Shopaholic ties the knot s-3

by Sophie Kinsella

  “They’re not turkeys!”

  “Love turkeys.”

  “Luke, shut up,” I mutter, trying desperately not to giggle. “They’re doves.”

  We’re passing row after row of smartly dressed guests, all smiling warmly at us except the girls, who are giving me the Manhattan Onceover.

  “Who the hell are all these people?” says Luke, surveying the rows of smiling strangers.

  “I have no idea.” I shrug. “I thought you might know some of them.”

  We reach the back of the room for a final session of photographs, and Luke looks at me quizzically. “Becky, my parents aren’t here. And neither are yours.”

  “Er… no. They’re not.”

  “No family. No ring. And we’re not married.” He pauses. “Call me crazy — but this isn’t quite how I expected our wedding to be.”

  “This isn’t our wedding,” I say, and kiss him for the cameras.

  I can’t quite believe we’re getting away with it. No one’s said anything. No one’s questioned a thing. A couple of people have asked to see the ring, and I’ve just flashed them the band of my engagement ring, turned round.

  We’ve eaten sushi and caviar. We’ve had an amazing four-course dinner. We’ve drunk toasts. It’s all gone according to plan. We cut the cake with a huge silver sword and everybody cheered, and then the band started to play “The Way You Look Tonight” and Luke led me onto the dance floor and we started dancing. That was one of those moments I’ll keep in my scrapbook forever. A whirl of white and gold and glitter and music, and Luke’s arms around me, and my head giddy from champagne, and the knowledge that this was it, this was the high, and soon it would be over.

  And now the party’s in full swing. The band’s playing a jazzy number I don’t recognize, and the dance floor’s full. Amid the throng of well-dressed strangers, I can pick out a few familiar faces. Christina’s dancing with her date, and Erin is chatting to one of the groomsmen. And there’s Laurel, dancing very energetically with… Michael!

  Well now. That’s a thought.

  “So. Guess how many people have asked for my card?” says a voice in my ear. I turn round, to see Danny looking triumphant, a glass of champagne in each hand and a cigarette in his mouth. “Twenty! At least! One wanted me to take her measurements, right then and there. They all think the dress is to die for. And when I told them I’d worked with John Galliano…”

  “Danny, you’ve never worked with John Galliano!”

  “I passed him a cup of coffee once,” he says defensively. “And he thanked me. That was, in its way, an artistic communication…”

  “If you say so.” I grin at him happily. “I’m so pleased for you.”

  “So are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Of course!”

  “Your mother-in-law is in her element.”

  We both turn to survey Elinor, who is sitting at a nearby table, surrounded by smart ladies. There’s a slight glow to her cheek and she looks about as animated as I’ve ever seen her. She’s wearing a long sweeping pale green dress and huge quantities of diamonds, and looks like the belle of the ball. Which, in a way, she is. These are her friends. This is really her party, not Luke’s or mine. It’s a wonderful spectacle. It’s a wonderful occasion to be a guest at.

  And that’s kind of what I feel I am.

  A group of women go by, chattering loudly, and I hear snatches of conversation.

  “Spectacular…”

  “So imaginative…”

  They smile at me and Danny, and I smile back. But my mouth is feeling a bit stiff. I’m tired of smiling at people I don’t know.

  “It’s a great wedding,” says Danny, looking around the glittering room. “Really spectacular. Although it’s less you than I would have thought.”

  “Really? What makes you say that?”

  “I’m not saying it’s not fantastic. It’s very slick, very lavish. It’s just… not like I imagined you’d have your wedding. But I was wrong,” he adds hastily as he sees my expression. “Obviously.”

  I look at his wiry, comical, unsuspecting face. Oh God. I have to tell him. I can’t not tell Danny.

  “Danny, there’s something you should know,” I say in an undertone.

  “What?”

  “About this wedding—”

  “Hi, kids!”

  I break off guiltily and turn around — but it’s only Laurel, all flushed and happy from dancing.

  “Great party, Becky,” she says. “Great band. Christ, I’d forgotten how much I love to dance.”

  I survey her appearance in slight dismay.

  “Laurel,” I say. “You don’t roll up the sleeves of a thousand-dollar Yves St. Laurent dress.”

  “I was hot,” she says with a cheerful shrug. “Now, Becky, I hate to tell you.” She lowers her voice. “But you’re going to have to get going pretty soon.”

  “Already?” I look instinctively at my wrist, but I’m not wearing a watch.

  “The car’s waiting outside,” says Laurel. “The driver has all the details. He’ll take you to Teterboro Airport and show you where to go. It’s a different procedure for private planes, but it should be straightforward. Any problems, you call me.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, and I glance at Danny, who’s pretending not to be listening. “You should be in England in plenty of time. I really hope it all works out.”

  I reach out and hug her tightly. “Laurel… you’re a star,” I mutter. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Becky, believe me. This is nothing. After what you did for me, you could have had ten planes.” She hugs me back, then looks at her watch. “You’d better find Luke. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  After she’s gone there’s a short, interested silence.

  “Becky, did I just catch the words private plane?” says Danny.

  “Er… yes. Yes, you did.”

  “You’re flying on a private plane?”

  “Yes.” I try to sound nonchalant. “We are. It’s Laurel’s wedding present to us.”

  “She snapped up the private jet?” Danny shakes his head. “Damn. You know, I was planning to get you that myself. It was between that and the eggbeater…”

  “Idiot! She’s president of a plane company.”

  “Jesus. A private plane. So… where are you heading? Or is it still a big secret?” I watch as he takes a drag from his cigarette, and feel a sudden huge wave of affection for him.

  I don’t just want to tell Danny what’s going on.

  I want him to be part of this.

  “Danny,” I say. “How do you feel about going on a little trip?”

  It takes me a while to find Luke. He’s been trapped in a corner by two corporate financiers, and leaps up gratefully as soon as I appear. We go around the huge crowded room, saying good-bye and thank you for coming to all the guests we know. To be honest, it doesn’t take that long.

  Last of all, we approach the top table and interrupt Elinor as discreetly as we can.

  “Mother, we’re going now,” says Luke.

  “Now?” Elinor frowns. “It’s too early.”

  “Well… we’re going.”

  “Thank you for a wonderful wedding,” I say sincerely. “It was really amazing. Everyone’s been saying how wonderful it is.” I bend to kiss her. “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Becky,” she says in that formal way of hers. “Good-bye, Luke.”

  “Good-bye, Mother.”

  They gaze at each other — and for a moment I think Elinor’s going to say something else. But instead she leans forward rather stiffly and kisses Luke on the cheek.

  “Becky!” I feel someone poking me on the shoulder. “Becky, you’re not going yet!” I turn round to see Robyn looking perturbed.

  “Er… yes. We’re off. Thank you so much for everything you’ve—”

  “You can’t go yet!”

  “No one’ll notice,” I say, glancing around the party.

  “They have to notice! We have an exit planned, r
emember? The rose petals? The music?”

  “Well… maybe we could forget the exit—”

  “Forget the exit?” Robyn stares at me. “Are you joking? Orchestra!” she says urgently into her headpiece. “Segue to ‘Some Day.’ Do you copy? Segue to ‘Some Day.’ ” She lifts the walkie-talkie. “Lighting crew, stand by with rose petals.”

  “Robyn,” I say helplessly. “Honestly, we just wanted to slip away quietly…”

  “My brides do not slip away quietly! Cue fanfare,” she mutters into her headpiece. “Lighting crew, prepare exit spotlight.”

  There’s a sudden loud fanfare of trumpets, and the guests on the dance floor all jump. The lighting changes from disco beat to a radiant pink glow, and the band starts to play “Some Day My Prince Will Come.”

  “Go, Beauty and Prince,” says Robyn, giving me a little shove. “Go! One two three, one two three…”

  Exchanging looks, Luke and I make it onto the dance floor, where the guests part to let us through. The music is all around us, a spotlight is following our path, and all of a sudden, rose petals start falling gently from the ceiling.

  This is rather lovely, actually. Everyone’s beaming benevolently, and I can hear some “Aahs” as we go by. The glow of pink light is like being inside a rainbow, and the rose petals smell wonderful as they land on our heads and arms and drift to the floor. Luke and I are smiling at each other, and there’s a petal in his hair—

  “Stop!”

  As I hear the voice, I feel a sudden chill, right to the marrow of my bones.

  The double doors have opened, and there she is, standing in the doorway. Wearing a black suit and the highest, pointiest black boots I’ve ever seen.

  Everyone turns to look, and the orchestra peters out uncertainly.

  “Oh, look!” I hear someone saying in delight. “That’s so cute, they even thought of a witch!”

  “Alicia?” says Luke in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

  “Having a good wedding, Luke?” she says sweetly, and takes a few steps into the room.

  “Come in,” I say quickly. “Come on in and join the party. We would have invited you…”

  “I know what you’re doing, Becky.”

  “We’re getting married!” I say, trying to sound lighthearted. “No prizes for guessing that!”

  “I know exactly what you’re doing.” She meets my eye. “I’ve got friends in Surrey, and they’ve been checking things out.”

  No.

  Please, no.

  “I think you have a teeny little secret you’re not sharing with the rest of your guests.” Alicia pulls a mock-concerned face. “That’s not very polite, is it?”

  I need my fairy godmothers, quick. I need someone to zap her with twinkle dust.

  Laurel shoots me a horrified look.

  Christina puts down her champagne glass.

  “Code red, Code red,” I hear Robyn’s voice crackling from the bouquet. “Urgent. Code red.”

  Now Alicia’s walking around the dance floor, taking her time, relishing the attention.

  “The truth is,” she says pleasantly, “this is all a bit of a sham. Isn’t it, Becky?”

  My eye flickers behind her. Two burly minders in tuxedos are approaching the dance floor. But they’re not going to get there in time. It’s all going to be ruined.

  “It all looks so lovely. It all looks so romantic.” Her voice suddenly hardens. “But what people might like to know is that this so-called perfect Plaza wedding is actually a complete and utter… arrrgh!” Her voice rises to a scream. “Put me down!”

  I don’t believe it. It’s Luke.

  He’s calmly walked up to her and hoisted her up onto his shoulder. And now he’s carrying her out, like a naughty toddler.

  “Put me down!” she cries. “Someone bloody well help me!”

  But the guests are starting to laugh. She starts kicking Luke with her pointy boots, and he raises his eyebrows but doesn’t stop striding.

  “It’s a fake!” she shrieks as they reach the door. “It’s a fake! They’re not really—”

  The door slams, cutting her off, and there’s a silent, shocked moment. No one moves, not even Robyn. Then, slowly, the door opens again, and Luke reappears, brushing his hands.

  “I don’t like gate-crashers,” he says dryly.

  “Bravo!” shouts a woman I don’t recognize. Luke gives a little bow, and there’s a huge, relieved laugh, and soon the whole room is applauding.

  My heart is thumping so hard I’m not sure I can keep standing. As Luke rejoins me, I reach for his hand and he squeezes mine hard. I just want to go now. I want to get away.

  Now there’s an interested babble around the room, and I can hear people murmuring things like “deranged” and “must be jealous.” A woman in head-to-toe Prada is even saying brightly, “You know, exactly the same thing happened at our wedding—”

  Oh God, and now here come Elinor and Robyn, side by side like the two queens in Alice in Wonderland.

  “I’m so sorry!” says Robyn as soon as she gets near. “Don’t let it upset you, sweetheart. She’s just a sad girl with a grudge.”

  “Who was that?” says Elinor with a frown. “Did you know her?”

  “A disgruntled ex-client,” says Robyn. “Some of these girls become very bitter. I’ve no idea what happens to them! One minute they’re sweet young things, the next minute they’re throwing lawsuits around! Don’t worry, Becky. We’ll do the exit again. Attention, orchestra,” she says urgently. “Reprise ‘Some Day’ at the signal. Lighting crew, stand by with emergency rose petals.”

  “You have emergency rose petals?” I say in disbelief.

  “Sweetheart, I have every eventuality covered.” She twinkles at me. “This is why you hire a wedding planner!”

  “Robyn,” I say honestly, “I think you’re worth every penny.” I put an arm round her and give her a kiss. “Bye. And bye again, Elinor.”

  The music swells through the air again, we start walking again, and more rose petals start cascading from the ceiling. I really have to hand it to Robyn. People are crowding around and applauding — and is it my imagination, or do they look a bit friendlier, following the Alicia incident? At the end of the line I spot Erin leaning eagerly forward, and I toss my bouquet into her outstretched hands.

  And then we’re out.

  The heavy double doors close behind us and we’re in the silent, plushy corridor, empty but for the two bouncers, who stare studiously ahead.

  “We did it,” I say, half laughing in relief; in exhilaration. “Luke, we did it!”

  “So I gather,” says Luke, nodding. “Well done, us. Now, do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”

  Twenty-two

  LAUREL ARRANGED IT all perfectly. After a quick detour to the West Village for Danny’s passport, we arrived at Teterboro to find the plane all ready for us. We arrived at Gatwick at about eight in the morning, where another car was waiting for us. And now we’re speeding through Surrey toward Oxshott. We’ll be there soon! I can’t quite believe how seamless it’s all been.

  “Of course, you know your big mistake,” says Danny, stretching luxuriously back in the leather Mercedes seat.

  “What’s that?” I say, looking up from the phone.

  “Sticking to two weddings. I mean, as long as you’re going to do it more than once, why not three times? Why not six times? Six parties…”

  “Six dresses…” puts in Luke.

  “Six cakes…”

  “Look, shut up!” I say indignantly. “I didn’t do all this intentionally, you know! It just… happened.”

  “Just happened,” echoes Danny scoffingly. “Becky, you needn’t pretend to us. You wanted to wear two dresses. There’s no shame in it.”

  “Danny, I’m on the phone—” I look out of the window. “OK, Suze, I think we’re about ten minutes away.”

  “I just can’t believe you’ve made it,” says Suze down the line. “I can’t believe it a
ll worked out! I feel like rushing around, telling everyone!”

  “Well, don’t!”

  “But it’s so incredible! To think last night you were at the Plaza, and now—” She stops in sudden alarm. “Hey, you’re not still wearing your wedding dress, are you?”

  “Of course not!” I giggle. “I’m not a complete moron. We changed on the plane.”

  “And what was that like?”

  “It was so cool. Honestly, Suze, I’m only ever traveling by Lear-jet from now on.”

  It’s a bright sunny day, and as I look out of the window at the passing fields, I feel a swell of happiness. I can’t quite believe it’s all fallen into place. After all these months of worry and trouble. We’re here in England. The sun is shining. And we’re going to get married.

  “You know, I’m a tad concerned,” says Danny, peering out of the window. “Where are all the castles?”

  “This is Surrey,” I explain. “We don’t have castles.”

  “And where are the soldiers with bearskins on their heads?” He narrows his eyes. “Becky, you’re sure this is England? You’re sure that pilot knew where he was going?”

  “Pretty sure,” I say, getting out my lipstick.

  “I don’t know,” he says doubtfully. “This looks a lot more like France to me.”

  We pull up at a traffic light and he winds down the window.

  “Bonjour,” he says to a startled woman. “Comment allez-vous?”

  “I… I wouldn’t know,” says the woman, and hurries across the road.

  “I knew it,” says Danny. “Becky, I hate to break it to you… but this is France.”

  “It’s Oxshott, you idiot,” I retort. “And… here’s our road.”

  I feel a huge spasm of nerves as I see the familiar sign. We’re nearly there.

  “OK,” says the driver. “Elton Road. Which number?”

  “Number 43. The house over there,” I say. “The one with the balloons and the bunting… and the silver streamers in the trees…”

  Blimey. The whole place looks like a fairground. There’s a man up in the horse chestnut tree at the front, threading lightbulbs through the branches, and a white van parked in the drive, and women in green and white stripy uniforms bustling in and out of the house.