‘I don’t think so, do you?’
Freya shook her head.
As the initial shock began to subside, it wasn’t long before Freya’s practical side resurfaced. She leapt up from her seat, smoothed her damp palms down her skinny jeans, and gently lifted the dress from its rail.
‘Okay, so it’ll take a bit of work but I think I can salvage it. But, Lex, we’ve got to hide the dress from Zara because if she sees it like this she’ll absolutely flip. She’s already clinging on to her sanity by her fingernails with Jason’s mother always on her case about every detail not being to her liking. I’ll tell Rachel that with all the hustle and bustle, I inadvertently left her dress behind at the shop and I need to postpone her fitting until tomorrow.’
‘Freya—’
‘Come on, quickly, help me slide it into the suit carrier. Can you take it out through the French doors and round to the car? I’ll finish Zara’s fitting, then make my excuses to go back to the boutique, and then I’ll spend the rest of the day trying to sort this out.’
‘But Freya… Who do you think would do such a thing?’ asked Lexie as she hooked the hanger over her finger and made her way to the open window that lead out to the terrace.
‘I have no idea but I wouldn’t like to be in their shoes when I find out!’ Freya seethed, her jaw tightening in a gesture of grim determination until her eyes shot towards the door. ‘Oh, God, that sounds like Zara and her party now. Off you go!’
‘Okay, back in a jiffy.’
Lexie stepped over the threshold just as the door to the suite swung open and the not-so-dulcet tones of Nadia Jones filled the air. She saw Freya’s expression switch effortlessly from stressed-out designer to relaxed wedding dress guru within seconds and smiled. Her friend could unravel a tornado if she had to. Maybe she had missed her vocation; she’d make an excellent oversees diplomat.
‘Hi Zara, ready for your final fitting?’
‘Absolutely!’
Lexie slipped away, careful not to attract any attention as she made her way to the car park where she lay the spoiled dress across the back seat of Freya’s ancient Land Rover, and then dashed up the stone steps and through the manor’s impressive front door.
‘Where’ve you been?’ demanded Theo, ambushing her as she ran across the foyer, scouring her face for an explanation. ‘I thought you were ensconced in the Chandler Suite channelling your inner Stella McCartney?’
‘Just grabbing something from Freya’s car.’
She saw Theo’s forehead crease with suspicion when his eyes flicked to her empty hands and she cursed her lack of ability to tell lies, even little white ones – perhaps she should have taken lessons from Elliot.
‘Anyway, can’t keep the bride waiting. By the way, any sign of Rachel?’
‘Yes, that’s what I was coming to tell you. The receptionist says she’s in the library.’
‘What’s she doing in there?’ said Lexie, whilst secretly thinking it was probably just as well Rachel had taken a detour. She had no idea what she would have done if Rachel had turned up on time and seen the state her dress was in! God, why had she thought organising a wedding would be any less fraught than directing a catwalk show?
‘I have no idea,’ said Theo, still looking at Lexie as though she’d lost the plot.
‘Okay, let’s round her up.’
Lexie gave him a bright, innocent smile, which likely only made him even more suspicious, and strode swiftly past him, her heart racing. She led the way from the lobby, past the bar and the drawing room, and pushed open the door to the library with a flourish, marvelling at the book-lined room filled with ancient leather Chesterfields, occasional lamp tables, and even a baby grand piano. The air held the whiff of a bygone era when smoking was permitted and real wax polish was used to buff up the mahogany furniture.
She smiled with relief when her gaze came to rest on a pair of leopard-print stilettos poking out from the side of a wing-backed chair facing the French windows that overlooked another spectacular view of the Cornish countryside, this one highlighting the county’s ability to grow fruit trees in abundance.
‘Bingo!’ grinned Theo.
‘Rachel, you’re late for your dress fitting. Freya and Zara are…’
She stopped abruptly when she saw that Rachel was slumped in the chair at a weird angle, her head back, mouth open, chin in the air, her hands spread wide, and her laptop cast onto the highly polished oak floor at her feet, along with a scattering of sunshine-yellow wedding favours. Lexie’s stomach dropped like a stone down a well and for a few interminable seconds, she struggled to catch her breath.
‘Oh my God! Is she… is she…?’
She flashed a glance in Theo’s direction and at the same time the air was filled with the loudest, most theatrical snore Lexie had ever heard and her anxiety bubble burst, replaced by an overwhelming urge to giggle. She tried to twist her lips into a neutral expression, but it was too late, and a splutter of mirth escaped, her hand flying to her mouth so as not to wake the sleeping bridesmaid. She met Theo’s eyes and saw his amusement.
‘You didn’t… oh my God, did you think she was… dead?’
‘No, of course not!’
She knew her somewhat extreme reaction was because of the earlier incident with the bridesmaid dress, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Theo as warmth scooted into her cheeks and gave her away. Theo laughed and she joined in, enjoying the exhilarating sense of relief that flooded her veins. She had been under so much pressure over the last few weeks, with the fashion show, being fired, cheated on and escaping the inevitable fall-out by moving from London to Cornwall, that all that pent-up energy had been released like a pricked balloon.
It felt good.
Unfortunately, their merriment had disturbed Rachel who peeled open her eyes and stared at them as though they were complete strangers. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her movements slow and lethargic, then she ran her fingers through her profusion of golden curls that seemed to have burgeoned into a mini-haystack and wiped away a trail of dribble from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand.
‘Lexie? Theo? What’s going on? Why are you laughing?’
‘Oh, erm… no, we’re not laughing, we were just…’
Rachel glanced at the slender gold watch on her wrist and let out a gasp of horror.
‘Oh my God!’
She leaped up from her seat, scrambled around for her handbag, then scooped up her discarded laptop and slotted it under her arm.
‘I’m late for my fitting! Zara’s going to kill me! But, there’s no way! There’s just no way!’
‘No way? What do you mean?’
‘I just, well, I… I seem to have been asleep for over an hour and that’s just not… I have trouble sleeping at the best of times. How on earth did I…?’
Lexie couldn’t stop her gaze drifting to the highly-polished lamp table where there was a crystal tumbler and a half-empty bottle of Tarquin’s Cornish gin. Rachel followed her eyes and realised the conclusion she had drawn.
‘Noooo, that’s not mine! I swear, it’s not!’
‘You do know about Zara’s no-alcohol-until-Sunday policy, don’t you?’