The Honeymoon Hotel (34 page)

(Apart from a minor outbreak of stress rash on Emily’s sister and a missing pair of shoes, it was all fine. I’d banned mobile phones in the bridal suite, which also helped the stress levels.)

For the rest of the morning I whizzed around, getting Nevin in place for the pre-wedding photos, ushering the hair and make-up team around, and keeping the peace between Tam and the hired-in security guys, and I thought I’d had my only cock-up when the next one reared its ugly head.

I was on my way back up to Emily’s suite with more coffee when I heard two voices coming from nowhere.
Fuuuuuurious
voices. It was as if the hotel were being haunted by the Ghosts of Acrimonious Divorces Past, or the worst Hogwarts portraits ever.

‘Hello? Hello?’ bellowed a fruity British male voice. ‘Nope, it’s stopped. I think it’s broken.’

‘Well, duh! That’s what happens when you press all the buttons at once, you complete … you complete … !’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve run out of words?’

‘Polite ones, yes.’

I stopped, entranced despite myself.

‘Where’s your phone, Magnus?’

‘In my pocket.’

‘I’m not going into your pocket, if that’s what you want. Just give it to me! We need to call someone.’

‘If you’d let me finish … it’s in my pocket of
my morning coat
, which is in my room.’

‘It’s not a coat, it’s a jacket.’

‘We call it a coat. Don’t you go to any weddings with proper etiquette? Anyway, where’s your phone?’

‘Does this dress look like it’s got room for a phone?’

‘You want me to look?’

I decided to put Chloë out of her misery. ‘Hello?’ I called at the lift doors. ‘It’s Rosie. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happened, but we’ll get you out of there in no time. Just keep calm, and don’t …’

I’d just told two people to keep calm. The two people, after me, least likely to respond well to that suggestion.

‘Um, take deep breaths and I’ll be right back,’ I said.

Tempting as it was to leave them there for a while, I dashed off to find someone who could release them before they either throttled each other or made up so violently the lift was broken forever. And yes, I did wish Joe was with me to deal with it. He could have turned a crisis into an anecdote before you could say hashtag awkward.

*

I was downstairs waiting on hold at the reception desk for the lift engineer – out fixing a lift round the corner – when Gemma appeared looking shell-shocked. When she deliberately waited until Emily’s hair and make-up team had gone past in a cloud of Elnett and shrieking, I knew whatever had shocked her must be bad.

I laid my head briefly on the mahogany counter.
I give up
, I thought.
This wedding isn’t going to be perfect. It’s going to be a complete disaster
.

But what had Joe said? That it was the little things that made each wedding special to the couple? That something would always go wrong, and that’s what made the most precious memories of the day, not all the things that went perfectly that no one noticed?

As I thought that a funny calm spread over me, the same calm you get at the end of the day when you take a very tight pair of shoes off.

This wedding was not going to be perfect. It already wasn’t. And how many people knew that? Not many.

‘Rosie?’ came Gemma’s tentative voice.

I raised my head, steeled myself, and got my pen out to add to the growing list of things I needed to do before the afternoon. ‘Go on, what is it?’

‘Flora Thornbury,’ she whispered. ‘She’s here.’

‘What?’ The pen fell from my fingers and I scrabbled to pick it up. We hadn’t heard from Flora in months, and
now
she turned up, wanting VIP treatment on the day she’d blown off? ‘What’s she doing here? She’s not on the guest list.’

‘No, she’s in the bar.’

‘Why?’ It had only just gone ten. ‘Has she forgotten she’s not getting married? Is it still in her diary and the silly mare’s just trotted along here anyway?’

‘I don’t know. Milo’s not with her. She keeps asking for Joe.’ Gemma dropped her voice. ‘I think she might be a bit … T-I-P-S-Y.’

‘Oh, great,’ I said. The last thing I needed with actual, real international celebrities turning up any moment was a pissed minor British model falling around the place. Then I said, ‘Oh,
great
,’ with more enthusiasm. Someone with as little body fat as Flora had to pass out quickly. ‘Give her two more drinks, Dino’s strongest, then put her in a taxi. With Joe, if you have to. Kill two birds with one stone.’

As I said it, out of habit, I suddenly wasn’t sure if I
wanted
Joe out of action. I needed him around, where he could help me out with his cool head and refusal to be wound up. A pang bloomed in my stomach. I needed Joe here, but I could never ever tell him.

Pull yourself together, Rosie
, I told myself.

‘Are you sure there’s no room for her? She was saying something about getting some publicity for the hotel?’ Gemma looked hopeful. ‘I recognized a couple of the friends she’s got with her …’

‘Think about it, Gemma.’ I gave her a
Seriously?
look. ‘A drunk supermodel crashing a Hollywood A-lister’s wedding – is that the sort of publicity we want?’

‘No.’

‘No. So get rid of her. No, wait. Get Tam to keep an eye on her, so Emily’s security people don’t chuck her out,
then
get rid of her.’ I turned back to the phone, discovered that the lift engineer was going to be ‘at least another two hours’, then I hung up. ‘Wait, before you do that, does Tam still have a contact number for his mate who was in the SAS? They’re good at getting people out of small spaces, aren’t they?’

*

I thought that was it. Once I’d got Magnus and Chloë released from the lift – looking rather pink, I noticed, and rumpled, although I didn’t want to know any more than that – I went through all my checklists determined to find
anything
that could go wrong. I hadn’t seen much of Joe that morning, besides catching sight of him moving chairs or helping with wine; Emily hadn’t mentioned him either, but when I’d brought her bouquet and floral headdress in, she’d given me a private smile and a squeeze of the hand. I know, I was hoping she’d throw a tiny diva strop, just so I could see one in action, but she didn’t. Not even when Missy texted her to remind her to do the same forehead-to-forehead pose she’d
done with Benedict in the famous
Dark Moon
wedding scene.

The ceremony was due to start at three o’clock sharp, and at half past two I went downstairs to check in with the two registrars conducting the ceremony. They normally arrived at least an hour in advance to get everything ready, and also to scoff the complimentary refreshments we laid on. I’d delegated the job of looking after them to Gemma, who was much better at making small talk about non-religious but still spiritual music options than I was.

I was waylaid en route by a couple of guests needing directions, and then by Laurence, who claimed not to be feeling very well, so by the time I found Gemma hovering in the hallway between the main hotel and the gardens, it was nearly twenty to three.

‘Where are the registrars?’ I asked, checking my clipboard. Guests were already taking their seats outside and the string quartet was playing classical versions of rom-com themes. ‘I need to run through some things with them.’

‘They’re not here yet.’

A tingly sensation spread through my bones. ‘What? Why didn’t you tell me before now? Have you rung them?’

‘Of course I have,’ said Gemma. ‘I’ve been ringing since two. I didn’t tell you before now because I knew you’d flip.’

I gripped my head. ‘They can’t
both
be held up! Aren’t they supposed to travel separately, so this doesn’t happen? Like the royal family?’

‘They do. Freda’s stuck on a bus, and I can’t get hold of Jan. She’s probably on the Underground. Calm down, Rosie—’

That was the final straw, I’m sorry to say.

‘Calming down is not an option!’ I roared. ‘I’ve just got two people out of a lift using secret and possibly illegal SAS methods, and seven thousand pounds’ worth of dessert wine crossing Mayfair in Wynn’s Volvo! I will not be defeated by the London bloody transport system!’

Gemma’s eyes widened as two guests walked past behind me.

‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ I muttered. ‘It’s … I think they put something extra in the coffee.’

Helen suddenly materialized from behind a seven-foot arrangement of lilies and roses, phone in one hand, the wine receipt in the other.

‘Wynn’s unloading the booze with Dino, and I’ve got Freda on the phone.’ She stuck one finger in her ear and clamped her mobile to the other, as if she was breaking a story on BBC News 24. ‘Where are you now, Freda? She’s getting off the number nineteen and she’s walking down … she’s nearly at Shaftesbury Avenue!’

‘Brilliant!’ said Gemma.

‘Shaftesbury Avenue’s twenty minutes away!’ It was now quarter to three. Sweat prickled under my armpits.

‘Freda, what kind of shoes are you wearing?’ Helen asked urgently. ‘Sensible ones. Of course you are. Can you run in them? Well, can you … trot?’

We all stared at her, twitchy with nerves.

‘Can you walk a bit quicker?’ said Helen in a very coaxing voice. ‘I know, plantar fasciitis is awful. Poor you. It’s just that we have about fourteen Hollywood stars here, and three of
them have got helicopters on a parking meter at City airport and … Oh, lovely. Well, we’ll get some ice in a big bowl ready for afterwards. Good girl!’

She snapped the phone down. ‘She’s on her way.’

I checked my watch and glanced up to the fountain, where Benedict and Magnus were already in their seats, along with family, friends and several high-profile shapeshifters.

I had to get back upstairs fast. Emily would be almost ready to leave now. In fact, if she was following the checklist, she would be getting into the lift.

Helen grabbed my arm. ‘Stop,’ she said. ‘Breathe. It’ll be fine. If someone needs to do a song and dance to distract the crowd for a while, you’ve got professionals here. You can’t control everything.’

I gazed up at her, crisp and elegant in her special pale-blue events suit. When I’d told Helen I’d given in my notice, we’d had a cry. In fact, that was the only moment I’d wondered if I’d made a mistake. I would miss working with my best mate, in so many ways. But she’d told me I needed to go, and had given me another version of her ‘let life happen to you’ speech.

‘I want this to be my best wedding,’ I said. ‘I want to go out on a high.’

‘I know.’ She gripped my hand. ‘But that won’t happen if you have cardiac arrest, will it? The registrars will be here when they’re here. These things happen. It’s not like the bride and groom haven’t turned up, is it?’

I flinched. Then I took a deep breath. She was right.

‘We’ll just have to delay Emily somehow,’ I said, but as I did, I heard Gemma squeak, and I knew what had happened.

Slowly the three of us turned, and there, partially hidden inside the door to the hotel foyer on her father’s morning-suited arm, was Emily in her cream ballerina-length wedding dress, a thick circlet of blood-red roses balanced on her head like a crown, and a euphoric expression lighting up her heart-shaped face. The funny thing was, most regular brides looked like film stars when the make-up artist had finished. Emily the film star looked like the most beautiful girl-next-door in the world. Albeit in a ten-thousand-pound Vivienne Westwood dress.

Chloë stood behind her, still doing deep yoga breaths through alternate nostrils, and casting death looks down the aisle to Magnus; the two flower girls were fidgeting with their baskets of petals; and behind the group was Nevin, taking photographs.

I hurried over as nonchalantly as I could, so as not to give anything away to the guests. Five minutes late, fine. Ten minutes, muttering. Fifteen minutes and Twitter would be alive, even though Gemma had personally organized the phone amnesty in reception, on Missy’s specific instructions.

‘Emily, you look like an angel,’ I said. How had I ever imagined Joe could get over this? She was a once-in-a-lifetime girl.

She beamed. ‘Sorry! I know I’m early! I just couldn’t wait! I had to come down!’

‘I’m more nervous than she is,’ admitted her father. He was from Birmingham. ‘That photographer! And someone’s powdered my head. I don’t know how she does it, all these folk watching. My heart’s racing.’

‘In that case, let’s not rush.’
Thank you, universe
. ‘Why don’t you …’ I steered them firmly back towards the calm green anteroom ‘… have a quick glass of champagne in here to steady your nerves? We’ve got five minutes. The harpist is still playing.’

Emily glanced out at the garden.

‘Don’t worry, Ben’s there! Everything’s fine!’ I signalled to the waiters to bring champagne and the tiniest, least greasy canapés. ‘You take a second, relax, be in the moment, I’ll be right back …’

I marched back out again, but even Helen was looking anxious. ‘Still nothing.’

‘Where’s Joe?’

‘I don’t know.’

Why did that make me feel so panicky? I realized, with a sinking sensation, that I needed Joe here. I needed him to say something calming, something sensible, something … really irritating so at least I’d know what to do.

Helen touched my arm, ‘Rosie, you’ll have to say something. Tell them there’s a short delay because of the registrars.’

‘I can’t! It’s not my hotel. Where’s Laurence?’

‘Being sick.’

We spun around. Joe had appeared from nowhere. He’d changed into a linen suit, which made him look just as much of a movie star as the real ones. More so. My heart thudded in my chest. A lot more so. His blond hair, darker than when he’d arrived straight from the beach last year, was brushed back, and his white shirt was open at the neck, revealing the soft hollow
at the base of his throat. He looked more London now, and yet even further out of my league.

He and Emily – I could see it now. I could see exactly why they’d had that wonderful romance. They were both so beautiful.

I swallowed, and tried to focus on the moment. ‘Oh dear. Is he all right?’