While perusing the seating chart, she noticed some last-minute changes. Her heartbeat lurched, and it wasn’t until she tasted blood that she realised she was biting her lip. No matter how hard she tried to anticipate, not everything was within her power to control.
She licked her wounded lip. Achieving total invisibility today would be impossible. She would have to accept that and get on with the job.
As the first guests arrived, she placed a seat for herself at the back of the reception hall and crossed her fingers the day would continue smoothly. And it did. Right until three minutes and forty-two seconds into the father of the bride’s speech, the moment Becky knew she had a problem to solve. From her limited viewpoint, she guessed Alan Spencer was still carrying ten prompt cards in addition to the one he had just put down on the table. And while mental arithmetic had never been her strong suit, she knew ten cards added up to too many minutes.
At many weddings an insanely overlong first speech wouldn’t be a problem. However, this man was father to Tamara Spencer, a woman who had got everything her own way for the past thirty-one years and who, it was rumoured, needed to take horse tranquilisers to dial down from ‘upset’ to ‘peeved’. And today she was a shimmering vision of jitters, contained in a corseted tank of satin.
Rising silently from her chair, Becky skimmed around the perimeter of the tables, stopping only to retrieve a serving tray and a small package.
The wedding coordinator and her legion had been at work in the large banqueting room at the club since seven o’clock that morning. Although it was early afternoon, four large crystal chandeliers dripped light over the tables, making sure the guests could appreciate the dishes placed before them and, more importantly, the money spent in embellishing the venue. Clusters of dwarf cherry trees had been huddled into the corners of the room and showered with pale pink bows and fairy lights. Forty round tables filled the remaining space. After the breakfast, a team of nuptial ninjas would deploy. Working in silence they would shift and shunt both furniture and guests to ready the room for the final stages of the celebrations.
Becky took up position a discreet distance behind the top table. Dressed like the rest of the catering staff and with a tray resting on the fingers of her left hand, she stilled herself and became invisible. That is, invisible to everyone except three of the guests, who watched what followed with amused curiosity.
Alan Spencer was building up to a punchline which, as he still had the good will of his audience, was sure to get a laugh. Becky stepped forward, dropped her lips to the best man’s ear and whispered. As the laughter swelled, the best man rose to his feet, encouraged by a sharp prod to his lower back. A microphone appeared in his hands and another nudge indicated it was time to interject.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll allow me.’ His voice disappeared into the vacuum created by the attention of hundreds swerving towards him. He gave a nervous chuckle and continued, ‘Alan, I’m sure everyone here today would like to thank you for hosting such a wonderful do. And I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise that Alan has one further gift for the bride and her highly unworthy groom.’
A gift-wrapped box materialised in his left hand. The small parcel was wrapped in iridescent ivory paper and baby-pink ribbon, a perfect match to the event colour scheme.
‘Tamara and Geoffrey. Alan gave this to me for safekeeping—a gamble which nearly backfired. But I’m sure we’re all pleased I eventually recognised my cue and can hand this over safely. Right, Alan?’
Alan Spencer’s flushed, puffy face betrayed his complete bafflement. He was still grasping his clutch of prompt cards and the navy ink was bleeding under his hot fingers.
A final nudge directed the best man to pass the box to Alan, in whose ink-stained hands it rested for a second before Tamara snatched it.
‘It matches my colours and everything! Thank you, Daddy!’ Whipping away the ribbon, she opened the box and seized the contents, letting the container fall where it would. But there was nothing sparkly inside and she was left staring slack jawed at the roll of paper nestling in her hand.
‘My love, I think this is where I’m supposed to come in,’ said the groom, laying a gentle hand on the bride’s shoulder and taking the scroll out of her palm. Tamara sat down as Geoff opened the scroll, cleared his throat, and read,
‘Tamara, our daughter, and now Geoff’s wife,
We wish you joy in your married life.
And soon our couple, our bride and groom,
Will leave us for their honeymoon.
A voyage back to the start,
To Rome, where Geoff first won Tam’s heart.
Once Miss Spencer, now Mrs Swift,
We hope you’ll accept this parents’ gift
And fly in first to arrive refreshed,
In an ocean paradise, heaven blessed.
In Polynesia your private cabin stands
Over a lagoon, its feet kissed by virgin sands.
As you look up at the stars and down to the fish,
Remember us and be happy; this is our only wish.’
A chorus of gooey cooing gave way to applause as the bride threw herself onto her father, who did well not to collapse under the impact of the satin tank.
After one last prompt, Geoffrey took the opportunity to segue into his own short speech, taking care to thank Alan again for the entirely unexpected honeymoon extension. And when thanking all relevant parties for their contributions to the success of the day, he glanced behind him, but the only thing there was a bouquet of pink roses.
Chapter 33
The rest of the speeches, cake cutting and first dance went off without a hitch.
Becky had stationed herself in the corner of the room next to the French windows and as distant as possible from the band stage. Standing next to the doors which led to the kitchens, she was camouflaged by the comings and goings of the catering staff.
The band was good and the music was still in its initial phase: pieces considered appropriate for older guests who would abandon the venue with various aching joints long before the ‘you can’t even hear the words’ music was loosed.
She saw him approach out of the corner of her eye. There was no need to turn her head to get a better look: he was wearing his good aftershave, the one he wore every time he visited the Coulson.
‘I liked the poem.’
‘What can I say? It’s great when a degree in English Literature finally proves useful,’ she said, scanning the bar area for anyone who needed their drinks to be swapped for non-alcoholic options.
‘Geoff hired you?’
‘Yeah. How do you know him?’
‘He was more a friend of Mel’s. He and his first wife were at our wedding. I think he invited me to be polite.’
‘And you weren’t going to come but you changed your mind at the last minute?’
‘I thought I wouldn’t know anyone here, but then Rachel mentioned she was going to a wedding on Saturday and it turned out—’
‘To be this one.’
She moved on to scanning the dance floor and the reduced seating area. Though she was wearing contact lenses, habit prevailed and she narrowed her eyes to get a sharper view of the two women in conversation next to the tea and coffee station. With their heads tilted towards each other, the similarities between them were striking, accentuated by their choice of dark green clothing and rigid postures.