A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘What’ll we do? Everything is planned but the forecast is dire, what shall we do, Sara?’

  ‘Sit down, have a cup of malotira to calm things and see what we can salvage. The hall is booked.’

  ‘But not decorated, Shelley was going to supervise all that. The flowers were being kept in cool storage and the room could be flooded out.’

  ‘Then I’ll get some help to finish it off.’ Sara brought out her leather-bound pocket notebook. ‘How many guests have arrived already?’

  ‘Just locals, everything is at a standstill and Soraya is refusing to budge. Her father is stranded somewhere out there… what a mess! Norris is lying down with one of his bad heads, feeling the strain. No one tells you the stress of all this… At least the groom and best man are here. Our house is full. Soraya had planned to stay in a hotel with her mother but everywhere is in darkness.’

  Sara could feel Dorrie’s panic as all their plans were crumbling before her eyes. ‘There’s no reason not to hold the reception meet and greet.’

  ‘But with no power supply?’

  ‘Plenty of lamps and candles will suffice, outages are common here, aren’t they? It doesn’t stop feasts and parties, not with wood ovens and Calor gas stoves. You told me it was going to be a cold buffet with lots of wine and cheese. Mel will give us a hand, I’m sure.’

  ‘But tomorrow… They are due to meet the mayor to sign their documents and then the beach ceremony. The platform boards will be wrecked. Thank goodness the carpet up to the chapel wasn’t due to be laid out. It’s all too much. Shelley should be here. She has all the notes…’ Dorrie was flapping her hands and pacing the floor.

  ‘One day at a time, Mrs Thorner. We’ll salvage what we can and make it happen, perhaps not as grand as planned but there is no reason for them not to marry. Their party celebrations can come later when everybody has arrived safely. We can still make tonight special. Fratelli’s can still prepare the catering, and we can ring round the book club to help finish off the hall tables, glasses and flowers.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘My other son has come along. His wife isn’t here. It’s all too much. That Shelley woman just bulldozed over us. This wasn’t my idea at all, not even a blessing in church,’ Dorrie moaned while Soraya was swallowing a large glass of wine.

  ‘We can’t do anything without Shelley and Papa, can we? Stranded on this island, what a farce. The wedding might as well be called off,’ Soraya cried, waving her glass and spattering wine over Dorrie’s cream sofa. ‘Ooops… Sorry.’

  Dorrie rushed out for a cloth. It was time for Sara to step in with firmness before it all descended into recriminations. ‘I know you must be disappointed but there are more ways to skin a cat, as they say. The whole of St Nick’s is looking forward to meeting you both. We can still have the party as planned. There’ll be food and drink, candlelight, live music. It could be fun and very romantic. What a tale to tell your grandkids one day. So forget about what can’t be helped and enjoy the moment. Videos and photos can be emailed, perhaps, to your papa. It will be a night to remember.’ Soraya’s sulky lips changed into a smile. ‘That’s better, you can still wear your pre-wedding outfit. Now relax. Tomorrow is another day.’

  Soraya downed another glass. ‘But if it continues, what then? The sun must shine on my wedding day, not some soggy wet downpour. What about my bridal dress and train? They’ll be ruined. What if the water lily has collapsed? What a stupid idea and it’s all Papa’s fault for wanting all this fuss. We might as well have exchanged vows in a London park.’

  Dorrie was busy wiping down her sofa shaking her head at Soraya’s attitude. ‘There’s no pleasing that one,’ she whispered. ‘Dear Papa spoiled her rotten, poor Daniel…’

  Sara was not going to take sides. Time to muster help from her expat friends so that Dorrie got a special night. The heavens may have opened but no reason not to have a great evening after all. Most of their meet and greet guests were British and a little drop of rain and wind was par for the course. Sara took her leave and headed up to the square to the community hall, texting everybody she could think of before she realised without power and no internet service, she would have to go and knock on doors as it poured down.

  *

  They were a motley crew of helpers who set to in the hall to make the best of things. At least they had the fancy china and tablecloths ready to be displayed, Fratelli’s delivered the pastries and cold buffet, candlesticks and lanterns flickered on the ledges. The stage they lined with pot plants and shrubs. There was nothing they could do with the garlands but Spiro got a ladder and Griff brought a huge sack of greenery which they hung from the wooden circles instead, adorning them with balloons.

  Chloë and Mel made the tables look presentable. Irini loaned her silk flowers to cheer things up. It was all very makeshift but candlelight could hide a multitude of sins. The musicians hired for the night turned up and there was plenty of background music to fill the room. When they were satisfied, everyone dashed back home to change. If this was to be a grand occasion then only party frocks would do under macs and umbrellas. They assembled like guests at a ball. Soraya made her entrance in a mid-length satin gown with a boat-shaped neck and very fifties in style. Daniel thanked everyone and admired what they had achieved in a few hours. Dorrie and Norris looked relieved and the evening proceeded without a hitch. The food was plentiful and delicious, toasts were made to the bridal couple but Soraya said little. Disappointment was etched on her face for all to see. They emptied every one of Papa Yuri’s champagne bottles. Poor Norrie got plastered. They had never seen him so lively, shaking hands and hugging his neighbours.

  ‘I hope to goodness the rain stops tomorrow or there will be all hell to pay,’ whispered Chloë to Sara. ‘Well done, you saved the evening.’

  Sara was not so sure. There was nothing she could do if it rained tomorrow. All that mattered to her was that Dorrie and her family had a good evening. The rest was up to Miss Dorney to rescue and put a smile on Soraya’s face at last.

  28

  The day of the wedding dawned bright as if nothing had happened the night before. It was the wind that did most of the damage along the shoreline and the waves rolled in like a surfer’s dream. There was still no sign of the yacht. The appointment at the mayoral office had to be kept and Dorrie asked Sara to accompany them down in case anything went wrong.

  Sara prayed Shelley had done all the paperwork correctly and Spiro taxied them into town where Soraya was waiting with Dan in her second wedding outfit: a two-piece, tight-fitting lacy trouser suit with wide lapels on which sat a diamond brooch the size of a small saucer. ‘Her papa’s gift,’ whispered Dorrie. ‘Not quite a kettle and table mats, is it?’

  The legal wedding ceremony took about three minutes, they signed the documents in triplicate, smiled at the local photographer and that was that. Soraya searched the horizon in tears, waiting for the sea to settle and a sighting of her father’s yacht. Then suddenly it was there in the distance and everyone cheered. Soraya was taxied back to Dorrie’s house to change into wedding outfit number three: the Paris creation.

  Sara was curious to see what happened next, waiting for the motor launches to disgorge the guests in their finery. Already a team of local chippies were hurriedly trying to fix the waterlily platform but the waves had smashed the faux leaves, leaving a sorry mess. There was only time for plan B, a simple duckboard and raised decking. The set designer would have a hissy fit but what else could be done?

  At least the formal ceremony was not due until much later and would give time for tempers to calm down, for all the girls to be made-up and the flummery of flower arrangements erected to disguise any damaged structures.

  The bridesmaids staggered off the boat looking green and dishevelled. No one was in the mood for laughter. Mr Yuri’s expression was like a wet weekend in Hartlepool. The poor horse and open carriage from Chania was lifted off, ready for the procession. Locals and tourists stared in amazement as the boxes of ro
ses and blooms and accessories were piled up on the harbour.

  Back at the taverna, Sara relayed all she had seen to Mel. ‘This, we must see. I’m not going to miss it for anything.’

  As if reading her mind, Norris popped in with an invitation. ‘After all you two did for us yesterday, it’s the least we can do and if anyone queries your presence, send them to me. This is our island and we have to have some say in matters.’

  Mel asked Irini and Katya to cover for her. The boys would stay and play with friends. Lunches were quiet with time for them both to shower and change so they could join Chloë and the book club ladies for the ceremony. The gold satin chairs sank into the damp sand, the duckboard was lined with white roses and ferns, the archway was covered in red roses and gold ribbon and they brought a trio of chamber musicians to play in the bride. It was a pity their instruments were out of tune.

  After a short delay, Soraya arrived on her father’s arm in her third wedding outfit, a froth of silk and lace cascading into an enormous bustle and train. She looked drained and anxious in the early evening heat. ‘That dress will kill her… it’s so hot,’ Sara whispered, noting how the train was already soiled with sand. They watched as the vow-taking began, kisses exchanged and everyone clapping until one of her ten bridesmaids collapsed under the weight of her dress and huge bouquet.

  Sara watched Yuri’s new wife’s hair extensions droop into rat’s tails. The wedding arch was wilting in the sun, the duckboard carpet was sagging under all those spiky heels. At least those with large hats had some shade. Sadly, Sara thought it all rather tacky and shallow but again Sally’s words echoed in her mind: You must never judge someone else’s dream.

  Then it was time for the bride and groom to kick off their shoes and wander onto the shore for those romantic shots by the photographer from their chosen magazine. The guests were left to head for the huge marquee erected for the wedding breakfast. Sergei, the designer, had done them proud, using up all the spare flowers that should have gone to the community hall the night before. You could hardly breathe for the scent of lilies and roses. The chefs were waiting for the bride and groom to arrive back and wine flowed and flowed. But they didn’t return and guests grew restless. Yuri kept looking at his watch and the chefs in their whites looked on, impatient. The noise grew louder, the drinking harder, they attacked the raki bottles and when the couple finally arrived, a party was in full swing without them.

  The chefs came with dishes but they were ignored. They were past eating and Dorrie watched in horror as a fight broke out and a table collapsed. This seemed to sober up the guests. Yuri rose to make his speech. Norris began to sneeze and drown out his words which did not go down well. Somehow the toasts were made. Then it was time for the bridal procession to make its way around the town by lamplight with guests following behind the open coach.

  ‘Look at all that food gone to waste. It ought to be shared out along the harbour or in the square,’ Mel suggested as they left the tent. ‘What a shambles that was. There’s a party on the yacht, I gather, but we won’t be invited to that, thank goodness. I think the bride has another gown for that as well.’ She laughed. ‘Nice for some. I wore a dress from Monsoon… just the one. What will yours be like?’

  ‘Never thought about it,’ Sara lied. How could she explain away the oyster silk dress she had once worn and given to a charity shop? Funny how whenever she saw that colour, she felt sick. ‘We could ask if they would mind us making up doggy bags for the dog pound. Griff has got a makeshift shelter at the bottom of the retreat garden.’

  Later, looking back over the great wedding disaster, Mel and Sara chewed the cud as they lay in the September sunshine. ‘I think we did well in all the chaos of the storm. We made the best of the meet and greet, everyone mingled and the hall scrubbed up well. I thought the buffet was okay and they drank Papa Shevchenko dry. You were a star. You worked miracles,’ said Mel, lying back with her arm above her head.

  ‘I hope I did what was needed,’ Sara said, pleased at all the compliments she received.

  ‘Don’t be so modest! You went the extra mile and bust a gut making sure to give them a good pre-wedding party despite the awful weather. It was a flood down the main street.’

  They were sunbathing out on Sunset Beach, knowing how the storm had wrought havoc everywhere. ‘I’m glad it’s all over.’ Sara smiled. ‘Even Shelley Dorney said she couldn’t have done better under the circumstances. Praise indeed!’

  ‘Your local knowledge was key to your success, Sara. You showed you cared and roped in everyone. Shelley wouldn’t have had any of your contacts. The girl done good. I hope you sent them a bill.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ Sara replied. ‘It was only my time.’

  Mel sat up and nudged her. ‘Your time is as good as anyone else’s. Honestly, I despair of you sometimes. However did you make a living in Sheffield?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Your time is valuable. You came to the rescue and sacrificed time you could have spent on your own business. It’s certainly worth a fee.’

  ‘I can’t bill Dorrie…’

  ‘You can bill Shevchenko though… stepping in to prepare and supervise things.’ Mel saw her friend hesitating.

  ‘I’m not sure, he rather scared me like some gangster…’

  ‘Perhaps he is,’ Mel quipped. Sara was too trusting and reticent. She had impressed everyone with her calm efficiency. Dorrie would not be so snotty at the book club now that Sara had saved the day.

  *

  Two days later, the flotilla of Shevchenko’s guests in their yachts glided far into the horizon with the newlyweds aboard, off to safari in Africa. Mel was glad that they were gone from the island; all those blonde, leggy glamour girls made her feel homespun and lardy. Spiro’s eyes were on stalks watching them parade in their skimpy, figure-hugging outfits. They were like creatures from another world.

  *

  When Sara returned to Ariadne Villa, she found Griff hard at work strimming around the rockery and the stone walls.

  ‘Hi,’ she said shyly, aware her bikini was showing underneath her thin wrap. ‘Sorry, I forgot you were coming.’

  ‘I wanted to thank you for the dog leftovers. It was a kind thought. I snuck a few shots from the bridezilla wedding. I thought you would like to put them on your webpage.’

  ‘It was Shelley’s show, not mine,’ Sara replied.

  ‘You stepped into the breach and kept Norris and Dorrie from nervous breakdowns. Have a look.’ He had left an envelope under the shade.

  ‘I’ll get some of Irini’s lemonade and cinnamon biscuits.’

  Sara went to change quickly into shorts and loose top. They sat on the little stone patio with its view down to the sea and looked at the photos. ‘These are good. I like the barefoot couple walking in the sand with her dress trailing behind her. I could use these as there’re no faces to the camera and it’s very romantic.’

  ‘You were amazing, considering that bunch of posers and hangers-on. They must’ve consumed the Greek national debt over three days and at least thanks to you, some of the traders got a look-in, fixing hair, bringing flowers to rescue the hall. I hope you get some punters after all this.’ Griff smiled.

  ‘It’s back to the simple weddings for me. Jack and Sandra’s will be next. That is just a quiet family affair and I’m looking forward to it.’ Sara smiled at him, trying to ignore how good-looking he was, his hair sun-bleached and his long legs tanned to leather in his cut-off jeans.

  ‘In December there’s Alexa and Felix’s,’ Griff added. ‘He’s asked me to be the best man. Are you helping Chloë?’

  ‘I think so, nothing firmed up yet as to the actual day but Alexa keeps in touch. The couple want a winter wedding, a bit risky after this last deluge but I’m ready for anything now. How about you – any more news on those poisonings?’ The gossip about who might be poisoning the poor beasts had died down recently.

  ‘Not yet, but the stuff has gone to a
lab. Everyone’s been warned to keep their dogs on leash when walking. Who knows what tempting morsel will lurk in the undergrowth and dogs love to sniff out bits of food.’ Griff paused, sitting back in his chair. ‘It’s a setback to our fundraising campaign. Everything’s gone quiet. The school visit was cancelled. The vet was called to check over the strays impounded by the council and not exactly encouraged to join our committee. I think they are being cautious until they see how our enterprise evolves. I’ve made before and after posters of Sparky to replace the ones torn down. I won’t risk sticking them everywhere but discreetly on noticeboards with a number to call us. We’ll be keeping things low-key for the moment but I’m determined to get our funds going. How else can we start?’

  ‘I’ve had an idea for that, not sure it would work, but how about a party after Christmas or New Year, a fancy dress party. Everybody loves Abba so why not a tribute night with the full gear, a showing of the film, perhaps an open mic and find some memorabilia to auction, a competition with lots of food, the usual raffles? This came to me in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep.’

  Griff grabbed her hands across the table. ‘You genius! Spot on… with plenty of time to plan and get the whole town involved. We could find a tribute band, run a best costume competition. You’re not just a pretty face, Sara Loveday, genius!’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sara blushed. ‘It could be fun and, who knows, warm enough to barbecue on the beach. We could do the whole Mamma Mia thing.’ She felt the heat of his hand as it warmed right through her body, and withdrew hers gently but reluctantly. She could feel his breath and the faded tinge of expensive aftershave. The intimate moment passed. They looked again at the photos and tried to concentrate on choosing the best.

  After Griff left, Sara sat down with her handy notebook and made lists.