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‘As discussed, I’ve brought some photographs of the venue,’ she said, her voice crisp and polite. ‘The wedding is being held on a small cay off the Florida Keys. Sadly there is no church big enough to accommodate all our guests in the immediate area, so the ceremony will be held at the venue, with a small blessing the following day for close friends and family.’
Guillaume began examining the photographs of Leonard Asgill’s white colonial–style mansion house. Every now and then he made notes in his leather notebook in long sloping handwriting.
‘It will be warm in the Keys in December, non?’
‘Hot, yes,’ replied Brooke. ‘Although the ceremony will be at six p.m. when it has cooled a little.’
‘This is not a beach wedding?’ he said with distaste.
‘No.’
‘This is good,’ said Guillaume, staring down at his notes. After seeming to gather his thoughts, he began sketching. Brooke craned her neck to see, too excited to speak.
‘Evening weddings can be dramatic,’ said Guillaume quietly, almost as if talking to himself. ‘So our fabrics can be sumptuous. Glorious tulle or silk jacquard, I think.’
‘I was thinking of perhaps a long silk column,’ said Brooke nervously. ‘Something elegant and timeless.’
Guillaume chuckled good–naturedly. ‘How many times have you worn a tasteful little evening dress?’ he asked. ‘Something long and silk, slim–fitting? I suspect many times.’
Brooke found herself nodding in agreement. Increasingly she had to attend all sorts of dinners and benefits with David, and she was always drawn to the dresses he had described, whether it was a Grecian style or a long silk bias cut. It was an obvious choice as they suited her tall, lean body; they did not shout too loudly for attention and they always looked fantastic. Guillaume now began asking Brooke all sorts of questions about seemingly banal details
of the day: the proposed music for the ceremony, the aspect of Leonard’s house, even the tone of David’s skin.
‘This is your wedding and you are fabulous,’ he explained. ‘You must therefore wear a fabulous creation, a dress you have never worn before or will ever wear again.’
The thick black pencil lines of his sketch were already beginning to take shape. It had a voluminous ruffled skirt and a slim, fitted bodice with tiny cap sleeves. It was a Cinderella gown, a truly romantic confection, but somehow Brooke felt disappointed. It’s just an idea, she told herself firmly. This doesn’t have to be the one.
‘Remember, I want Brooke to look unforgettable,’ said Meredith, sipping at a flute of champagne as she paced around the art–deco suite.
‘You want me to create your dress, I will go away and draw. We will make you the dress of the century.’
‘How many fittings will I need?’
‘Couture takes time,’ he mused. ‘A dress like this will take the atelier maybe six or seven hundred hours. Many hundreds more for the embroidery work.’
Brooke gasped.
Guillaume continued. ‘First we make the pattern, a toile, then maybe we see you two more times. Finally I will come to the wedding and we can do the last adjustments on the day.’
‘Wow. Four fittings?’ said Brooke slowly.
‘Perhaps more for something this special.’ He shrugged.
‘Does that mean I will have to come to Paris for every fitting?’
‘Oui, oui. I like it for you to come to the atelier,’ he nodded. ‘Other couturiers work in different ways, their dresses get sent out to China, even Saudi; but for me, couture is Paris.’
‘It’s what we expected,’ smiled Liz, touching Guillaume lightly on the hand. ‘We know that art takes time, but we’re all so very, very excited.’
Guillaume beamed, then kissed all three women lightly on both cheeks before swinging his cape around his shoulders like a villain in a silent movie.
‘I will go downstairs for supper now,’ he announced. ‘The chef Alain Ducasse is a friend, we do not need a reservation. Would you care to join me?’
‘And undo all the work we’ve done to keep this so secret?’ grinned Brooke.
‘Ah, but of course,’ he laughed. ‘I will get them to send you up a little chocolate pot.’ He held up one finger. ‘But only a little one. We must maintain this wonderful figure, no?’
For a few seconds after he left the room, the three women were silent.
