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‘Pardon, I didn’t quite catch that excuse?’
‘Not since Christmas.’
‘I rest my case, Your Honour.’ Nessa performed a theatrical bow. ‘You can stay here in the flat, run the shop, and arrangethe classes. Delia will help and so will I. Seb, Dom and Archie, if he’s around, will get stuck in with the decorating. We’ll give the shop a lick of paint but, more importantly, you can look into restocking the shelves with a decent selection of natural merchandise instead of all that rainbow acrylic that’s only fit to dress Barbie’s pet unicorn.
‘Even if it’s notyourlife’s ambition, then do this for your aunt! She adored this village and its inhabitants. Every time I came in here it was buzzing with conversation, with laughter, with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and lavender.’
Nessa closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, apparently hoping to catch a sniff of the nostalgia from her teenage years.
‘Last time I was in here was on Christmas Eve. Delia’s friend, Iris, and her daughter Marcia were camped out at the table, tucking into a batch of Marcia’s home-made chocolate brownies and slurping the most divine-smelling hot chocolate. I stayed for two hours! What an antidote to the stresses of persuading hordes of unruly adolescent females to play hockey on a frozen, mud-caked pitch.
‘That’s why I think this crafting bug has taken the country by storm. People are sick of the daily grind of anxiety and angst, the clamber to work harder, faster, longer, to earn more in the rush to the top. They’re tired of the obsessive addiction to celebrity culture, frazzled with the expelled energy required to strive for the perfection those magazines tout to our youngsters, or amass the right number of followers or clicks on their social media apps. Did I tell you the head has banned the girls from bringing their phones into the classroom?
‘People crave a return of real community spirit – the sharing of warmth, mutual support and friendship over a freshly prepared brew and an injection of sugar-sweet confectionary, not a cocktail down at the local wine bar to douse the stress andboast about the last deal. The top rung of the corporate ladder is stuffed with pompous idiots feeding off the talents of those on the step below before shoving them back down with the tip of their boot. It’s a world many of us refuse to join now, let alone aspire to.’
Nessa stopped, her eyes serious.
‘Don’t close the door on Gingerberry Yarns just yet, Sophie. What have you got to lose?’
Chapter Thirteen
Lilac’s house in South Kensington, London.
‘So you’ve narrowed it down to three?’ asked Nikki.
‘Yes. Every designer who was asked to submit their sample gown did, so that leaves two who submitted without paperwork and the one who submitted the documents which were illegible.’
‘Why were they illegible?’
‘Erm, well, they were covered in a sort of yellowy-brown stain,’ said Tish.
‘What?’ Nikki curled her upper lip.
‘I think it may have been a coffee that got spilled, but it could have been whisky. Or maybe something else? And it could have been the delivery guys, not the designer.’
‘Okay. So let’s look at the photos of the three possibilities.’
Tish produced three pictures she’d printed out before Nikki arrived back from her meeting. ‘As you are always telling me that I bring chaos to an empty room, I’ve made a special effort to be organised. I know I’ll never get a seat on the top table in orderliness, but I can aim for a table mid-room, can’t I, instead of one next to the toilets?’
Nikki forced herself not to smirk as she studied the three dresses. They were all gorgeous, but the one Lilac had selected to wear on the most important day of her life was beautiful.Strapless, the bodice shone with tiny crystals that would look stunning under the lights of the Cathedral. From the back, the A-line skirt was simple with a short train edged in seed pearls that matched the ivory silk to perfection. At the front, crystals spilled from the bodice to a dart from the waist to the hem, twinkling whenever the wearer took a step.
‘Ah,’ Tish sighed, ‘the designer may be a dunce in the paperwork arena but she’s a wizard when it comes to fabric. Just look at all those sparkles. If I didn’t already have my dress sorted, I would definitely go for one like this.’
‘You have your wedding gown? I thought you weren’t dating anyone at the moment.’
‘Oh, I’m not.’
Nikki rolled her eyes.
‘Okay. So we have Carla Masconi, Brigitte Gasnier, and Sophie-Louise Henshaw. So which designer goes with which dress. Have you worked with any of these designers before?’
‘No, I haven’t. Sorry.’
Nikki placed the headshots of the designers, all printed from their websites by Tish, next to each dress and studied them, then swapped them around. ‘It’s no good. We can’t do it like this. I’ve had an idea. One of us will impersonate a celebrity who’s shopping for her perfect wedding gown. We’ll visit each of these designers at their boutiques and ask them to produce a sketch of the gown they would envisage for such a wedding. With any luck, they won’t be able to resist producing a similar design to the one they believe didn’t win the competition. Why wouldn’t they?’
‘You’re a genius, Nikki. And you’ll totally pull that off.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t thinking of me. You’ll have to be the celebrity. I’ll play the part of your fabulously efficient, but long-sufferingPA. You’re the same dress size as Lilac for a start and I’m sure she won’t mind if you borrow one of her Stella McCartney dresses. If you tie your hair up in one of her Hermès scarves and wear a pair of dark glasses, I think we can pull this off. Of course, you’ll have to be a reality TV celebrity.’
