Freya leaned forward and deposited a kiss on Lexie’s cheek, then left via the French windows.
‘Okay, what’s going on?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I saw the way Freya looked at you. Something’s happened and I want to know what. Is it something to do with Rachel?’
Lexie shook her head, but as per usual, she knew her expression had given the game away.
‘I knew it! So, what were you really doing when I saw you in the lobby?’
Lexie sighed. She knew he wouldn’t let it go until she’d spilled the whole story. He was like a tenacious terrier, sniffing out a story and hanging on for grim death until every last detail had been wheedled from his poor, defenceless prey. Anyway, she remembered something her mother always said to her, especially in the weeks and months following her father’s sudden death as she tried to persuade her to go to grief counselling – a problem shared is a problem halved.
She sighed and took Freya’s place on the chaise longue. Could she trust Theo? Her faith in men had taken a battering recently after what had happened with Elliot, but how could she hold that against Theo? That would be ridiculous. However, she wasn’t worried about the repercussions for herself – she had nothing to lose; her life already resembled a post-apocalyptic battleground! – it was Freya. She wouldn’t, and couldn’t, do anything that would put her business at risk. If the bridal boutique closed down, then it wouldn’t just have an impact on Freya and her family, but on the whole village of Pengarth; Jasper’s Blossom & Bows florist’s shop, Scarlet’s patisserie, Gordan’s printing business, as brides shopped elsewhere for their wedding merchandise.
‘Okay, okay, but before I tell you, I want your solemn promise that you won’t utter one single word about what happened to anyone. Not one word!’
‘Well…’
She gave Theo the sternest look she could manage and then burst into laughter when he performed a comedic expression of terror, biting his nails as though she were a particularly scary ogre.
‘Theo? Your promise.’
‘Okay, I promise. Scout’s honour!’
Lexie quickly filled him in on their discovery of Rachel’s bridesmaid’s dress covered in a generous serving of tomato sauce, and how she had snuck the offending garment out to Freya’s Land Rover so that Zara and her entourage didn’t see what had happened.
‘Freya reckons she’ll be able to sort it out, but what I want to know is who would do such a terrible thing. It’s totally unforgiveable. Do you think it could have been an accident? An inexperienced waiter stumbling on his way to serve brunch on the terrace and running away before anyone finds out?’
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t buy that. And it’s even more intriguing if you factor in the incident in the library. I don’t think Rachel had breached Zara’s no-alcohol policy, do you? She seemed honestly surprised when she saw that bottle of gin on the lamp table, only changing her tune when we started asking questions. Do you think she’s the sort of friend who would go against her best friend’s wishes like that?’
‘No, I don’t…’
‘In which case, she’s covering up her confusion and I want to know why.’
‘I think we should leave it until after the wedding…’
‘No way, we need to find out what’s going on now, not when everyone has left!’
‘And how do you propose to do that, Monsieur Poirot?’
‘By donning our metaphorical deerstalkers and investigating the curious incident of the materialising gin bottle and unmasking the phantom dress destroyer.’
‘Do you seriously think that someone is out to sabotage Zara and Jason’s wedding?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘But why would someone do such a thing? Maybe it’s Rachel who’s the target or… no… you don’t think it’s Freya, do you?’
‘No, definitely not Freya, but I do think someone wants to disrupt the wedding. I’ve no idea who or why, but we need to find out and stop them in their tracks before they do any real damage.’
‘We can’t say anything to Zara and Jason.’
‘Agreed. We should carry on as if nothing’s happened, keep our eyes and ears open, and start asking a few questions. My guess is that Rachel’s the target – it was her dress and someone wants Zara to think she’s on the alcohol.’
‘Is this what you’re like when you’re investigating a local news story?’
‘A local news reporter has to have his wits about him at all times. You never know when a juicy piece of gossip is going to fall into your lap and…’
‘Oh God! I knew it!’
‘Knew what?’
‘You are going to splash this all over the front page, aren’t you?’
‘Hey, why do you think so little of me? I’ve given you my word, haven’t I? I’ll have you know that a reporter’s solemn word is their bond! What’s happened to make you so mistrustful? Has someone trampled on your faith in human nature? Or have you had a run in with one of my fellow paparazzo? And there’s something else I wanted to ask you when I got you alone.’
‘What?’
‘Are you a wedding planner by profession? You don’t seem the type.’
‘Not sure whether I should take that as a compliment or take offence!’
‘So? All Freya would say was that you’ve come down from London to help Marley out. In my experience there’s not many people who can take time out of their busy lives at such short notice, or indeed who would want to pick up the baton on such a stressful gig at the last minute. You’re either crazy or you love weddings!’
Lexie hesitated. Theo clearly possessed the typical journalist’s knack of peeling away the outer shield and zoning in to the layer of truth beneath, isolating the subject’s weakness and manipulating a story around them.
Did she really want to tell him about the indignity of being fired? Or should she give him a short, unemotional soundbite? Whichever option she chose she knew his interest would be piqued and as soon as her back was turned he’d dash over to Google where he would see her mortification splashed across every social media platform for all to see – accompanied by photographs of the water-damaged headdress, and a pale, tight-lipped Pierre explaining there had been a technical hitch that was currently being investigated.
On the train journey down to Cornwall, she had read every single, painful sentence like some sort of masochistic moron. Every article and blog post had twisted the facts to satisfy their own version of the story; some hinted she’d done it on purpose as a vendetta against Pierre, some said it was a bare-faced publicity stunt, some suggested she had been paid to do it by a competitor – something she viewed as the ultimate slur – and all had reported that she had been fired. One thing she was grateful for, though, was that no one had unearthed the agonising finale to her horror story, putting her subsequent escape from the capital down to a desire to lick her wounds in private. She knew the news would be tomorrow’s history, but the indignity of it all hurt – tremendously.
However, she couldn’t lay the blame for that at Theo’s door.