Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3)

Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3) Page 44

“Do you know Prince Charles?” says another, goggling.

“We’ve played polo once or twice…” Tarquin looks around, desperate to escape.

“You have to meet my daughter,” says one of the ladies, putting a clamplike arm round his shoulders. “She loves England. She visited Hampton Court six times.”

“He is spectacular,” says a low voice in my ear, and I look round to see Danny gazing over my shoulder at Tarquin. “Utterly spectacular. Is he a model?”

“Is he a what?”

“I mean, this story about him being a farmer.” Danny drags on his cigarette. “It’s bullshit, right?”

“You think Tarquin should be a model?” I can’t help a snort of laughter erupting through me.

“What?” says Danny defensively. “He has a fantastic look. I could design a whole collection around him. Prince Charles meets… Rupert Everett… meets—”

“Danny, you do know he’s straight?”

“Of course I know he’s straight! What do you take me for?” Danny gives a thoughtful pause. “But he went to English boarding school, right?”

“Danny!” I give him a shove and look up. “Hi, Tarquin! You managed to get away!”

“Hello!” says Tarquin, looking a bit harassed. “Suze, darling, have you given Becky the stuff from her mother?”

“Oh, it’s back at the hotel,” says Suze, and turns to me. “Bex, we dropped in on your mum and dad on the way to the airport. They are so obsessed!” She giggles. “They can’t talk about anything but the wedding.”

“I’m not surprised,” says Danny. “It sounds like it’s going to be fairly amazing. Catherine Zeta-Jones, eat your heart out.”

“Catherine Zeta-Jones?” says Suze interestedly. “What do you mean?”

I feel my body stiffen all over. Shit. Think.

“Danny,” I say casually. “I think the editor of Women’s Wear Daily is over there.”

“Really? Where?” Danny’s head swivels round. “I’ll be back in a second.” He disappears off into the party and I subside in relief.

“When we were there, they were having this huge argument about how big the marquee should be,” says Suze with another giggle. “They made us sit on the lawn, pretending to be guests.”

I don’t want to hear about this. I take a gulp of champagne and try to think of another topic.

“Have you told Becky the other thing that happened?” says Tarquin, looking suddenly grave.

“Er… no, not yet,” says Suze guiltily, and Tarquin gives a deep, solemn sigh.

“Becky, Suze has something she needs to confess.”

“That’s right.” Suze bites her lip and looks abashed. “We were at your parents’ house, and I asked to look at your mum’s wedding dress. So we were all admiring it, and I was holding a cup of coffee…” She hangs her head. “And then — I don’t know how it happened, but… I spilled my coffee on the dress.”

I stare at her incredulously. “On the dress? Are you serious?”

“We offered to clean it, of course,” says Tarquin. “But I’m not sure it will be wearable. We’re so incredibly sorry, Becky. And we’ll pay for another dress, of course.” He looks at his empty glass. “Can I get anyone another drink?”

“So the dress is… ruined?” I say, just to be sure.

“Yes, and it wasn’t easy, I can tell you!” says Suze as soon as Tarquin is out of earshot. “The first time I tried, your mum whisked it away just in time. Then she started getting all worried and saying she’d better put it away. I had to practically throw my coffee cup at it, just as she was packing it up — and even then it only just caught the train. Of course, your mum hates me now,” she adds gloomily. “I shouldn’t think I’ll get invited to the wedding.”

“Oh, Suze. She doesn’t really. And thank you so much. You’re a complete star. I honestly didn’t think you’d manage it.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you look like a lamb cutlet, could I?” Suze grins. “The weird thing is, in her wedding pictures, your mum looks really lovely in it. But in real life…” She pulls a little face.

“Exactly. Oh, Suze, I’m so glad you’re here.” Impulsively I give her a hug. “I thought you’d be all… married. What’s being married like, anyway?”

“Kind of the same,” says Suze after a pause. “Except we have more plates—”