something new. What a waste of Dior.’
‘Awful, isn’t it?’ giggled the second voice, instantly recognizable by the put-on rounded vowels: Shaden. ‘And what is that dress she’s got on?’
‘Christ knows. It looks like a sack. You are the belle of the ball today, my darling. I bet Richard wishes he was marrying you. Hold my handbag while I have a pee.’
Bel’s resolve recovered instantly on hearing that. She waited until she heard a flush, the taps turn on and off, the hand-dryer finish blowing and the door close. Then she stood, ready for
the final act: Fight the Good Fight. She’d show them how un-fucking-sweetly a Candy girl fought back, all right.
Let battle commence.
Chapter 16
Much to Martin’s delight, people were starting to filter into the dining room. His stomach was groaning so loudly it sounded like a one-man brass band. The sight of the
waitresses bringing the starter was the gastric equivalent of music to his ears. Mysteriously the cake was covered with a fine white cloth on a separate table in the corner of the room.
The first course was a hearty soup with thin slices of toasted baguette floating in it, topped with melted cheese.
‘This is lovely,’ said Richard, sinking his teeth into the bread. Then the full force of the cheese hit his taste buds and he wheezed as if he’d just been punched in the gut by
Muhammad Ali. ‘Goodness, that cheese is strong. What is it?’
‘It’s called Stinking Bishop,’ beamed Bel. ‘Isn’t it the best find?’
Judging from all the coughing going on around the room, others were finding it equally as brutal on their internal workings.
Vanoushka was less than impressed.
‘Soup? Could there be a more ordinary starter?’ she moaned to Martin, who nodded in agreement, although he collared the waitress for a second helping of it. She hoped Belinda was
never going to take up wedding planning as a career. Especially as the main course was nothing out of the ordinary either. Coq au vin.
‘I always think that coq au vin sounds like someone’s had sex in a van,’ laughed Bel to Richard. She was staring at him, unblinking. ‘Don’t you?’
Inside him something stirred and he felt a pang of alarm. Why would she say that? Did he detect a hint of knowledge in her words? Then again, coq au vin did sound like someone having sex
in van. He was being paranoid and as such he gave himself a mental slap.
‘Yes, it does,’ and he laughed heartily. ‘I’d never thought of it before.’
‘I know it’s a bit naff, but it is the chef’s speciality here,’ Bel went on. Not that she could eat much of it as her insides were churning.
Then the main-course plates were taken away and strawberry tarts were served. Richard had just stuck his fork into the pastry when Bel asked him, ‘What do you think of the strawberry tart,
darling?’
‘It’s really lovely,’ and he winked. ‘I like a bit of tart. I hope you’ve got something very tarty on under that gown.’
Bel placed her hand on her dress, where her heart was. ‘Under here,’ she said with her sexiest lopsided grin, ‘is something very wild and wicked especially for you.’
As the dessert plates were being collected, Bel stole a look across at her friends. She noticed that there was an empty space next to Violet; Glyn hadn’t come. Well, at least that was one
less witness. Poor bloke, though. He obviously couldn’t face a crowd of strangers. Depression was a terrible thing. She had felt herself standing at the edge of a very deep, dark chasm
recently and the only way she could pull herself back from it was to plan, scheme, hate.
The waitresses were gearing up to serve coffees, which meant the speeches were minutes away from starting. Bel’s heart was like a battering ram against her chest wall. She felt
light-headed, slightly sick. She was seeing the world in slow motion: Liam standing, people starting to applaud as he called for order.
It was a typical Liam speech. As shiny and
‘Awful, isn’t it?’ giggled the second voice, instantly recognizable by the put-on rounded vowels: Shaden. ‘And what is that dress she’s got on?’
‘Christ knows. It looks like a sack. You are the belle of the ball today, my darling. I bet Richard wishes he was marrying you. Hold my handbag while I have a pee.’
Bel’s resolve recovered instantly on hearing that. She waited until she heard a flush, the taps turn on and off, the hand-dryer finish blowing and the door close. Then she stood, ready for
the final act: Fight the Good Fight. She’d show them how un-fucking-sweetly a Candy girl fought back, all right.
Let battle commence.
Chapter 16
Much to Martin’s delight, people were starting to filter into the dining room. His stomach was groaning so loudly it sounded like a one-man brass band. The sight of the
waitresses bringing the starter was the gastric equivalent of music to his ears. Mysteriously the cake was covered with a fine white cloth on a separate table in the corner of the room.
The first course was a hearty soup with thin slices of toasted baguette floating in it, topped with melted cheese.
‘This is lovely,’ said Richard, sinking his teeth into the bread. Then the full force of the cheese hit his taste buds and he wheezed as if he’d just been punched in the gut by
Muhammad Ali. ‘Goodness, that cheese is strong. What is it?’
‘It’s called Stinking Bishop,’ beamed Bel. ‘Isn’t it the best find?’
Judging from all the coughing going on around the room, others were finding it equally as brutal on their internal workings.
Vanoushka was less than impressed.
‘Soup? Could there be a more ordinary starter?’ she moaned to Martin, who nodded in agreement, although he collared the waitress for a second helping of it. She hoped Belinda was
never going to take up wedding planning as a career. Especially as the main course was nothing out of the ordinary either. Coq au vin.
‘I always think that coq au vin sounds like someone’s had sex in a van,’ laughed Bel to Richard. She was staring at him, unblinking. ‘Don’t you?’
Inside him something stirred and he felt a pang of alarm. Why would she say that? Did he detect a hint of knowledge in her words? Then again, coq au vin did sound like someone having sex
in van. He was being paranoid and as such he gave himself a mental slap.
‘Yes, it does,’ and he laughed heartily. ‘I’d never thought of it before.’
‘I know it’s a bit naff, but it is the chef’s speciality here,’ Bel went on. Not that she could eat much of it as her insides were churning.
Then the main-course plates were taken away and strawberry tarts were served. Richard had just stuck his fork into the pastry when Bel asked him, ‘What do you think of the strawberry tart,
darling?’
‘It’s really lovely,’ and he winked. ‘I like a bit of tart. I hope you’ve got something very tarty on under that gown.’
Bel placed her hand on her dress, where her heart was. ‘Under here,’ she said with her sexiest lopsided grin, ‘is something very wild and wicked especially for you.’
As the dessert plates were being collected, Bel stole a look across at her friends. She noticed that there was an empty space next to Violet; Glyn hadn’t come. Well, at least that was one
less witness. Poor bloke, though. He obviously couldn’t face a crowd of strangers. Depression was a terrible thing. She had felt herself standing at the edge of a very deep, dark chasm
recently and the only way she could pull herself back from it was to plan, scheme, hate.
The waitresses were gearing up to serve coffees, which meant the speeches were minutes away from starting. Bel’s heart was like a battering ram against her chest wall. She felt
light-headed, slightly sick. She was seeing the world in slow motion: Liam standing, people starting to applaud as he called for order.
It was a typical Liam speech. As shiny and
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