‘Lovely,’ said Willow dryly. ‘Well try not to be too long. I need some help with my dress.’
‘Ask Mum.’
‘Right,’ Willow sighed. ‘Karen? Are you there?’
‘She’s on the phone,’ said Noah, coming out of Emma’s bedroom.
Willow caught her breath.
Noah had changed into a suit that made him look like he’d stepped straight off an advertising billboard.
‘I’m not sure who she’s talking to’ – he continued – ‘but the bit of conversation I overheard gave me the impression she’ll be a while. What’s up?’
‘Nothing. I just need your mum to do up my dress.’
‘I can do that,’ said Noah.
‘Oh, but…’
‘Turn around.’
‘Can I just get my shoes?’ said Willow, suddenly flustered. ‘I’d like to put them on first and then arrange the hemline and skirts.’
‘Sure,’ said Noah, following Willow back into Karen’s bedroom.
Alone with him, the room seemed to shrink. Willow picked up the shoebox containing her satin heels, but her fingers seemed to have turned into bananas. Suddenly clumsy, she dropped the box. The lid flew off and her shoes skittered across the carpet.
‘Here, let me,’ said Noah.
He stooped to pick up the heels at the same moment as Willow. The two of them banged heads and, for a moment, Willow wasn’t sure if it was stars she was seeing, or whether it was possible to have a zinger explode in her brain.
‘S-Sorry,’ she stammered.
‘Whoa, that was a bit of a belter,’ said Noah, rubbing his head.
He passed the shoes to Willow.
‘Is your head okay?’
No. Her head was everywhere, and it wasn’t okay.
Ramming her feet into the wretched stilettoes, Willow felt flustered and thoroughly out of sorts.
‘I’m fine,’ she gasped.
She needed to still her mind. To think of something mundane. Boris’s Brexit Britain. Trump’s orange tan. Meghan and Harry upsetting Buck House. At least they’d taken the spotlight off Prince Andrew. Poor old Queenie. What a lot she had to put up with.
‘Then if you’re not feeling concussed, try and keep still.’
As Noah deftly got to work on the tiny buttons, his warm hands occasionally grazed her skin. Willow couldn’t help giving involuntary shivers.
‘Cold?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she squeaked.
Calm down. Make conversation.
‘It’s quite a chilly d-day,’ she stuttered. ‘How are you finding the English weather?’
The weather! Such riveting conversation, Willow.
‘Well, it’s not like Australia, that’s for sure,’ Noah laughed. ‘It was very warm when I left.
Willow could hardly concentrate on what he was saying. Instead her attention was on those blissfully warm fingers and the gentle pressure against her spine. A million nerve endings were now feeling blissed-out from his touch.
‘But there’s something about this place that smacks of home,’ Noah continued. ‘It feels right.’
All Willow could think about was how right it felt having Noah touch her.
‘There,’ he said. ‘All done.’
Gently, he turned her round to face him.
‘You look absolutely stunning.’
‘So do you,’ she murmured.
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
‘I-I mean…’ she stammered, before trailing off.
Noah’s eyes were full of mischief.
‘What do you mean?’ he said softly.
The chemistry was once again zinging backwards and forwards.
‘I mean… you look very nice, and I’m so glad you like England,’ she gabbled.
‘Oh I love England,’ he said slowly, his eyes snagging on hers. ‘This place has crept up on me and captivated my heart. It’s such a feeling. One that I can’t properly describe. It just sneaked up on me and wiggled into my soul when I wasn’t looking. People do that too. Unexpectedly. Just when you don’t want them to.’
Willow didn’t know what was going on here. Aside from the chemistry, and talking about England and Australia, something else was being said. Something that went way beyond a couple of FaceTime calls and a few hours around a man who was having a very challenging effect upon her.
She gazed up at him, hardly daring to breathe, and it seemed as though the man standing before her was somehow branding his soul upon hers. The implications horrified her. She needed to break this spell.
Forcing her legs to work, she took two steps away from him. It was imperative she move away from Noah. But he immediately reached out and touched her arm. Willow was so jolted she stopped in her tracks.
‘Where are you going?’ he whispered.
‘Well, I just…’
‘Come here.’
And with those words, he swept her into his arms. She could have easily resisted; he wasn’t holding her tightly. Instead she surrendered entirely to his embrace, arching into him. His fingers trailed down her spine as his mouth came down on hers. The kiss wasn’t rough or overpowering, just gentle and very tender. One might even say loving. And she responded with alacrity.
Seconds later, Willow pulled away, hands fluttering to her mouth.
‘Oh my God. What am I doing? I’m getting married, for heaven’s sake!’
‘Perhaps you’re marrying the wrong person,’ Noah suggested.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Willow shook her head. ‘That kiss was…’
‘Wonderful?’ Noah suggested.
‘Lunacy,’ Willow corrected.
‘I’ve never been saner,’ said Noah, looking faintly amused.
‘You don’t understand.’ Willow shook her head vehemently. ‘The wedding invitations have been sent… guests are probably already at the venue… but apart from anything else, I don’t even know you,’ she gasped.
‘Then get to know me,’ said Noah simply.
His eyes were full of warmth and sincerity.
‘Willow?’ said Emma, barging into the room. ‘Your car is here. Come on, Noah. We need to get a move on. I’m meant to arrive at the wedding venue before the bride. Mum’s finally off the phone. I have my posy’ – she waggled a pretty ball of petals at Willow – ‘and here’s your bouquet.’ Emma placed it in Willow’s hands. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ said Willow in a small voice, just as her mobile pinged a text.
‘You don’t look it,’ said Emma, frowning. ‘Here, pick up your message.’
She passed Willow her phone before turning to her brother.
‘Can you give us a moment, Noah? Go and sort Mum out. You’ve no idea what an airhead she can be. Make sure she’s got plenty of tissues. She always cries at weddings.’
‘Sure,’ said Noah.
Seconds later, he’d gone, quietly shutting the door behind him.
‘Last time I looked at you, you were glowing like a wood burner in winter. Now you’re as white as February’s first snowdrops. What’s going on? Have you got cold feet?’
Willow instantly snapped out of her fog.
There was something about Emma’s tone as she’d asked that last question. Willow couldn’t put her finger on it, but… it was almost as if Emma had – just for one tiny moment – hoped the wedding might be called off. Willow shook away the thought.
‘I think I have a touch of wedding nerves.’
Willow pressed her phone’s screen. It was a message from Charlie.
See you soon. Can’t wait for you to be Mrs Goodman! Xxxxxx
Willow smiled. Back to reality. This was the man who mattered.
‘My future husband is waiting for me,’ she said.
For a moment Emma didn’t say anything. Finally, she nodded.
‘Then we’d better be on our way.’
Sixty-One
‘Darling, you look stunning.’
Jerry West greeted his daughter with tears
in his eyes.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Willow kissed her father’s cheek. ‘You’re not going to go soppy on me and cry, are you?’ she teased. ‘Otherwise you might set me off.’
‘Of course not,’ said Jerry, doing some rapid blinking.
He squeezed Willow’s arm as she sat next to him in the back of the gorgeous old Rolls Royce.
‘Your flowers are beautiful too,’ he said, nodding at the mixed blooms.
‘Heavenly,’ Willow agreed. ‘Oh, look. Silly me. I still have my mobile. I meant for Karen to look after it. Can I give it to you?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Jerry, patting his jacket. ‘This is a hired suit. The pockets aren’t real. Every one of them is stitched at the top. Give the phone to Emma when we arrive. Perhaps she can pass it on to her mum.’
‘Good idea,’ Willow nodded.
She switched the mobile to silent. The last thing she wanted was a merry tune ringing out just as she was about to walk down the aisle.
Smiling at the thought, she leant back against the soft upholstery and took a deep breath. Wow. It was really happening. She was getting married! It was her last day of being Willow West. In another hour or so she would be Mrs Charles Goodman.
Her stomach was starting to feel like it was full of fizzing Alka-Seltzers. She put it down to jittery anticipation. However, the truth was that Willow didn’t know whether she was nervous about getting hitched or simply suffering the after-effects of THAT kiss.
She closed her eyes. She hadn’t dared look at Noah as he’d helped Emma and Karen into the hired Mercedes before driving ahead to Goldhill Grange. She didn’t know what to make of what had happened between them. She felt ashamed. And also horribly elated. Her thoughts were interrupted by her mobile silently vibrating.
Opening her eyes, she was surprised to see a message from an unknown number. It said only one word.
Well?
Willow stared at the screen in confusion. Well what?
And then she saw that she’d missed an earlier message from the same unknown number. It was a screenshot. This current text was clearly a prompt to look at a previous one. From the timing, the screenshot had been delivered before Charlie had messaged her. She must have been completely distracted and flustered by Noah not to have heard her phone ping.
The screenshot was too small to read, so Willow clicked on it, enlarging the text. And this time her heart began skipping beats for reasons that were nothing to do with zinging chemistry but everything to do with horror.
It showed an exchange of texts between Charlie and the anonymous sender who, Willow now deduced, was female.
Charlie: This evening. You, me, and chocolate body paint!
Her: Yesss, babe. Tonight’s dessert is on me, ha ha!
Charlie: I wish Willow had half your imagination.
Her: Why did you mention your girlfriend? *scowling emoji*
Charlie: Sorry, sorry, sorry. I miss you, sweetie.
Her: Good. You’d better show me how much xx
Willow looked up and stared blindly ahead. Shock was reverberating through her body. Who the hell had Charlie been texting? Had he been having an affair? No way! She would have known. Wouldn’t she?
A part of Willow’s brain simply couldn’t comprehend the idea of Charlie cheating. This screenshot had to be fake. Since when would Charlie have had time to conduct a secret liaison? The idea was preposterous. He was far too busy working late. Or soothing irate clients in Cambridge and Brighton. Or… Willow gulped as realisation slowly dawned. There hadn’t been any irate clients or any real need to work late. He’d lied to her.
Her eyes widened as the phone vibrated with another message. And then another. And another. Suddenly the car was filled with the sound of low buzzing as Willow’s mobile received photograph after photograph.
‘My goodness, you’re popular,’ said Jerry, smiling benignly at Willow.
‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘I have tons of goodwill messages from people who aren’t able to be with us today. Lucky me!’
‘How lovely. I’ll let you read them in peace while I admire the passing scenery,’ said Jerry, gazing out of the window.
As Willow clicked on the images, she was relieved that her father was looking the other way. Here was Charlie, resting his head against some pillows. He’d gone to sleep, apparently with a fishnet thong on his head. Another showed her boyfriend in a shower that Willow didn’t recognise. His face was obscured by a plastic cap covered in unicorns, but Willow had seen that large mole on his left butt-cheek a million times to know it was him.
The remaining photographs had seemingly caught Charlie unawares. He was mostly asleep and sprawled out naked with chocolate body paint smeared across his torso. But… what was this?
The sender had cropped herself out of this picture but, at the very edge, Willow spotted a lock of dark wavy hair. Her stomach lurched. And… oh my God… in this one Charlie was awake but not looking at the camera. Had he even known the sender was photographing him? Probably not. He was far too engrossed in what he was doing. Eyes closed. Face ecstatic as his lips kissed their way up the inside of the sender’s thigh… upon which danced a pretty butterfly tattoo.
Sixty-Two
As the Roller swung through the gates and arrived at its fairy-tale destination, Willow’s mobile buzzed with a final message:
I’m not sure I would marry him, but will you?
‘Ready, sweetheart?’ said Jerry, turning to his daughter.
Willow stared at her father with huge eyes. Ready? She felt so traumatised, she couldn’t think straight. Her brain had turned into a pressure-cooker threatening to blow up. She couldn’t eradicate the images of Charlie with this woman. Even worse, there were sickening clues to her identity, from the tantalising glimpse of wavy brown hair to THAT butterfly tattoo. Willow felt so crushed by the woman’s betrayal even the simple act of breathing was becoming an effort.
The Rolls Royce purred to a standstill. There, on the stone steps of Goldhill Grange, was Emma. Her long wavy brown hair had been threaded into a bridal up-do. The cool December breeze was tugging at the hem of her bridesmaid’s dress, but not enough to lift the skirt and reveal the butterfly tattoo on her left thigh. She was clutching her posy… along with her phone.
Willow was so numb she didn’t register that the chauffeur had opened the door for her.
‘Darling?’ Jerry prompted.
Her father was now out of the car and waiting for Willow to do likewise. She realised that shock had given her a temporary protective cocoon. She couldn’t even cry. No doubt the tears would come later. Jerry was looking at Willow curiously.
‘Come on, sweetie. It’s cold out here. Emma’s arms have goose bumps. Let’s get on with the show.’
Jerry noted his daughter’s pinched expression but deduced she was simply suffering a dose of old-fashioned nerves.
‘Ready?’ said Emma.
Willow didn’t deign to answer the question.
‘You’re holding your phone,’ she said instead.
The words came out in a flat monotone. Willow didn’t recognise her own voice.
‘Oh, yeah. I should have given it to Mum earlier, but I was taking last minute pics. Not to worry. I’ll hide it in my posy. Like this. See?’
She demonstrated, sliding the flower ball over the phone.
‘I have some great shots of you arriving. I think you’ll be really pleased with them, especially as the official photographer and video guy weren’t out here to greet you. They said they had to go inside and get in position.’
Willow didn’t reply.
Emerging from the Roller, she found herself copying Emma, tucking her own phone into the bouquet while her free hand took her father’s arm.
On autopilot, Willow allowed Jerry to lead her inside the hotel. Moving through the vast reception area with its twelve-foot-high Christmas tree, two uniformed staff guided them to the ceremony room. Every available surface was lined with flickering candles and there were enough Christmas garlan
ds to rival Santa’s grotto. The venue looked utterly magical. It was completely at odds with Willow’s heart, which had turned into a winter wasteland.
Pausing at the entrance, Willow could see that the guests were now inside and in their seats. Many were aware the bride had arrived. Heads were turning to look at her. Admiring looks were being given.
Dust motes danced in the air, lit up by the fairy lights strung around the room. As she stood there, Willow likened the specks to suspended particles of bright glitter as they whirled around her veil. Now they were blurring with the images of THOSE sexy snaps, and suddenly the glowing sparkles dimmed from an arc of colour to a swirl of fog so that everything became grey.
Willow spotted Charlie’s boss, Drummond, in an aisle seat. She was astonished to see Ben’s ex-girlfriend sitting next to Drummond. Anna was looking very proprietorial. Good heavens, was Drummond her new man? Anna was holding her mobile. She pointed it in Willow’s direction, presumably to take a photograph. Or was she? Was it a secret signal that it was her who’d sent those pre-wedding texts?
Willow stared at Anna. At her long wavy brown hair. She had a butterfly tattoo on her left thigh. Both Willow and Emma had seen it peeking through her fashionably ripped jeans the day she’d come a-calling at Willow’s house.
Was that why Anna had also turned up the library, pleading with her not to marry Charlie? Could it be that she was the other woman? And even though Anna now had a new man, could this be her way for taking revenge on Charlie?
Willow didn’t know. She didn’t know anything any more. If Anna was Charlie’s mystery lover, why had she rung the library anonymously? Why not just say, “Hi, Willow, it’s me again.” After all, Anna had taken the trouble of turning up in person at the library. It made no sense to hide her identity on the phone.
And then Willow wondered if Ben knew about Charlie’s cheating. Was that why he and Anna had split? Because Ben had sussed his girlfriend was cheating? But… if Charlie had had a fling with Ben’s girlfriend, surely Ben wouldn’t have stayed friends with Charlie, or agreed to be his best man?
Willow's Wedding Vows: a laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist! Page 27
