sorry!” says Erin, as Laurel goes back into the fitting room. “I had no idea you and Alicia knew each other!”
“I had no idea she was a client of yours!”
“She doesn’t show up very often.” Erin pulls a face. “I never met anyone so fussy. So what’s the story between you two?”
Oh, nothing! I want to say. She just trashed me to the tabloids and nearly ruined Luke’s career, and has been a complete bitch to me from the very first moment I met her. Nothing to speak of.
“We just have a bit of a history,” I say at last.
“You know she’s engaged too? To Peter Blake. Very old money.”
“I don’t understand.” My brow wrinkles. “I thought she got married last year. To a British guy. Ed . . . somebody?”
“She did! Except she didn’t. Oh my God, didn’t you hear the story?” A pair of customers are wandering past the personal shopping area, and Erin lowers her voice. “They had the wedding and they were at the reception—when in walks Peter Blake as someone’s date. Alicia hadn’t known he was coming, but apparently the minute she found out who he was, she totally zeroed in on him. So they started chatting and were really getting on—like,
really
getting on . . . but what can Alicia do, she’s married!” Erin’s face is shiny with glee. “So she went up to the priest and said she wanted an annulment.”
“She did
what
?”
“She asked for an annulment! At her own wedding reception! She said they hadn’t consummated it so it didn’t count.” Erin gives a little gurgle of laughter. “Can you believe it?”
I can’t help giving a halfhearted laugh in response. “I can believe anything of Alicia.”
“She said she always gets what she wants. Apparently the wedding is going to be to
die
for. But she’s a complete bridezilla. Like, she’s practically forced one of the ushers to have a nose job, and she’s sacked every florist in New York . . . the wedding planner’s going nuts! Who’s your wedding planner?”
“My mum,” I reply, and Erin’s eyes widen.
“Your mom’s a wedding planner? I never knew that!”
“No, you moron!” I giggle, starting to cheer up. “My mum’s organizing the wedding. She’s got it all under control already.”
“Oh right.” Erin nods. “Well—that probably makes things easier. So you can keep your distance.”
“Yes. It should be really simple. Cross fingers!” I add, and we both laugh.
Five
I ARRIVE AT LA Goulue at one o’clock on the dot, but Elinor isn’t there yet. I’m shown to a table and sip my mineral water while I wait for her. The place is busy, as it always is at this time, mostly with smartly dressed women. All around me is chatter and the gleam of expensive teeth and jewels, and I take the opportunity to eavesdrop shamelessly. At the table next to mine, a woman wearing heavy eyeliner and an enormous brooch is saying emphatically, “You simply cannot furnish an apartment these days under one hundred thousand dollars.”
“So I said to Edgar, ‘I am a human being,’ ” says a red-haired girl on my other side.
Her friend chews on a celery stick and looks at her with bright, avid eyes. “So what did he say?”
“One room, you’re talking thirty thousand.”
“He said, ‘Hilary—’ ”
“Rebecca?”
I look up, a bit annoyed to miss what Edgar said, to see Elinor approaching the table, wearing a cream jacket with large black buttons and carrying a matching clutch bag. To my surprise she’s not alone. A woman with a shiny chestnut bob, wearing a navy blue suit and holding a large Coach bag, is with her.
“Rebecca, may I present Robyn de Bendern,” says Elinor. “One of New York’s finest wedding planners.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well . . . Hello!”
“Rebecca,” says Robyn, taking both my hands and gazing intently into my eyes. “We meet at last. I’m so delighted to meet you.
So
delighted!”
“Me too!” I say, trying to match her vivacity while simultaneously
“I had no idea she was a client of yours!”
“She doesn’t show up very often.” Erin pulls a face. “I never met anyone so fussy. So what’s the story between you two?”
Oh, nothing! I want to say. She just trashed me to the tabloids and nearly ruined Luke’s career, and has been a complete bitch to me from the very first moment I met her. Nothing to speak of.
“We just have a bit of a history,” I say at last.
“You know she’s engaged too? To Peter Blake. Very old money.”
“I don’t understand.” My brow wrinkles. “I thought she got married last year. To a British guy. Ed . . . somebody?”
“She did! Except she didn’t. Oh my God, didn’t you hear the story?” A pair of customers are wandering past the personal shopping area, and Erin lowers her voice. “They had the wedding and they were at the reception—when in walks Peter Blake as someone’s date. Alicia hadn’t known he was coming, but apparently the minute she found out who he was, she totally zeroed in on him. So they started chatting and were really getting on—like,
really
getting on . . . but what can Alicia do, she’s married!” Erin’s face is shiny with glee. “So she went up to the priest and said she wanted an annulment.”
“She did
what
?”
“She asked for an annulment! At her own wedding reception! She said they hadn’t consummated it so it didn’t count.” Erin gives a little gurgle of laughter. “Can you believe it?”
I can’t help giving a halfhearted laugh in response. “I can believe anything of Alicia.”
“She said she always gets what she wants. Apparently the wedding is going to be to
die
for. But she’s a complete bridezilla. Like, she’s practically forced one of the ushers to have a nose job, and she’s sacked every florist in New York . . . the wedding planner’s going nuts! Who’s your wedding planner?”
“My mum,” I reply, and Erin’s eyes widen.
“Your mom’s a wedding planner? I never knew that!”
“No, you moron!” I giggle, starting to cheer up. “My mum’s organizing the wedding. She’s got it all under control already.”
“Oh right.” Erin nods. “Well—that probably makes things easier. So you can keep your distance.”
“Yes. It should be really simple. Cross fingers!” I add, and we both laugh.
Five
I ARRIVE AT LA Goulue at one o’clock on the dot, but Elinor isn’t there yet. I’m shown to a table and sip my mineral water while I wait for her. The place is busy, as it always is at this time, mostly with smartly dressed women. All around me is chatter and the gleam of expensive teeth and jewels, and I take the opportunity to eavesdrop shamelessly. At the table next to mine, a woman wearing heavy eyeliner and an enormous brooch is saying emphatically, “You simply cannot furnish an apartment these days under one hundred thousand dollars.”
“So I said to Edgar, ‘I am a human being,’ ” says a red-haired girl on my other side.
Her friend chews on a celery stick and looks at her with bright, avid eyes. “So what did he say?”
“One room, you’re talking thirty thousand.”
“He said, ‘Hilary—’ ”
“Rebecca?”
I look up, a bit annoyed to miss what Edgar said, to see Elinor approaching the table, wearing a cream jacket with large black buttons and carrying a matching clutch bag. To my surprise she’s not alone. A woman with a shiny chestnut bob, wearing a navy blue suit and holding a large Coach bag, is with her.
“Rebecca, may I present Robyn de Bendern,” says Elinor. “One of New York’s finest wedding planners.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well . . . Hello!”
“Rebecca,” says Robyn, taking both my hands and gazing intently into my eyes. “We meet at last. I’m so delighted to meet you.
So
delighted!”
“Me too!” I say, trying to match her vivacity while simultaneously
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