Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, Clarice was still glaring at Amber. Her look of patient suffering had morphed into one Becky recognised all too well: the cold determination of a woman hell-bent on revenge. Clarice snapped her gaze away from her cousin, grabbed a teaspoon and pushed herself to standing. Surveying the guest-infested waters below, her hand trembled next to the rim of the nearest glass, ready to strike. She took a breath and—
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’
The best man’s voice thundered from the PA system, making Clarice jump and drop the spoon.
‘It’s time for the cutting of the cake!’
Under a dazzle of camera flashes, the happy couple clasped hands and frolicked to the other side of the room. Clarice blinked against the pulsating glare, put one hand over her belly and swayed.
Before she could faint, Becky had an arm around her waist. ‘You’re all right,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got you. Just breathe.’ A few deep breaths returned colour to Clarice’s face and Becky felt confident enough to move her. ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet and get you a nice cup of tea.’
Becky helped Clarice down off the dais and through a door hidden behind an excessive floral arrangement. A series of narrow corridors led to the swing doors of the kitchens where the catering staff were preparing to serve the pre-sliced cake. Several trolleys were covered in plates carrying equally sized rectangles of cappuccino swirl with chocolate frosting. On the stainless-steel countertop to her right, Becky noticed the distinctive pink-and-white stripes of an empty Sweet’s Cakes box and made a mental note to tell Ronnie how impressed the caterer had been with the new design.
Clarice squeezed Becky’s hand and lowered her head. The lighting in the kitchen was harsh fluorescent and the air smelled of roasted meat and poached vegetables, hardly an ideal environment for someone in a delicate state. The bridesmaid needed a seat.
Lucinda, the head of the catering team, was standing next to the trolleys completing her inspection. Becky coughed and Lucinda looked up. ‘Hello, Becky. On time as always.’ She tipped her head to the left. ‘I’ve set up the quiet corner. You won’t be bothered.’
Becky beamed and grabbed the empty cake box with her free hand. ‘You’re a godsend.’
Lucinda smiled and turned back to the waiting service trolleys. ‘No worries, my love. I know you’ll return the favour.’
The quiet corner was to the left of the main food preparation area. The space was mostly occupied by three tall double-doored fridges which filled the air with a low drone of white noise. In front of the fridges, two high-backed wooden chairs were waiting. Between them, an upturned blue plastic crate served as a table, laid with a pair of cups, saucers and spoons.
Becky lowered Clarice into a chair, put the cake box on the floor by her feet and took the other seat. ‘Sorry it’s not much of a footstool,’ she said, gesturing towards the box. ‘But it’s probably a good idea for you to put your feet up. And here …’ While Clarice put her dainty, silver-sandaled feet onto the box, Becky picked up the cup and saucer nearest the bridesmaid and prayed Lucinda had remembered to add sugar. ‘Try to drink some of this. It should help you feel better.’
Clarice’s fingers trembled as she raised the steaming tea to her lips and took a cautious sip. The drink appeared to have an instant restorative effect: her shoulders dropped and her hands stopped shaking.
The bridesmaid sipped her tea daintily, sneaking glances at Becky over the rim of her cup. Meanwhile, Becky gulped her own drink and prepared for the inevitable question.
‘Who are you?’
Clarice’s voice contained a tremor, even though her hands were steady. Becky decided to approach with caution. ‘I’m Rebecca Watson. I’m a member of the wedding staff.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Clarice set her cup back on the table and shook her head, sending her golden curls swinging. ‘You’re not with the event organiser. I know that lot. And what you’re wearing is similar to the waitresses’ uniform,’ she said, pointing to Becky’s white blouse and black skirt, ‘but it’s not the same.’
‘You’re right, but I am working here today. I guess I’m a … sort of professional fairy godmother.’ Becky chose to ignore Clarice’s raised eyebrows. She lifted a silver spoon from the makeshift table, stirred her tea and continued, ‘And I think if you’ve ever needed a fairy godmother, it’s now.’
Clarice lowered her gaze to her lap and picked at the silver embroidery on her skirt. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and regarded Becky over the pointed tip of her nose.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
Becky stopped stirring. ‘You are pregnant? And the groom is the father?’
Clarice gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth and the colour drained from her face.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Becky. ‘It isn’t obvious. I’ve been watching you all afternoon and I wasn’t sure until a few seconds ago. I’m not going to tell anyone, I promise.’
Clarice looked over her shoulder, probably searching for the nearest exit. ‘Why have you brought me in here?’ Her voice rose to a squeak. ‘Who are you?’
Becky put the spoon back on the crate next to her cup. She glanced towards the main area of the kitchen where the catering staff could be heard wheeling out the last of the cake. Leaning towards Clarice, she dropped her voice, ‘When I’m not granting wishes, I offer a kind of insurance certain people like to contract for events. It’s my job to make sure everything goes smoothly. I can offer total discretion in dealing with delicate matters. Matters my clients don’t want their event coordinators to know about.’
Clarice’s neat eyebrows contracted into a frown. ‘You got them to cut the cake early? To stop me making a scene?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I doubt it’s any consolation right now, but announcing it out there wouldn’t have helped.’ The corner of her mouth flickered upwards. ‘Personally, I think the look on the bride’s face would have been a treat, but in the long run you know you would have come out of it worse.’
Clarice dropped her head into her hands and groaned. ‘Who hired you?’
‘The groom. But he doesn’t know about the pregnancy,’ Becky said as Clarice’s head snapped up, eyes wide with alarm. ‘He wanted me to stop anything from sending Amber supernova. But he also mentioned you and he were an item when he met Amber. And when he talked about you he was shifty, like he was hiding something, then you’ve been green around the gills all day, and finally your glasses of untouched booze at dinner … I put one and one together and got three.’
A tear fell onto Clarice’s dress, staining the evil fuchsia a pleasant magenta. Becky produced a tissue from her sleeve and passed it over.
‘Amber’s vile,’ Clarice said between sobs. ‘The wedding’s been on and off. It was during one of the “offs” when he and I …’
Becky nodded. ‘She’s a nasty piece of work. For starters she made you wear that dress and …’ She shuddered. ‘She doesn’t eat cake. Not even chocolate.’
A snort and a sly smile replaced the sobbing. ‘That’s because if she let so much as a sliver past her lips it would double her weight.’