Shopaholic Ties the Knot (44 page)

“Yes, well, anyway—”

“That examiner said he’d never known anything like it. Has your husband-to-be seen you drive?”

“Yes.”

“And he still wants to marry you?”

“Yes!” I say crossly.

Honestly. This is my wedding day. I shouldn’t have to be reminded about stupid driving tests that happened years ago.

“Shall we get in?” says Dad tactfully. “Hello, Clive. Nice to see you again.”

We walk out into the drive, and as we reach the car I look back at the house. When I see it again I’ll be a married woman. I take a deep breath and step into the car.

“Stooooop!” comes a voice. “Becky! Stop!”

I freeze in terror, one foot inside the car. What’s happened? Who’s found out? What do they know?

“I can’t let you go through with this!”

What
? This doesn’t make any sense. Tom Webster from next door is pelting toward us in his morning suit. What does he think he’s doing? He’s supposed to be ushering at the church.

“Becky, I can’t stand by and watch,” he says breathlessly, planting a hand on the Rolls-Royce. “This could be the biggest mistake of your life. You haven’t thought it through.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

“Yes, I have,” I say, and try to elbow him out of the way.

But he grabs my shoulder. “It hit me last night. We belong together. You and me. Think about it, Becky. We’ve known each other all our lives. We’ve grown up together. Maybe it’s taken us a while to discover our true feelings for each other . . . but don’t we deserve to give them a chance?”

“Tom, I haven’t got any feelings for you,” I say. “And I’m getting married in two minutes. So can you get out of my way?”

“You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for! You have no idea of the reality of marriage! Becky, tell me honestly. Do you really envisage yourself spending the rest of your days with Luke? Day after day, night after night? Hour after endless hour?”

“Yes!” I say, losing my temper. “I do! I love Luke very much and I do want to spend the rest of my days with him! Tom, it has taken a lot of time and effort and trouble for me to get to this moment. More than you can possibly imagine. And if you don’t get out of my way right now and let me get to my wedding, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

“Tom,” puts in Dad. “I think the answer’s no.”

“Oh.” Tom is silent for a moment. “Well . . . OK.” He gives an abashed shrug. “Sorry.”

“You never did have any sense of timing, Tom Webster,” says Clive scornfully. “I remember the first time you ever pulled out into a roundabout. Nearly killed us both, you did!”

“It’s OK. No harm done. Can we go now?” I step into the car, arranging my dress around me, and Dad gets in beside me.

“I’ll see you there, then, shall I?” says Tom mournfully, and I raise my eyes heavenward.

“Tom, do you want a lift to the church?”

“Oh, thanks. That’d be great. Hi, Graham,” he says awkwardly to my father as he clambers in. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s quite all right, Tom,” says my father, patting him on the back. “We all have our little moments.” He pulls a face at me over Tom’s head and I quell a giggle.

“So. Are we all set?” says Clive, turning in his seat. “Any sudden changes of heart? Any more last-minute protestations of love? Any three-point turns?”

“No!” I say. “There’s nothing else. Let’s go already!”

As we arrive at the church, the bells are ringing, the sun is shining, and a couple of last-minute guests are hurrying in. Tom opens the car door and dashes down the path without a backward glance, while I fluff out my train to the admiring glances of passersby.

God, it is fun being a bride. I’m going to miss it.

“All set?” says Dad, handing me my bouquet.

“I think so.” I grin at him and take his outstretched arm.

“Good luck,” says Clive, then nods ahead. “You’ve got a couple of late ones here.”

A black taxi is pulling up in front of the church, and both passenger doors are flung open. I stare ahead incredulously, wondering if I’m dreaming, as Michael gets out, still in his evening dress from the Plaza. He extends a hand back into the taxi, and the next moment Laurel appears, still in her Yves St. Laurent with the sleeves rolled up.

“Don’t let us put you off!” she says. “We’ll just sneak in somewhere—”

“But . . . but what the hell are you
doing
here?”

“Language,” says Clive reprovingly.

“What’s the point of being in control of a hundred private jets if you can’t fly wherever you want?” says Laurel as she comes over to hug me. “We decided we wanted to see you get married.”

“For real,” says Michael into my ear. “Hats off to you, Becky.”

Dad and I wait until they’ve disappeared into the church, then make our way down the path to the porch where Suze is excitedly waiting. She’s wearing a silvery blue dress and carrying Ernie, who’s wearing a matching romper suit. As I peep inside the church, I can see the gathered faces of all my family, all my old friends, all Luke’s friends and relations. Sitting side by side, happy and expectant.

The organ stops playing, and I feel a stab of nerves.

It’s finally happening. I’m finally getting married. For real.

Then the “Bridal March” starts and Dad gives my arm a squeeze, and we start to walk up the aisle.

WE’RE MARRIED.

We’re really married.

I look down at the shiny wedding band that Luke slid onto my finger in the church. Then I look around at the scene before me. The marquee is glowing in the summer dusk, and the band is playing a ropy version of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and people are dancing. Maybe the music isn’t as smooth as it was at the Plaza. And maybe the guests aren’t all as well dressed. But they’re ours. They’re all ours.

We had a lovely dinner of watercress soup, rack of lamb, and summer pudding, and we drank lots of champagne and the wine that Mum and Dad got in France. And then Dad rattled his fork in a glass and made a speech about me and Luke. He said that he and Mum had often talked about the kind of man I would marry, and they’d always disagreed on everything except one thing—“he’ll have to be on his toes.” Then he looked at Luke, who obligingly got up and turned a pirouette, and everyone roared with laughter. Dad said he’d become very fond of Luke and his parents and that this was more than just a marriage, it was a joining of families. And then he said he knew I would be a very loyal and supportive wife, and told the story of how when I was eight I wrote to Downing Street and proposed my father as prime minister—and then a week later wrote again to ask why they hadn’t replied—and everyone laughed again.

Then Luke made a speech about how we met in London when I was a financial journalist, and how he noticed me at my very first press conference, when I asked the PR director of Barclays Bank why they didn’t make fashion checkbook covers like they have for mobile phones. And then he confessed that he’d started sending me invitations to PR events even when they weren’t relevant to my magazine, just because I always livened up proceedings.

(He’s never told me that before. But now it all makes sense! That’s why I kept being invited to all those weird conferences on commodity brokering and the state of the steel industry.)

Last of all, Michael stood up, and introduced himself in his warm, gravelly voice, and spoke about Luke. About how fantastically successful he is but how he needs someone by his side, someone who really loves him for the person he is and will stop him from taking life too seriously. Then he said it was an honor to meet my parents, and they’d been so friendly and welcoming to a pair of complete strangers, he could see where I got what he called the “Bloomwood bloom” of good-hearted happiness. And he said that I’d really grown up recently. That he’d watched me cope with some very tricky situations, and he wouldn’t go into details, but I’d had quite a few challenges to deal with and somehow I’d managed to solve them all.

Without using a Visa card, he added, and there was the hugest roar of laughter, all around the marquee.

And then he said he’d attended many weddings in his time, but he’d never felt the contentment he was feeling right now. He knew Luke and I were meant to be with each other, and he was extremely fond of us both, and we didn’t know how lucky we were. And if we were blessed with children, they wouldn’t know how lucky they were, either.

Michael’s speech nearly made me cry, actually.

Now I’m sitting with Luke on the grass. Just the two of us, away from everyone else for a moment. My Christian Louboutins are all smeared with grass stains, and Ernie’s strawberry-covered fingers have left their mark on my bodice. I should think I look a complete mess. But I’m happy.

I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.

“So,” says Luke. He leans back on his elbows and stares up at the darkening blue sky. “We made it.”

“We made it.” My garland of flowers is starting to fall down over one eye, so I carefully unpin it and place it on the grass. “And no casualties.”

“You know . . . I feel as though the past few weeks have been a weird dream,” says Luke. “I’ve been in my own, preoccupied world, with no idea what was happening in real life.” He shakes his head. “I think I nearly went off the rails back then.”

“Nearly?”

“OK, then. I did go off the rails.” He turns to look at me, his dark eyes glowing in the light from the marquee. “I owe a lot to you, Becky.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I say in surprise. “We’re married now. It’s like . . . everything’s a joint account.”

There’s a rumbling sound from the side of the house, and I look up to see Dad loading our suitcases into the car. All ready for us to go.

“So,” says Luke, following my gaze. “Our famous honeymoon. Am I allowed to know where we’re going yet? Or is it still a secret?”

I feel a spasm of nerves. Here it comes. The last bit of my plan. The very last cherry on top of the cake.

“OK,” I say, and take a deep breath. “Here goes. I’ve been thinking a lot about us recently, Luke. About being married, about where we should live. Whether we should stay in New York or not. What we should do . . .” I pause, carefully marshaling my words. “And what I’ve realized is . . . I’m not ready to settle down. Tom and Lucy tried to settle down too early, and look what happened to them. And I adore little Ernie, but seeing what it was like for Suze . . . It made me realize I’m not ready for a baby either. Not yet.” I look up apprehensively. “Luke, there are so many things I’ve never done. I’ve never really traveled. I’ve never seen the world. Neither have you.”

“You’ve lived in New York,” points out Luke.

“New York is a great city and I do love it. But there are other great cities, all over the world. I want to see those too. Sydney. Hong Kong . . . and not just cities!” I spread my arms. “Rivers . . . mountains . . . all the sights of the world . . .”

“Right,” says Luke amusedly. “So, narrowing this all down to one honeymoon . . .”

“OK.” I swallow hard. “Here’s what I’ve done. I’ve . . . I’ve cashed in all the wedding presents we got in New York. Stupid silver candlesticks and teapots and stuff. And I’ve . . . I’ve bought us two first-class tickets round the world.”

“Round the world?” Luke looks genuinely taken aback. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! Round the world!” I plait my fingers together tightly. “We can take as long as we like. As little as three weeks, or as long as . . .” I look at him, tense with hope. “A year.”

“A year?” Luke stares back at me. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking. I’ve told Christina I may or may not come back to work at Barneys. She’s fine about it. Danny will clear out our apartment for us and put it all in storage—”

“Becky!” says Luke, shaking his head. “It’s a nice idea. But I can’t possibly just up sticks and—”

“You can. You can! It’s all set up. Michael will keep an eye on the New York office. The London office is running itself anyway. Luke, you can do it. Everyone thinks you should.”

“Everyone?”

I count off on my fingers. “Your parents . . . my parents . . . Michael . . . Laurel . . . Clive, my old driving instructor . . .”

Luke stares at me.

“Clive, your old driving instructor?”

“OK,” I say hastily, “don’t bother about him. But everyone whose opinion you respect. They all think you need a break. You’ve been working so hard, for so long . . .” I lean forward earnestly. “Luke, this is the time to do it. While we’re still young. Before we have children. Just picture it. The two of us, wandering through the world. Seeing amazing sights. Learning from other cultures.”

There’s silence. Luke gazes at the ground, frowning.

“You spoke to Michael,” he says at last. “And he’d really be willing to—”

“He’d be more than willing. He’s bored living in New York with nothing to do except go power walking! Luke, he said even if you don’t go away, you need a long breathing space. You need a proper holiday.”

“A year,” says Luke, rubbing his forehead. “That’s more than a holiday.”

“It could be shorter. Or longer! The point is, we can decide as we go along. We can be free spirits, for once in our lives. No ties, no commitments, nothing weighing us down—”

“Becky, love,” calls Dad from the car. “Are you sure they’ll let you take six suitcases?”

“It’s OK, we’ll just pay the excess baggage—” I turn back to Luke. “Come on. How about it?”

Luke says nothing for a few moments—and my heart sinks. I have a horrible feeling he’s going to revert back to old Luke. Old, workaholic, single-minded, corporate Luke.

Then he looks up—and there’s a wry little smile on his face. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.” I grab his hand in relief. “You don’t.”

We’re going round the world! We’re going to be travelers!

“These last two are very light!” shouts Dad, and waves the cases in the air. “Is there anything in them?”

“No, they’re empty!” I turn to Luke, glowing with delight. “Oh, Luke, it’ll be so great! This is our one chance to have a year of escape. A year of . . . simplicity. Just us. Nothing else!”

There’s a pause. Luke looks at me, his mouth twitching.