‘I do!’
And the whole group laughed.
‘Suit?’
‘Check!’
‘Shirt and cravat?’
‘Check.’
‘Rings?’
Dan smirked. ‘Check!’
‘Okay, Jasper should be here with the buttonholes any minute and I’m going to trust you to be outside on the terrace, waiting in the gazebo, at least twenty minutes before the ceremony’s due to start, okay?’
‘Twenty minutes?’ asked Dan, curling his upper lip.
‘Yes, that’s non-negotiable,’ said Lexie firmly.
‘No problem,’ laughed Jason, clearly not experiencing the same kind of nerves as Zara was.
‘George, I’m relying on you to keep them on track, okay?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ and he gave her a salute.
‘Thank you.’
She made her way to the door and Theo caught up with her in the corridor.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘It’s… actually, no.’
‘Why, what’s happened now?’ Theo grasped her elbow and guided her towards the library, but she drew to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Can you do me a favour?’
‘Sure.’
‘There’s something going on between Rachel and Patrice.’
‘Really? I wouldn’t have thought he was her type.’
‘Not that kind of thing.’
Lexie laughed, then averted her eyes when she saw the glint of mischief in Theo’s.
‘What then?’
‘I’m not sure, but do you think you could do a bit of digging whilst I go and check everything’s as it should be on the terrace – make sure no one has sprayed the wedding gazebo with mustard, or smeared marmalade on the seats, or rigged up a bucket filled with ice-cold water – and then give the orangery one final check?’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘I’m not sure exactly, but with your journalistic skills, it’ll probably only take you a couple of minutes to find out, so I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes, in the library.’
‘With a rope and a length of lead piping?’
‘Neither, or at least I hope not! I think Rachel knows Patrice from somewhere. I was going to just ask her outright about it, but I don’t want to cause any additional stress, so let’s see what you come up with, and we’ll take it from there.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘Thanks, Theo.’
‘Catch you later.’
Lexie smiled and as she caught Theo’s eye, her heart gave a nip of something she recognised but didn’t want to admit. The way he looked at her, holding her gaze for a smidgeon of a second longer than she expected, their comfortable, mirrored body language, and when he took a tentative step forward, she thought… but equally as swiftly he pulled away and the moment passed and she wondered if she’d dreamt it.
She knew he still felt the loss of his mother acutely, but there was something else going on – she could see it, concealed from all but those who took the time to look, really look. She resolved that when all the craziness of that day was over, she was going to ask him what had caused that spectre of sadness that lurked deep down in the depths of his soul.
But then who was she to talk?
Didn’t she prefer to keep her emotions tightly sealed in their separate boxes labelled ‘Loss of Beloved Father’, ‘Loss of Amazing Job’ and ‘Loss of Unfaithful Fiancé’ – an unholy trinity if ever there was one. How could she expect Theo to spill all his secrets to her if she wasn’t prepared to do the same? Hypocritical was the word that came to mind.
Or was the reason he preferred not to confide in her much more straight forward? Was she mistaken – and she had been before – about their closeness? Was she simply another one of his many interviewees, someone whose story he would add to his collection for later dissection when writing an article about the traumas of wedding planners who prefer to organise other people’s weddings so they could avoid having to think about their own?
Lexie caught her breath.
No, surely he wouldn’t do that!
Would he?
She hadn’t thought Elliot would cheat on her weeks before their wedding either, and yet he had.
Chapter Nineteen
Lexie dashed to the terrace, which had been transformed by the hotel staff into a flower-bedecked haven where Zara and Jason’s family and friends would sit on tiny wooden seats decorated with brightly coloured ribbons and bows to watch them exchange their vows in front of the Registrar in the white-columned wedding gazebo.
The setting was perfect, the backdrop a typically Cornish scene of golden sunshine, birds performing their idiosyncratic serenade, a wisp of sea air floating on the breeze, a lawnmower buzzing in the distance, and Lexie was ridiculously relieved to see there wasn’t a squirt of tomato sauce or a pair of googly eyes in sight. Nevertheless, she still checked that the chairs were perfectly aligned, the red carpet was spotless, and the tropical-themed bunting that hung from the old-fashioned lampposts was draped artistically.
Satisfied, she ticked the boxes on Marley’s list and hustled over to the orangery. When she pushed open the door and stepped inside, she gasped. The room was absolutely breath-taking, but even so, she meticulously ran through every item on the checklist, and the only issue she could find was two place settings without a bag of the exotically-flavoured favours that Marley had sourced directly from St Lucia, which Lexie rectified straight away.
‘Hey, Lexie. How’s it going?’
‘Hi Jasper, I’m happy to report—’
Lexie stopped, her breath catching in her throat when she saw that day’s waistcoat. She was all for individuality – she’d seen it every day in the fashion industry - but this time Jasper had taken his creativity to the next level. Weird, wacky and wonderful was his mantra when it came to his sartorial selection, and he’d certainly stuck to the brief.
‘Ah, I see you like my new waistcoat,’ beamed Jasper.
‘It’s… well, it’s certainly eye-catching.’
There were other descriptive words she could have used – like startling, outlandish, zany – but she didn’t want to hurt Jasper’s feelings. She knew that he meticulously hand-stitched every one of his signature waistcoats, often staying up all night so he could showcase the end product the next day. However, she was having a hard time dragging her gaze away from the over-the-top garment, fashioned from glittery fabric in a rich turquoise colour, to which Jasper had attached a variety of wedding-themed items, from silver horseshoes and heart-shaped charms to four-leaf clovers and sixpences.
‘What’s… what’s that?’
Lexie pointed to what looked like a miniature plastic toilet brush hanging from his lapel.
‘Ah, yes, I wasn’t sure whether to include that, but, well, I read on someone’s wedding blog that the brushes a chimney sweeps uses are supposed to be lucky. I couldn’t find one of those so I improvised.’
‘Right,’ said Lexie, sending up a plea to the director of that day’s fate that Jasper hadn’t been caught on camera by the wedding photographer – although, actually, that day’s waistcoat was tame in comparison to some she had seen him model. She had to smile when she recalled the many occasions he’d caused uproar at the after-school club his grandmother ran at the village hall, Carol’s Cool Cooks, set up to showcase how much fun cooking could be as well as provide a hot meal to those who might not otherwise have one. Like Freya, Jasper had discovered a talent for fashion design at an early age, and had made it his mission to match his favourite garment with that day’s recipe, ensuring the classes were hilarious as well as practical - especially when he wore the one made from fabric printed with French baguettes and Belgian buns. ‘So, Jasp, shall we talk flowers?’