Your Roots Are Showing (34 page)

“Crikey. He doesn’t seem the type. He was a bit taken aback to see me here, don’t you think?”

“I was hoping he’d react a bit more, to be honest. You’re going to have to be a lot more flirtatious with me. And we’ll have to let him know you’re divorced, too. He’ll have the bitch, Sonja Jenkins, on his arm at the wedding.”

“Sonja Jenkins?”

“Yes, his personal assistant. She’s assisting him in the most personal ways possible just at the moment.” She started up the car. “I hope the twins are okay.”

“They’ll be fine. Tough as old nails, those two. So where next?”

Lizzie heaved a sigh that seemed to come up from the very soles of her feet. “The dressmaker’s in Stowe,” she said. “I have to do a final fitting, then head over to Maria’s house to help her get ready. I’ll drop you at the B&B now. The wedding starts at five — I’ll show you the church.”

“And what am I supposed to do at the B&B all afternoon?”

Lizzie cast him a frantic look. “Crikey, I didn’t think of that. Did you bring a book or something? Maybe you could nap.”

“Don’t worry,” said Bruno soothingly. “I can look after myself.”

Chapter Sixteen

T
he diet had worked.

It was touch and go but the dressmaker finally managed to get the zipper up and fasten the hook and eye of the silk dress under Lizzie’s left arm. She then stood back with a mouthful of pins and remarked, through gritted teeth, “You went ahead and put on some weight, I see.”

Lizzie opened her eyes very wide. Woops, there went that tic again! “Really? You think I’ve put on weight? I suppose it’s
possible
. I mean, I was trying very hard not to
lose
any weight, after our conversation last time.”

The dressmaker shook her head crossly. “You girls. Up and down like seesaws. I don’t know. Still, it doesn’t look
too
bad — only you’ll have to remember to suck in that stomach.” She gave Lizzie’s middle a little dig with the flat of her hand. With a hiss of indignation, Lizzie pulled it in as far as it would go. It was quite an effort. Really, she should have brought some support panties. Or a corset.

“Take a little look,” the dressmaker said, and gestured toward a full-length mirror on the other side of the room.

Lizzie looked.

It was a beautiful dress — excellently cut, a long sheath of softly draping lilac that wouldn’t have looked amiss on the red carpet at the Oscars. In it, Lizzie looked tall and curvaceous, elegant and composed. If breathing was a bit difficult, that was a small price to pay.

Lizzie turned to the tetchy little dressmaker. “Thank you,” she said with real warmth. “Thank you, thank you,
thank you
. I feel — so much braver now.”

Astonishingly, the woman allowed herself a small, tight smile through her pins. “You look like a million pounds, though I say so myself,” she replied. “I’m certainly not ashamed to have you wearing one of my dresses. But — if I were you, I wouldn’t
eat
anything.”

Getting out of the dress was more difficult than getting into it, but between the two of them they managed to ease it over her head. Then the dressmaker wrapped it tenderly in tissue paper and hung it in the car for her. “Good luck, my dear,” she said, and Lizzie felt as if she’d been blessed at the pulpit.

Maybe the whole event would go swimmingly after all.

Maria’s house was in a state of chaos, heaving with people Lizzie had never before seen in her life. Maria, wearing a tatty old dressing gown and brightly colored spiral curlers, was circulating calmly, offering people coffee and asking them if they’d had enough to eat.

When she spotted Lizzie, who’d walked in without ringing since the front door was standing open, she sailed forward and wrapped her in a hug that smelled crisply of oranges and lemons.

“Hello, sweetheart. How’s the dress? Everything okay? Any news from Australia?”

“Everything’s fine — Janie and the baby are doing really well, thank God. And the dress fits. But Maria, what are all these people doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready in peace and tranquillity?”

Maria gave a chuckle. “Well, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? But I couldn’t possibly turf this lot out. Some of them have come all the way from the Borders.”

“Well, at least stop waiting on them hand and foot,” Lizzie hissed. “It’s time we started prinking and preening, isn’t it?”

But it was at least twenty minutes before they managed to sneak away, because of course Maria had to introduce Lizzie to her father, her aunts, her uncles, her niece and nephews, and several ancient relatives, all of whom wanted to know her maiden name and her mother’s maiden name so they could try to work out whether they’d ever known any of her “people.”

When they finally got away, the hairdresser, brought in from Evesham, followed them upstairs to unroll the curlers and comb out Maria’s “do.” Lizzie, who was burning to tell Maria all about the encounter at the manor, was obliged to sit and chat about the weather and Maria’s choice of flowers while the hairdresser worked.

But when the woman was done, Lizzie was absolutely astonished. Plain Maria Dennison, with her schoolgirl ponytail, was transformed into a glorious Medusa, with glossy corkscrew curls tumbling down her back.

“Good grief,” Lizzie breathed. “You’re — beautiful.”

Maria tossed her hair and chuckled. “Don’t sound so bloody surprised.”

The hairdresser, whose name was Mandy, then went to work in a businesslike way with a box of makeup. The result was almost unnerving. Lizzie had never known Maria could look so lovely and so — formidable. If Lizzie had first met Maria in this guise, she probably wouldn’t have had the guts to say more than “How do you do?” to her.

“Stop staring, Lizzie,” Maria said. “You’re making me nervous. Anyway, it’s your turn now. Get going, Mandy, we seem to be running late.”

With great efficiency, Mandy washed and conditioned Lizzie’s bob. She then went at it with a blow-dryer and several different kinds of brushes. “There,” she said with satisfaction when it was done. “What do you think? Lots of texture now, and loads of movement.”

It was fabulous. Mandy was some kind of magician. Lizzie’s hair looked more groomed and stylish than she’d ever seen it. Without wasting a moment, the woman turned her attention to Lizzie’s face.

“You should be working for a fashion magazine, or one of those makeover shows on TV,” Lizzie blurted out in heartfelt wonder when her makeup was finally done. “You’re absolutely
brilliant
. What on earth are you doing in Evesham? You should open a place in London.”

Mandy smiled graciously as she packed away her makeup and hairbrushes. “Just be careful not to smudge anything when you’re getting into your dresses,” she said.

By the time she’d helped Maria into her ivory satin gown and squeezed into her own lilac one, Lizzie’s heart was beating uncomfortably hard.

It was showtime.

At ten past five, as Lizzie marched slowly down the aisle behind Maria to a swelling rendition of “Here Comes the Bride,” she kept her eyes on the one hundred satin-covered little buttons running down Maria’s back. It wasn’t that she was too nervous to look at the congregation. Okay, it
was
that she was too nervous to look at the congregation. Apart from all the curious stares, she was terrifed of spotting Sonja Jenkins and being so put off her stride that she’d trip and fall into Maria’s train. That said, the tiny buttons on the back of the dress were a real work of art, well worth staring at.

“Lizzie,” a voice hissed. She risked a quick sideways glance. Bruno, sitting at the edge of a crowded pew on the bride’s side of the church, gave her a big grin and a quick wink. Lizzie saw a series of nudges and whispered conversations break out like a mini-whirlwind around him. She gave him a repressive scowl and went back to counting buttons.

At the right-hand front pew, Laurence and — oh my God — James stood half-turned, watching the approach of the bride. Laurence seemed shinier than usual and was beaming from ear to ear. James wasn’t smiling. He looked rather pale and stern. Lizzie had forgotten how raffishly handsome he was in a dinner jacket.

When Maria’s father lifted the veil from Maria’s face, a faint titter passed through the church at Laurence’s reaction. First, his jaw fell open slackly. Then he was heard to mutter urgently, “Maria? Is that
you
?”

The weight of a couple of hundred stares made Lizzie’s back prickle as the wedding party stood at the altar waiting for the minister to do his business. Had there ever been such a slow and measured delivery of the marriage service in the history of Christian ceremonies? And had there ever been a noisier congregation? The whispers and shufflings were like the faint roar of a cornfield in a stiff breeze. Lizzie was convinced that people were so overcome with the need to gossip about the matron of honor and best man that they couldn’t observe the normal proprieties of the occasion.

Lizzie couldn’t help wondering for the hundredth time why Maria hadn’t opted for a registry office ceremony, or — better still — one of those destination weddings on some remote island on the other side of the world. Yes, a destination wedding would’ve been perfect. Right now they could be standing barefoot on a beach, wearing garlands of tropical flowers, jumping playfully out of the way of happy little waves — blissfully free of this great gaggle of villagers and the boring drone of a long-winded Church of England minister who didn’t know how to get to the point.

Dammit, if any of her friends ever asked her to be matron of honor again, she’d
demand
a destination wedding. At this very moment, Ellie and Alex could be building sand castles in the background, because that sort of wedding was obviously so informal that children were welcome. In fact, there’d probably be hordes of barefoot local kiddies throwing confetti or blowing bubbles at them. Best of all, that sort of wedding was so informal — and so costly to get to — that nobody would
dream
of bringing a partner.

A sudden tug on her elbow brought Lizzie back to the cool, dimly lit altar with a jolt.

“Huh?” she said in surprise.

For the second time, the congregation tittered discreetly.

“My
bouquet,
” Maria muttered out of the side of her mouth.

Hastily, Lizzie took the flowers Maria was thrusting at her. She’d entirely forgotten the bouquet-holding aspect of her duties. Come to think of it, she’d been delinquent in the dress-fluffing aspect too!

Still, now was probably not the time for fluffing, given that they were saying their “I do’s.” Better leave it till later.

Concentrating hard now, Lizzie watched James produce the rings out of his pocket. With a pang, she noticed that he wore nothing on his own ring finger but a small band of pale, untanned skin. She wasn’t wearing her rings either, but that was mainly because they kept slipping off her finger now that she’d lost weight.

“You may kiss the bride,” the minister intoned at last.

With great alacrity, Laurence twisted one hand in Maria’s Medusa-like curls and almost bent her over backwards as he pressed his mouth to hers.

People clapped and laughed, and then the organ struck up and everyone filed out of the pews and began milling around.

Standing on the church steps beside Maria, Lizzie suddenly remembered her obligations.

“For heaven’s sake, what are you doing?” Maria demanded as Lizzie began tweaking and rearranging the bride’s skirt.

“I’m fluffing,” said Lizzie. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“I’d much rather you didn’t. I mean, it’s not as if I’m wearing a bustle or anything. Just relax. Enjoy the moment!”

So Lizzie straightened up and tried to relax. With a permanent smile plastered on her face, she kept a sharp lookout for Sonja Jenkins, but there was such a crush of people that she couldn’t spot her. She noticed James gazing out across the crowd, and wondered if he were looking for Sonja, too.

When she caught sight of Bruno among a thicket of smart young Laingtree matrons, she suddenly realized they hadn’t discussed how he’d get to the reception, which was being held at a country hotel several miles away. “Excuse me, I have to talk to Bruno for a second,” she hissed in Maria’s ear.

It was hard to scuttle through the press of flesh in an unobtrusive way when you were wearing a long, shot-silk gown and holding a bouquet of mixed summer blossoms, mainly lilac roses. People kept trying to waylay her, shouting things like, “Fabulous dress, Lizzie. How’s London treating you, Lizzie? What have you done with the twins today, Lizzie?”

At last she reached Bruno’s side. “You okay?” she asked casually, bursting into the little circle in all her finery. A couple of the women greeted her with fulsome cries of spurious joy, and she gave a general little wave and smile in return.

“I’m fine, Lizzie, just fine,” Bruno said with an easy smile. “Shouldn’t you be up there on the church steps with the bride, though?”

“Don’t worry, I’m heading back right away. I just wanted to ask if you could drive my car over to the reception. I don’t think it would be quite the thing for you to arrive with the wedding party.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about Bruno,” one of the women called out. “He can travel with us. Travis will be delighted.”

Lizzie wasn’t entirely sure that Travis would be delighted to be chauffeuring a young(ish) man with cherubic curls whom his wife couldn’t seem to stop touching. Every time this woman (whom Lizzie recognized as a teacher from the local primary school) made any conversational point, no matter how mundane, she seemed to need to underline it by patting Bruno on the shoulder with her long, manicured fingers, touching his elbow, or nudging him gently in the side.

“No, honestly, he’d better take the car,” Lizzie said. “We’ll need it to get back afterwards. The keys are at the desk at the B&B.”

“Well, he can follow us there, in that case,” said the persistent teacher. “It’s a tricky route.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” said Bruno.

“See you later, then,” Lizzie muttered, and raced back to her post on the church steps.

As she dashed up the steps, holding her skirt so she wouldn’t trip, she became aware that someone was staring at her. Glancing up, she caught James’s blue eyes boring into her. Their gazes snagged together, like fish hooks caught in midcast. Lizzie’s stomach did an odd little swoop. Maybe he’d seen her talking to Bruno. Maybe the jealousy and remorse were setting in! He certainly looked like a thundercloud.