. Then he released the hand he had been holding and took her chin. She closed her eyes and waited for his kiss.

  His lips had barely brushed hers when he suddenly pulled away. Someone was tugging at his sleeve. It was Natasha.

  ‘Laurence, I'm really sorry to interrupt' – she shot an apologetic glance at Elsa – 'but you're the only person guaranteed to be sober.’

  Disappointment and reality arrived simultaneously. She'd been dancing like an angel, with Laurence, and he had been going to kiss her, properly. The circumstances might never be right again and kind, gentlemanly, sober Laurence was going to have to rescue another damsel in distress.

  ‘It's Jamie,' explained Natasha. 'He managed to really gouge his hand opening a bottle of wine. Maggie is beside herself. She can't drive, they've got a babysitter who has to be got home, and she thinks Jamie should go to hospital. I do too, actually.’

  Elsa thought she saw Laurence close his eyes for a moment, expressing irritation, or possibly frustration. But then he was his usual helpful self. He glanced at her, almost as if he were asking her permission. She smiled back.

  ‘Come on, let's have a look,' he said.

  The kitchen could have been a scene from Holby City before the ambulance crew arrived.

  There was a man sitting at the table holding a bloodstained tea towel round his hand. A woman, presumably his wife, was leaning over him, alternately upbraiding him for being so stupid and asking him how he felt. Other people stood around offering opinions – some said the wound, which Elsa couldn't actually see, should be stuck up with sticking plaster, that was all that was necessary. Others said he should go to A and E. One person was all for calling an ambulance.

  When Laurence entered the room everyone went quiet. 'What happened?' he asked, and everyone started to talk again.

  ‘Bloody fool was trying to open a bottle with a knife. It slipped and it went straight into his wrist.' This was his wife. 'He's going to bleed to death if someone doesn't do something! And he's drunk,' she added.

  ‘I'm fine! I said I'd drive!' said the man concerned, obviously not only in pain but somewhat inebriated.

  ‘No you're not. Even if you hadn't cut your hand half off you couldn't drive,' said someone else.

  ‘Let's have a look.' Laurence knelt by the man and unwrapped the tea towel. He didn't say anything, just wrapped it up again very quickly. 'Maggie's right,' he said. 'A and E for you.'

  ‘I don't drive,' wailed Maggie. 'And I must get home -we've got a new babysitter, I can't leave her there all night!'

  ‘Don't worry, someone will get you home,' said Natasha, who had joined the group. 'But I think Laurence should take Jamie to hospital. He's sober and he's done a first-aid course. Haven't you, sweetie?’

  Laurence raised an eyebrow. 'A couple of years ago, and it doesn't qualify me to do major stitching.'

  ‘You should still drive him in. You could take his car.’

  ‘How am I going to get home?' demanded Maggie. 'I don't mean to sound unsympathetic but I'm frankly livid! He gets drunk when he promised he wouldn't and then bloody injures himself. A taxi will cost a fortune!’

  ‘Someone will take you home, don't worry, Maggie,' said Natasha soothingly. 'There must be someone who lives your way.'

  ‘But I don't want to wait for someone to decide they want to go home. I want to go now! I need to be at home with my babies! Besides,' she added a bit more calmly, 'I don't want to drag anyone away from the party. It's too early to leave.'

  ‘Your car will be safe here, Laurence. I know how precious your Morgan is to you,' said Natasha, still concerned with Laurence and Jamie.

  ‘That doesn't help me,' said Maggie. 'If I could drive, I'd take it.’

  Natasha shook her head. 'Laurence is very picky about who he lets drive his car, Maggs.'

  ‘Listen, everyone!' Jamie, still clutching his tea towel, claimed the room's attention. 'I'm bleeding to death here, and all you lot can talk about is Laurence's bloody car!' His blood-letting hadn't done much to sober him up.

  ‘There's another problem,' said Laurence. 'Someone's got to see that Elsa gets home safely.’

  For the third time that evening Elsa realised everyone was looking at her. She must have been getting used to it because she felt quite calm. 'I can get myself home. I'll take a taxi or' – she smiled and added jokingly – 'I could drive Laurence's car – except that it's not insured, of course.’

  No one laughed. There was a long pause as people waited for Laurence to say, 'Hell will freeze over first,' or something similar. But when he did speak he said, 'Actually, it is insured. How much have you had to drink?’

  Elsa was only insulted for a second or two before she replied. 'Half a glass of champagne when we arrived. No alcohol since. And I've eaten a huge plate of bceuf bourguignon.'

  ‘You're not telling me you're going to let some girl drive the Morgan!' exclaimed one of the other men, aghast.

  Laurence gave him a look which indicated he'd rather some girl drove it than him, and the man looked away. 'It's insured for anyone over the age of twenty-five with my permission. How old are you, Elsa?’

  She smiled sarcastically. 'Over twenty-five, thanks for asking.'

  ‘Seriously, Lau, you wouldn't let a girl you hardly know drive your car!' Natasha was stunned. She shot Elsa an apologetic glance. 'I mean, I know you two haven't known…' She tailed off. 'We could get someone else to do it, if it's insured. Not everyone here is drunk, for goodness' sake!'

  ‘I'd rather have Elsa.' Laurence looke
d intently at her, and she felt herself blush.

  ‘Are you sure?' she asked.

  For a moment it felt as if there was no one else in the room. He nodded. 'I trust you.' He fumbled in his pocket and produced the keys.

  When Laurence and Jamie had gone off to A and E in Jamie's car, Maggie and Elsa walked over the gravel to the Morgan. Elsa didn't think she should mention to anyone that she hadn't driven for quite a long time. She didn't want to add to Laurence's anxiety and she was too touched and thrilled by what Laurence had said to want to spoil it. Besides, she felt supremely calm. Her only worry was being able to find her way home after she'd taken Maggie and the babysitter back. But if she got lost, she'd do what she'd always done, ever since she first passed her test -she'd ring her father and get directions. He was guaranteed to know the way to anywhere from anywhere. The fact that it was quite late by now didn't bother her. That's what dads were for.

  Maggie was unaware of Elsa's inexperience. She talked all the way to her house, either not noticing, or not commenting on any difficulties Elsa might have with driving a completely strange car in the dark. Once Elsa had found the lights and they'd both got their seatbelts on, she chattered away about how irresponsible her husband could be, how she really must learn to drive, and what a fabulous party it had been.

  Elsa didn't speak. She just concentrated on getting them both to Maggie's house safely. She wasn't looking forward to driving back home alone, but she had her mobile close to her. Luckily the babysitter's boyfriend came and collected her.

  It was only after she'd parked Laurence's precious Morgan safely outside her house that she started to shake. After she'd made sure for the hundredth time she'd locked it she went in, laughing at how she'd been so calm and now her palms were sweating and she was shaking as if from shock.

  ‘This is so silly!' she told herself, trying to be firm. 'Nothing bad has happened – you don't have to panic now! What sort of a woman are you?’

  She knew what sort of a woman she was, really. She was shy and previously lacking in self-confidence. But recently things had changed. She felt more confident about her work as a dressmaker, had survived performing in public and had been quietly efficient in an emergency. Sadly, her body seemed to think she was still a wimp. She decided she needed hot chocolate. She put the champagne in the fridge and took her shoes off.

  She was on her third digestive biscuit when her mobile went. It was Laurence.

  ‘Everything all right?' he asked casually.

  Elsa was not fooled. 'Fine. Did you get Jamie sorted OK?'

  ‘Oh yes. There wasn't much of a queue for once. We got him stitched up and I've just driven him home.' He paused. 'Elsa, would you mind very much if I came and got the car now? Maggie will have their car picked up from yours in the morning.’

  She smiled. 'That's fine. I haven't gone to bed yet.' Her heart fluttered once more. He was coming to collect his precious car of course but she would have to invite him in; he'd been a hero tonight, her hero, and she remembered their almost-kiss.

  ‘Are you still wearing your lovely dress?' He broke into her thoughts.

  ‘No. I changed into my dressing gown. But I'm quite decent.' She tried to sound casual.

  He laughed. 'I love the thought of you driving through the night in my car, looking like a Georgette Heyer heroine!’

  She flew into her bedroom. Decent she might have been but her hair was currently a disintegrating bird's nest of hair lacquer and pins – not a good look. She'd taken off the false bun but had just left the rest, planning to take it out in the morning when she could wash out the spray. But she didn't want Laurence drinking hot chocolate across her kitchen table looking at her in such a state. If he was going to see her dishevelled she wanted it to be for the right reasons!

  She'd got the worst of the lacquer out by giving her hair a good brush when she heard him arrive. She went downstairs and let him in.

  He was deeply apologetic. 'I'm so sorry to be so neurotic. I love my car!’

  Elsa laughed indulgently. 'I think I picked that up. Do you want to come in and have some hot chocolate? I've just had some. It's very soothing.'

  ‘Sounds terrific.' He paused. 'But would you think I was frightfully anal if I looked over the car first?'

  ‘Yes. But I understand. We're all allowed to be anal sometimes. I'll put the milk on. Close the bottom door behind you when you come up and I'll leave the flat door open.’

  While Laurence was being anal about his car, Elsa went back to the bathroom to carry on brushing. She felt ridiculously excited. She'd had a wonderful evening. She liked Laurence tremendously. Would he make a move again? she wondered, and really hoped so. She gave her teeth a quick brush but didn't allow herself to put on lipstick. That would look a bit desperate with her dressing gown.

  ‘You look different,' he said, a little while later, looking at her over the top of his mug. 'I don't mean because you're not dressed up any more. There's something else.’

  Elsa looked down. She was fairly sure it was the leftover make-up that still smudged her eyes and the way that all those products that Bron had put on it gave her hair a bit more body than usual.

  ‘Maybe it's the satisfaction of having driven your car safely back,' she said, looking back up at him and smiling.

  ‘There isn't a mark on it – or at least, not one that wasn't there before.'

  ‘It was incredibly trusting of you to let me drive it. Now I can tell you that I hadn't driven for ages. I was dreadfully nervous.’

  Retrospective horror passed over his face. 'But you felt OK once you were on the way?'

  ‘Yes, actually. I had Maggie for support and there was no traffic to speak of. I actually quite enjoyed my journey back here. It was only when I got home that I went into shock.’

  He shook his head slightly. 'I would never have put you through that if I'd known.’

  She bit her lip, suppressing a smile and regarded him with her head on one side. 'That's the second time you've said that to me this evening.' He looked a bit blank. 'The costume competition? That involved having to do a Viennese waltz on our own?’

  He smiled. 'You were superb, and you certainly deserved to win the competition. Who will you take for your weekend away, or shouldn't I ask?'

  ‘You certainly shouldn't ask. Have another biscuit.' She reached for the tin and passed it to him, fervently hoping he wouldn't see her blushing.

  He looked around her workroom, admiring all her handiwork as he gave her a detailed account of an A and E department on a Saturday night. She was about to suggest making some more hot chocolate when she saw him yawn. 'Have you far to go tonight?' She almost whispered the words.

  The charge she'd felt when he nearly kissed her before couldn't have been only one way, could it? It seemed so strong. And much as she knew he adored his car, he hadn't really needed to come in for a hot chocolate. But she didn't want to make a fool of herself by being too forward. She suddenly felt rather shy.

  ‘Mm. Quite far.' He blinked at her but she couldn't quite read his expression.

  She took a breath. 'Unless you've got to be somewhere very early in the morning or something…' She paused.

  ‘I haven't got anything in particular to do tomorrow morning, actually,' Laurence said.

  She decided to take a leap of faith. 'You could spend the night here,' she said before losing her nerve. 'The sofa in the workroom converts to a double bed.' Oh, why had she said 'double' when just bed would have done? She felt herself blush again.

  ‘I don't want to put you out.’

  Why was he being so polite? She wasn't his maiden aunt. She laughed nervously. 'Of course you wouldn't put me out!' she said. 'I wouldn't have offered if it would. I'll go and get some bedding. You can work out the mechanism. There's a lever somewhere.’

  While she found the spare double duvet and some sheets she wondered if there was anything she should do. Why was it all so difficult? She was definitely out of practice. Perhaps she should just lure him into her b
edroom and forget the sofabed. But that just wasn't her style and, anyway, she remembered her bed was strewn with clothes – hardly romantic. If he wanted to sleep, alone, he could and she wouldn't lose face. It wasn't that she necessarily wanted to have mad passionate sex with him (although part of her did) but she did want him to kiss her.

  The sofabed looked embarrassingly double when Elsa got back with her pile of bedding. They arranged it together, placing pillows, trying to anchor the bottom sheet.

  ‘There,' she said. 'I hope that'll be comfortable.'

  ‘A plank would be comfortable after the night I've had.’

  ‘You should have said. I've got a nice plank I could have rigged up for you,' she teased, feeling bolder.

  He gave a tired laugh and then looked across at her in the soft light of a table lamp. 'Come here, you.' He put his arms round her and hugged her for a long time. Then, after what seemed a lifetime of waiting and wondering for Elsa, he found her mouth.

  Any doubts Elsa may have had about her feelings for Laurence were dissipated within seconds of his lips touching hers. She wanted him desperately and knew he felt exactly the same. The kiss went on and on; they stopped only to breathe, and then their mouths found each other's again and continued.

  At last they sank on to the bed. Elsa's dressing gown fell open and Laurence found his way to her skin and her breasts.

  In her turn she undid his shirt buttons and relieved him of his dress shirt. His chest was wonderful to her and as her hands explored it tentatively she thought how aesthetically pleasing a toned male body was.

  ‘Elsa,' he said later, huskily. 'We have to decide whether to stop or go on.’

  She knew what she wanted to do: a lightning bolt of insight told her clearly she did not want to stop and that she must say so. Laurence wouldn't push it if she showed a moment's reluctance.

  ‘In which case I'll have to go out to the car.'

  ‘Why?' For a panic-stricken moment she wondered if he'd suddenly remembered he hadn't locked it or something, in which case his mind hadn't been as connected with hers as she'd thought.