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David laughed. ‘My mother maintains this is a gathering of close friends.’
‘Meaning they’ll be more people on the wedding guest list?’ she said.
‘The venue can handle it,’ he said obliquely. ‘Besides, it’s good for the charities. We don’t need gifts, do we? So we’ll get the guests to give donations to charity. The more people, the more money we can raise.’
He took her hand and led her through the room. ‘Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘Not another friend of the family?’ she said suspiciously.
He laughed. ‘Not this time. My cousin Lily, she lives in London so you haven’t met her before.’
‘Nice of her to come all this way.’
‘In her own words, she’s come to audition.’
Brooke looked at him. ‘Audition. What for?’
For a second, David’s confident demeanour deserted him. ‘To be a bridesmaid,’ he said, pulling an embarrassed face.
She laughed at the idea. ‘Really? You’re serious?’
‘It’s one of those family things, honey. Twenty–something years ago I was a pageboy at Lily’s eldest sister’s wedding. My mother wants to return the favour.’
‘Wasn’t it enough that you were an angelic ring–bearer?’
‘Let’s call it a family tradition. It would mean a lot to my parents.’
Brooke had tried to avoid thinking about the issue of her bridesmaids because frankly, none of her friends was suitable. Her good friends from Spence and Brown had split off into two increasingly distant groups: career girls and socialites. Predictably, she rarely saw the career girls as they were far too busy moving and shaking in finance, media, and PR, while the friends who had married into money or spent their lives on the party and charity circuit, well, she found them a little too … shallow? Competitive? She had never been able to put her finger on it, but these days she enjoyed their company less and less. A few years ago Brooke had embraced that whole Park Avenue Princess scene – being rich and beautiful it was almost expected – but she had found it exhausting. As legendary socialite Nan Kempner had once said, you had to ‘entertain constantly’, you were constantly locked in a battle of one–upmanship, jockeying for position on the most prestigious junior committees, making sure you were dressed head to toe in the hottest designs.
In some ways it had been fun, especially the big events such as the Costume Institute Gala and the summer parties in the Hamptons, but the constant pressure to get a manicure and blow–dry every time she set foot out of the house quickly became tedious. Slowly Brooke realized she preferred to socialize in a more low–key way: dinner at her favourite restaurants Sfoglia or Raoul’s with friends, for example, or old movies in little art–house theatres downtown. Such individuality was not something that was approved of in the socialite clique, and Brooke had found them drifting away. It had frankly been a relief, when she had started seeing David, that she could step away from all that endless competition, but it did rather leave her without a natural choice for a bridesmaid. The irony of course was that as soon as the engagement was announced, she was swamped with invitations to lunch and parties from the in–crowd; any one of them would have given their entire Manolo collection to be Brooke’s bridesmaid now. So this might actually be the ideal solution: a sweet little friend of the family might actually be a way to avoid snubbing her old circle.
‘I quite like the idea of having a pretty little flower girl,’ said Brooke, thinking it over. ‘How old is she?’
‘Not sure. Twenty–nine, thirty I think.’
‘Thirty? You’re kidding!’ said Brooke.
David shrugged. ‘Come on, baby, you haven’t exactly asked anyone else, have you?’
She looked at him in shock. ‘That’s hardly the point, honey. I’m not going around suggesting a best man for you.’
‘It’s Robert, it was always going to be my brother, it’s tradition in our family,’ he sighed. ‘Come on, honey, it’s no big deal … ’
‘It’s a very big deal,’ said Brooke, her face flushing, ‘For a family so fixed on observing all the correct traditions, you’re very quick to ignore them when it comes to me. I suppose you’re going to choose the dress for me next.’
David put his hands on her shoulders and gave her his best smile. ‘Don’t get so worked up,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to say yes, just come and meet her.’
Brooke took a deep breath. This was all meant to be fun.
‘Why is she so desperate to be a bridesmaid anyway?’
‘Nice dress, great party, eligible best man … ’
Brooke smiled a little. ‘There’s a very cynical side to you, David Billington.’
In the flesh, Lily Salter couldn’t have been further from Brooke’s idea of a ‘sweet little family friend’. She was tall and pretty, with long dark bouncy hair and beautiful posture, although her eyes looked a little glassy from too many late nights. Lily had gone to London to work in the Marc Jacobs London press office, and now had her own up–market PR agency. She was a mainstay on the Notting Hill American ex–pat party circuit, and it showed.
‘Brooke,’ said Lily as David introduced her. ‘You look amazing. Very Helen of Troy.’
