Shopaholic Ties the Knot

“So — you must be really happy for Suze,” I say, picking up an enameled hand mirror and examining it.

“Tarquin’s a dear boy.” She turns round and taps her beaky nose confidentially. “Very well endowed.”

This is true. Tarquin is the fifteenth richest person in the country, or something. But I’m a bit surprised at Suze’s mother bringing it up.

“Well, yes…” I say. “Although I don’t suppose Suze really needs the money…”

“I’m not talking about money!” She gives me a knowing smile and suddenly I realize what she means.

“Oh!” I feel myself blushing furiously. “Right! I see!”

“All the Cleath-Stuart men are the same. They’re famous for it. Never a divorce in the family,” she adds, plonking a green felt hat on top of her head.

Gosh. I’m going to look at Tarquin a bit differently now.

It takes me a while to persuade Caroline out of the green felt hat and into a chic black cloche. As I’m walking back along the corridor toward Suze’s room, I hear some familiar voices in the hall downstairs.

“It’s common knowledge. Foot-and-mouth was caused by carrier pigeons.”

“Pigeons? You’re telling me that this huge epidemic, which has wiped out stocks of cattle across Europe, was caused by a few harmless pigeons?”

“Harmless? Graham, they’re vermin!”

Mum and Dad! I hurry to the banisters — and there they are, standing by the fireplace. Dad’s in morning dress with a top hat under his arm, and Mum’s dressed in a navy jacket, floral skirt, and bright red shoes, which don’t quite match her red hat.

“Mum?”

“Becky!”

“Mum! Dad!” I hurry down the stairs and envelop them both in a hug, breathing in the familiar scent of Yardley’s talc and Tweed.

This trip is getting more emotional by the minute. I haven’t seen my parents since they came out to visit me in New York four months ago. And even then, they only stayed for three days before going off to Florida to see the Everglades.

“Mum, you look amazing! Have you done something to your hair?”

“Maureen put some highlights in,” she says, looking pleased. “And I popped next door to Janice this morning, so she could do my face. You know, she’s taken a course in professional makeup. She’s a real expert!”

“I can… see!” I say feebly, looking at the lurid stripes of blusher and highlighter painted on Mum’s cheeks. Maybe I can manage to wipe them off accidentally on purpose.

“So, is Luke here?” says Mum, looking around with bright eyes, like a squirrel searching for a nut.

“Somewhere around,” I say — and Mum and Dad exchange glances.

“He is here, though?” Mum gives a tense little laugh. “You did fly on the same plane, didn’t you?”

“Mum, don’t worry. He’s here. Really.”

Mum still doesn’t look convinced — and I can’t honestly blame her. The truth is, there was this tiny incident at the last wedding we all attended. Luke didn’t turn up, and I was completely desperate, and I resorted to… um…

Well. It was only a tiny white lie. I mean, he could have been there, mingling somewhere. If they hadn’t had that stupid group photograph, no one would ever have known.

“Jane! Graham! Hello!”

There’s Luke, striding through the front door. Thank God for that.

“Luke!” Mum gives a relieved trill of laughter. “You’re here! Graham, he’s here!”

“Of course he’s here!” says my father, rolling his eyes. “Where did you think he was? On the moon?”

“How are you, Jane?” says Luke with a smile, and kisses her on the cheek.

Mum’s face is pink with happiness, and she’s clutching onto Luke’s arm as though he might vanish in a puff of smoke. He gives me a little smile, and I beam happily back. I’ve been looking forward to this day for so long, and now it’s actually here. It’s like Christmas. In fact, it’s better than Christmas. Through the open front door I can see wedding guests walking past on the snowy gravel in morning dress and smart hats. In the distance, the church bells are pealing, and there’s a kind of excited, expectant atmosphere.

“And where’s the blushing bride?” says Dad.

“I’m here,” comes Suze’s voice. We all look up — and there she is, floating down the stairs, clutching a stunning bouquet of roses and ivy.

“Oh, Suzie,” says Mum, and claps a hand to her mouth. “Oh, that dress! Oh… Becky! You’re going to look—” She turns to me with softened eyes and for the first time seems to take in my dress. “Becky… is that what you’re wearing? You’ll freeze!”