Hal nods and turns around. Forrest looks like he might be about to say something but changes his mind and goes back into the garden.
“Check me,” Rani says, blowing on her knuckles. “Now come on, queen, we’ve got dresses to see and weddings to crash.”
And that is what I call a diversion.
Chapter Forty-Three
The grand staircase is garlanded with hundreds of fat, English country roses ranging in colour from cream through a spectrum of pinks, from the palest pastel to a deep dusky blush. The entire castle seems to be filled with their delicious, sweet scent. A pink carpet has been laid and secured from the top to the bottom of the steps. At the bottom of the staircase an older gentleman with a top hat tucked under his arm is sharing a joke with LordB, I’m guessing the father of the bride.
The huge front doors of the castle have been opened wide, and the pink carpet runs out the door, between the majestic colonnades, and down the steps where the wedding guests, seated on either side, are waiting for the bride. When I really crane my neck, I can just about make out the groom standing at the far end of the carpet, nervously pacing under a rose-covered pagoda.
“This is at least a six-figure wedding,” Rani says as we hide behind a huge potted plant, holding its fronds in front of our faces like fake moustaches. “Mind you, I don’t suppose the kind of people that get married at a castle are your budget types.”
“That’s my Jess, always late,” the father of the bride says, lookingat his watch. “Pushing it a bit this time, though. Time is money and all that.”
“Not to worry, Sid,” LordB tells him. “You’ve got the place for the whole day. No hurry.”
“Tell that to my wife,” Sid says. “You know Lavinia, normally so relaxed. Gentle, mild mannered. She’s been like a Roman military general going into battle since Jess announced her engagement. Quite exhilarating. And... a little bit exciting, if you know what I mean.”
Sid nudges LordB in the ribs, and they both guffaw with laughter, before LordB produces his hip flask.
“Maybe she’s changed her mind,” I whisper to Rani. “Maybe she decided to be pragmatic and sensible instead of giving in to all this manufactured romance and false ideals about what a person is supposed to do in life.”
“Or maybe she’s decided to run off with some sexy pickpocket she met outside the grounds of the castle instead, because of true love,” Rani argues back.
“Isn’t that Aladdin?” I ask her.
“The point is,” Rani says, “there is no right answer when it comes to this sort of thing. It’s all complete guesswork.”
“That’s the worst bit of ‘wisdom’ I have ever heard!” I say, appalled. “You are basically telling me that there is no way to work out a solution using logic and reason. You just have to take a chance and hope for the best!”
“That about sums it up,” Rani says.
“Ah, ladies.” LadyB appears behind us like a ninja would if a ninja were wearing azure blue silk and a hat the size of a cartwheel.
“Oh God, sorry. We weren’t snooping,” I say.
“Well, we were, but who doesn’t love a wedding?” Rani admits. “Amazing hat, by the way.”
“Actually, I’m really glad you are here. Saves me looking for you,” LadyB says, lowering her voice. “There’s been a bit of a... wardrobe malfunction.”
“How?” Rani asks, eyes wide.
“It seems there was a bit of, how shall I put this, a kerfuffle. Someone inadvertently trod on the train of the bridal gown and it tore, right down the middle. After which there was something of an... altercation and, long story short, now the gown’s got quite a lot of blood in it right down the French lace beaded bodice. You know how lips bleed. Once they start they never stop, so... here we are.”
“Blood?” I say a bit too loud. LadyB drags us farther into the shadows and out of sight of Sid and LordB.
“Well, I thought, I bet our resident fashion guru can help. Let’s hope Rani isn’t too far away, and here you are. Right where I found you.”
“Me?” Rani asks. “But that’s Jessica Caltraine. She’s a proper fashion guru. And I read online that she’s wearing a custom Cynthia Raven dress. I know that there’s no way Cynthia would let Jessica get married without her being in the room. I mean, you get Jessica photographed wearing something you’ve designed, then you’re made. Next stop, some royal wedding and the Oscars.”
“Yesss... Except that it does rather seem that’s who the blood originated from,” LadyB says. “After the mother of the bride got a little... heated. If you could just look, Rani, we’d be so grateful. I know it’s a lot to ask but...”
Rani is already at the top of the stairs.
The bridal suite is truly stunning, even if it does look like the aftermath of a barroom brawl. There’s a woman who, judging by LadyB’s description, must be this Cynthia Raven, as she’s holding an ice pack to her lip and typing furiously into her phone. The bridesmaids have all been banished to the hallway outside, where they are quietly whispering amongst themselves. The only other people in the room are the bride’s mother, who is still wearing a hat that looks like it’s had the feather torn out of it with brute force, and Jessica herself, who’s standing in front of a full-length mirror scrubbing at her bodice with a flannel.
“What a fucking shit show. Whose mother takes up boxing on the actual day of her daughter’s wedding.” Jessica looks up as we enter the room. “Who are these two?”
