‘That is wonderful.’ Her mother was rapidly taking notes. ‘That gives me a lot to be getting on with. Rose will be doing the rings of course and Violet the flowers. You know what, Daisy, I think somehow we are going to be able to pull this wedding off.’
* * *
‘We’re going all the way into London?’
When she had left the day before Daisy had felt, fully aware of her own inner melodrama, as if she were being taken away from her beloved city for ever even though she knew full well that she would be returning for a studio shoot later that week. But it still felt slightly anticlimactic to be returning just over twenty-four hours later.
Her mother looked mildly surprised. ‘Of course, we have a wedding dress to buy.’ Her voice grew wistful. ‘It was such a shame that Seb vetoed a Tudor theme. I think he would have carried off a doublet really well. And such an eminent historian, you would have thought he would have jumped at the chance to really live in the past.’
‘So short-sighted.’ Daisy couldn’t suppress the gurgle of laughter that bubbled up as she remembered the utter horror on Seb’s face when her mother had greeted them with her brilliant idea. ‘I would have preferred regency though.’
‘The building is all wrong but you were made to wear one of those high-waisted gowns. And breeches are possibly even better than doublet and hose.’
‘Infinitely better.’ Daisy settled herself into a more comfortable position, allowing her hand to move softly across her abdomen. All had been confirmed. She was definitely pregnant, close to seven weeks. Just as she had expected but it had been a relief to hear another human say it out loud.
A relief to give Seb the definitive tidings; backing out of the wedding now would have been awkward for both of them. It wasn’t that she was actually beginning to enjoy the planning process, enjoy having her mother’s undivided attention or even enjoy seeing Seb pulled so far out of his comfort zone he could barely formulate a sentence.
Except when the Tudor theme was mooted. He had been more than able to turn that idea down flat.
Once she had established where they were going Daisy took little notice of the route. It wasn’t often she spent time alone with her mother.
Maybe if she had allowed her mother in a little more then there would have been more occasions like this but the price had always seemed too high. Her mother did have a tendency to try and take over, the wedding a perfect case in point.
But it came from a place of love; maybe she should have respected that more.
Daisy leant across and kissed her mother’s still smooth and unlined cheek.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For helping.’ It almost hurt, saying the words, but she felt a sense of relief when they were out, as if she had been holding onto them for a long, long time.
Her mother’s blue eyes widened. ‘Of course I want to help. My baby, getting married. And there is so much to do. Hawksley may be grand but I’ve seen more up-to-date ruins.’
‘Part of it is ruined.’ Daisy was surprised at how protective she felt towards the stately building.
Her mother gave her a wry glance. ‘I mean the house part. Really, darling, it’s a major project. Some of the rooms have been untouched for years.’
‘I just wish you had checked with Seb before organising the cleaners.’ Only her mother could get an army of cleaners, decorators and handymen organised in under two hours. It had been a shock to arrive back from their morning appointments to find the car park full of various trade vans, the house overrun by ladders, buckets and pine scents.
‘Most of the family will be staying in the house after all. Updating and decorating are your preserve, darling, but cleaning and touching up before the big day is very much mine. Consider it my wedding present to you both.’
Daisy tried not to sigh. Seb employed one cleaner who was responsible for the offices as well as the house and she barely made a dent in the few areas he used. It would be nice to see the main house brought up to hygienic standards: the paintwork fresh, the wood polished and the sash windows gleaming. At the same time it was so typical of her mother to wave her magic wand with extravagant generosity, to think that money would solve the problem regardless of how it made the recipients feel.
There had been a bleak look on Seb’s face when he surveyed the workers. He had withdrawn into his study pleading work and Daisy hadn’t felt able to follow him in there.
The car drew up outside the iconic golden stone building that housed Rafferty’s, London’s premier designer store.
‘It’s simply too late for a gown to be made for you. I am owed a lot of favours but even I can’t work miracles. But then I remembered what a fabulous collection Nina keeps here at Rafferty’s. She has promised that she can have any gown altered to fit you in the timescale. Luckily I had my pick of the new spring/summer collections in Fashion Week last year so there will be something suitable for me.’ Her mother sounded vaguely put upon, as if she were being expected to put an outfit together from a duster and an old feather boa, not premier one of the several haute couture outfits that had been made specifically for her.
Daisy felt the old shiver of excitement as they exited the car and walked into the famous domed entrance hall. It was once said you could buy anything and become anybody at Rafferty’s—as long as you had the money. Would she become the bride of her dreams?
They were met at the door and whisked upstairs to the bridal department, an impressive gallery decorated in Rafferty’s distinctive art deco style. The entrance to the department, reached through an archway, was open to the public and sold an array of bridal accessories including lingerie, shoes, tiaras and some ready-to-wear bride and bridesmaids dresses. But it was the room beyond, tactfully hidden behind a second, curtained arch, where the real magic lay. This room was accessed by appointment only. Today, Daisy and her mother were the only customers.
It needed little decoration and the walls were painted a warm blush white, the floor a polished mahogany. The sparkle and glamour came from the dresses themselves; every conceivable length, every shade of white from ice through to deep cream, a few richer colours dotted around: a daring red, rich gold, vibrant silver, pinks and rich brocades.
Daisy was glad of the cosy-looking love seats and chaises scattered about. So much choice was making her head whirl.
‘Champagne?’ Nina, the department manager who had been dressing the city’s brides for nearly forty years, came over with a bottle of Dom Perignon, chilled and opened.
‘No, thanks.’ Daisy thought rapidly. ‘I want a clear head. There’s so much choice.’
‘A large glass for me, please.’ Violet walked in, slightly out of breath. ‘I sense it’s going to be a long afternoon. Rose says hi, don’t make her wear frills and definitely not shiny satin.’
‘They’re all so beautiful.’ Their mother was already halfway down a glass of champagne, a wistful look in her eyes as she fingered the heavy silks, slippery satins and intricate laces. ‘Obviously I wouldn’t have changed my wedding to your father for the world. It was very romantic, just us, in a tiny chapel. I was barefoot with flowers in my hair. But I did miss out on all this...’ Her gaze encompassed the room. ‘Which is why, Daisy darling, I am determined that no matter how whirlwind your wedding, no matter how little time we have, you are going to have the day you always dreamed of.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘YOU LOOK TERRIBLE. What’s wrong?’
Daisy, Seb had discovered in the week they had been living together, was just like him—an early bird. She usually appeared in the kitchen just a few moments after he did, already dressed, ready to moan about the lack of caffeine in her day while hopefully trying yet another of the seemingly endless array of herbal teas she had brought with her, hoping to discover the one to replace her beloved lattes.
Today she was dressed as usual, if a little more demure
, in a grey skater-style dress with an embroidered yellow hem, a yellow knitted cap pulled back over her head. But there was no exaggerated groaning when she saw his coffee, no diving on the toast as if she hadn’t eaten in at least a month. Instead she pulled out a chair and collapsed into it with a moan.
‘Why, why, why did I agree to start work at nine?’ She looked at the clock on the wall and slid further down her seat. ‘It’s going to take me well over an hour to get there. I’ll need to set off in ten minutes.’
‘Toast?’ Seb pushed the plate towards her but she pushed it back with an exaggerated shudder.
‘No, it’s far too early for food.’
She hadn’t said that yesterday at a very similar time. Between them they had demolished an entire loaf of bread.
‘Is that a new brand of coffee?’ Daisy was looking at his cup of coffee as if he had filled it with slurry from the cow sheds, her nose wrinkled in disgust.
‘Nope, the usual.’
‘It smells vile.’
Seb took another look. She was unusually pale, the violet shadows under her eyes pronounced despite powder, the bright lipstick a startling contrast to her pallor. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’
‘I could have slept for ever.’ She sniffed again and went even paler. ‘Are you sure that’s the usual brand? Have you made it extra strong?’ She pressed her hand to her stomach and winced.
‘You look really ill. I think you should go back to bed.’
‘I can’t.’ The wail was plaintive. ‘I have a wedding to photograph. I’m due at the bride’s house at nine for the family breakfast followed by the arrival of the bridesmaids and getting ready. I need to be at the groom’s at half eleven for best man and ushers then back to the bride’s for final departures, church at one and then the reception.’
‘With a blog up by midnight and the first pictures available the next day?’ His mouth folded into a thin line. It was a ridiculous schedule.
‘That’s what they pay me for.’
‘There is no way you are going to be able to manage an eighteen-hour day on no breakfast.’
Daisy pushed her chair back and swayed, putting a hand onto the table to steady herself. ‘I don’t have any choice. I work for myself, Seb. I can’t just call in sick. Besides, I’m not ill, I’m pregnant. This is self-inflicted, like a hangover. I just have to deal with it.’
‘It’s nothing like a hangover.’ He stopped as she winced, a hand to her head. ‘You need an assistant.’
‘Possibly, but unless you can produce one out of one of the trunks in the attic that’s not going to help with today.’
Seb regarded her helplessly. He wanted to march her back upstairs, tuck her in and make her soup. He was responsible for the slight green tinge to her skin and the shadows under her eyes.
But she was right, if she cried off a wedding on the day her reputation would be shattered. ‘Can anyone cover for you?’
‘Seb, this is morning sickness not a twenty-four-hour bug.’ Her voice rose in exasperation. ‘It could last for days, or weeks, or even months. What about Monday’s engagement shoot? Or next Saturday’s wedding? Or the baby photos on Wednesday? I can’t just walk away from all my responsibilities.’
‘No, but you can plan ahead.’
‘But none of this was planned. Don’t treat me like I’m some fluffy little girl without a brain cell.’
Woah, where had that come from?
‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ He knew he sounded stiff but this: histrionics, overreacting, unreasonable responses to reasonable points. It was everything he didn’t want in his life.
To his surprise Daisy let out a huge sigh and slumped. ‘I’m sorry, I am just so tired. You’re right, I do need to start planning how I am going to cover my commitments over the next year.’
It was over, just like that. No escalation, no screaming, no smashing of crockery. Just an apology.
‘I could have phrased it better.’ It wasn’t as full an apology as hers but it was all he could manage in his shock.
‘I have been meaning to talk to Sophie. She was on my course and specialises in portraits, personal commissions mostly although she’s been beginning to get some magazine work. Her studio rent was just doubled and now I’m not living in mine I thought we might join forces and she could cover weddings for me in lieu of rent, or at least give me a hand. But that doesn’t solve today.’
No. It didn’t.
Daisy took one dragging step towards the door and then another. Her laptop case, camera case and tripod were neatly piled up, waiting. How she was going to carry them he had no idea.
And she really needed to eat something.
‘I’ll come with you and help.’
She half turned, the first flicker of a smile on her face. ‘You? Do you know when to use a fifty-millimetre, an eighty-five-millimetre or switch to a wide-angled lens?’
‘No, I can barely use the camera on my phone,’ Seb admitted. ‘But I can fetch, carry, set up, organise groups, make sure you eat.’
A flicker of hope passed over her face. ‘Don’t you have a million and one things to do here?’
‘Always.’ Seb grimaced as he remembered the unfinished grant applications, the paperwork that seemed to grow bigger the more he did. Not to mention his real work, the research that seemed more and more impossible every day. The looming deadline for a book still in note form. ‘Promise me you’ll chat to Sophie tomorrow and at least sort out a willing apprentice for next week and I’ll come and help.’
She was tempted, he could see. ‘You really don’t mind?’
‘No, not at all. On the condition I drive and you try and eat something in the car.’ The grant applications could wait, the paperwork could wait. He’d be worrying all day if he allowed her to walk out of the door and start a gruelling day on her feet without someone to watch out for her.
The sooner she got an assistant or partner, the better.
* * *
There were times when Seb wondered if all that sassy style and confidence was only skin deep. When he thought he saw a flash of vulnerability in the blue eyes. But not here. Not today.
If Daisy still felt sick she was hiding it well. She was all quiet control and ease as she snapped: candid shots, posed shots, detailed close-ups. Always polite, always professional but in complete control, whether it was putting the nervy mother of the bride at her ease or settling the exuberant best man and ushers down enough to take a series of carefully choreographed shots.
She was everywhere and yet she was totally discreet. Focused on the job at hand. Seb followed her with bags and the box of ginger biscuits, completely out of place in this world of flowers and silks and tears.
Even the groom had had tears in his eyes as the bride had finally—an entire twenty minutes late—walked down the aisle.
As for the mother of the bride, five tissues hadn’t been enough to staunch her sobs. The whole thing was a hysterical nightmare. Leaving the church had been a huge relief and he had gulped in air like a drowning man.
But the ordeal wasn’t over.
‘I don’t understand what else there is for you to do.’ Daisy had directed him towards a woodland nearby and Seb was following her down the chipping-strewn path. ‘You must have taken at least three hundred pictures already. How many group shots outside the church? His family, her family, his friends, her friends, his colleagues, her colleagues. The neighbours, passers-by...’
‘Far more than three hundred.’ She threw him a mischievous smile. ‘Bored?’
‘It just takes so long. No photos at our wedding, Daisy. Not like this.’
‘No.’ The smile was gone. ‘But ours is different. We don’t need to document every moment.’
‘Just the obvious ones.’ Perversely he was annoyed she wasn’t trying to talk him round. ‘I
t would seem odd otherwise.’
‘If you want.’ She chewed her bottom lip as she looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I think I’m going to change the order a little bit as you are here. If I put you in charge of the photo booth then there is some entertainment for the guests while I do the couple’s portraits in the woods. Is that okay?’
Seb blinked. He was here to carry bags, not perform. ‘The what? Do I have to do anything?’
‘Smile. Tell them to say cheese. Press a button, four times. Can you manage that?’
Possibly. ‘What do you mean by photo booth? Like a passport photo? At a wedding?’
She shot him an amused look. ‘In a way, you know, teenagers sit in a photo booth and take silly pictures—or at least they did before selfies became ubiquitous.’
He shook his head. ‘No, never did it. I’ve never taken a selfie either.’
Her mouth tilted into a smile. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. But you know what I mean? This is the same, only with props. And not a booth, just me with a camera—or in this case you. They put on silly accessories and then stand in front of a frame and try different poses. I print them up as a long strip of four pictures.’
Seb stared at her incredulously. ‘Why on earth do you do that?’
‘Because it’s fun.’ She rolled her eyes at him. ‘I’ll set the tripod up. All you need to do is explain they have three seconds to change pose and press the button. Honestly, Seb, it’s fine. A monkey could do it.’
‘And where will you be?’
‘Portrait time. Followed by more group shots. And then candid evening and reception shots. Having fun yet?’
‘Absolutely. The thought of wandering around these woods for hours carrying your cases is my idea of a perfect day. Sure you know where you’re going?’ They seemed to be going further into the woodland with no building in sight.
Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set Page 27
