The next day, on my way to a dress fitting for another of my brides, Catherine, I get a phone call from an unknown number and immediately panic.
I stop in my tracks, staring at the screen. It could be Melanie Kendall. It could be the police. I could be about to go to prison. Although … do the police call before they arrest you? Surely they don’t give criminals any warning. That makes no sense at all. Unless they’re calling to get my alibi? Are they calling to get my alibi?
Think, Sophie, think! I NEED AN ALIBI. OK, I was … I was … home alone! I was home all alone, asleep. No one can verify that. But no one can deny it either.
Unless they check my Uber records.
Why did I get an Uber? Oh, my God, I’ve left a paper trail! My mouth is so dry.
Maybe I don’t answer. No. Wait. I need to answer. I have to know if I’m being investigated. It’s better than not knowing. But I don’t need to answer any questions. I have rights.
“Hello?” I say timidly, answering just before it rings out.
“Emily, hello! It’s Jonathan. Jonathan Farlow? Cordelia’s fiancé. Ugh, I’m not sure about that word ‘fiancé’! It sounds a bit pretentious. Hate using it. Anyway, hi! Sorry! Rambling.”
I’m so relieved, I lean against a wall, smiling into the phone. “Jonathan! It’s you. Thank God!”
“Is everything all right?” he asks, sounding very concerned.
“Yes! Everything’s fine,” I hurriedly assure him, pulling myself together. “I was … uh … I messed up something at work and I thought you might be my boss calling to yell at me. But it’s all OK!”
“Oh, I see.” He chuckles. “Well, we’ve all been there! I’m sure you’ll get it sorted.”
“Absolutely.”
There’s an awkward pause as I wait for him to tell me why he’s calling.
“I hope you don’t mind, I got your number from Victoria. Are you busy or can we chat?”
“We can chat!” I say, finding it unnerving to hear Lady Meade referred to by her first name. I suppose she is his future mother-in-law. “I’ve got a few minutes. I’m on my way to a meeting.”
“Great! I wasn’t sure who else to ask. Now that the wedding is just two months away, I realized I’d better get thinking about a wedding present for Cordelia. I thought I had plenty of time! Now I don’t. I wondered if you could help me find her something on the sly? I’m useless at shopping. Will you help me?”
“I’d love to,” I say, trying not to laugh at his panicked tone. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her the perfect gift.”
“Ah, wonderful, thank you,” he says, sounding relieved. “You’re not free this evening, are you? I can meet you after work? I appreciate it’s last minute, so if you’re busy…”
“I can do this evening,” I assure him. “Tell me where to be and when.”
“Great! I’ll text you.”
I say goodbye and hang up, thrilled that Jonathan has selected me to help him with such an important task. I’m determined not to let him down, and it will be nice to have some time with him away from the family. Though I’m slightly surprised when the text comes through with where he wants to meet: Ye Olde Mitre, a pub in Holborn. I was expecting somewhere like the Savoy or the Artesian, fancy cocktail bars in social hot spots.
It takes me a while to find the pub. It’s tucked away down a very narrow passageway that I walk past twice, but when I finally get there, I couldn’t love it more. It’s tiny, cozy and unassuming.
“Emily!” Jonathan waves from where he’s leaning at the bar waiting for me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have a white wine, thanks,” I say, as he gives me a warm greeting with a kiss on each cheek. “I can get this, though.”
“No, I insist,” he says, pulling a credit card out of his wallet. “You’re helping me big-time, and the least I can do is get you a drink before we start.”
“How did you find this place?” I ask, taking off my coat and admiring the homeliness of the surroundings. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Oh, I used to come here a lot when I first moved to London,” he tells me, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “One of my colleagues at my old company introduced it to me. It’s one of those rare places in London where I feel relaxed, if I’m honest. A little haven. It’s also got some very interesting history. Queen Elizabeth the First apparently danced around the tree outside.”
“Really?”
“Wonderful, isn’t it? I like to escape here when I need to have a think over a proper pint. Not many of my friends come here—unless you’re introduced to it, you might not notice it. It feels a little…”
“Hidden?” I suggest, as he searches for the word.
“Yes! Hidden. The perfect place to do some stealthy gift brainstorming.”
“Cordelia won’t happen upon us?”
“Unlikely. I brought her here once and she loved it, but it’s hardly convenient for her. Besides, she thinks I’ve got meetings running late.” He passes me my glass of wine and holds up his pint. “Cheers.”
“Cheers!” I take a sip of my drink, trying to imagine Cordelia in this homey pub—the same woman who is glamorous, snobby, and usually quite rude. Although our criminal activity last night has shown me a new side to her: I’m not so sure she completely belongs in the high-society world—not now I’ve seen her scale a wall and pick a lock with ease.
I haven’t heard from her today. I admit I was expecting something. A message to say how much she appreciated me helping her out, how much she owes me after I broke the law for her, how maybe she was wrong to be so dismissive of me up until now.
But not a peep.
“Thanks again for meeting me,” Jonathan says. “I have no idea where to begin.”
“She hasn’t dropped any hints?”
“Nothing. I even asked her outright, because I was worried I’d missed any signs. I’m not very good at stuff like that,” he admits apologetically. “But she said the usual sort of things she always says when I ask her about birthday and Christmas gifts.”
“What are the usual things she says?”
“Oh, you know”—he blushes, twisting his pint round on the coaster—“that she doesn’t want anything, that I’m all she could ever want”—he waves a hand, his cheeks flushing pink—“that sort of thing.”
“Cordelia says things like that? That’s so … sweet.”
“Yes, well”—he grins—“she doesn’t say them very often. But, as you know, she’s a lot softer than people think. It’s all a front.”
I nod, pretending I know what he’s talking about. I guess last night she showed some vulnerability. Her paranoia about Annabel’s wedding has to come from insecurity. And Jonathan is so nice, so warm and friendly and open. Surely he wouldn’t be with someone completely evil.
“So, any ideas?” he asks me hopefully. “It has to be personal somehow. It can’t be any old thing.”
“I agree. Let’s get a brainstorm going. I can ask you some questions and maybe it will give us some helpful ideas.”
“Good plan.”
“So, let’s start with how you two met. Cordelia has told me the general story, but no details.”
This is, of course, a lie. Cordelia has told me absolutely nothing about how she met Jonathan. After having no luck finding any details online about the happy couple and how it all began, I had to ask Lady Meade to fill me in a bit, so I could play my bridesmaid role to the best of my ability. What kind of bridesmaid doesn’t know how the bride and groom met?
“You met at a dinner,” I prompt, which is as much as I got out of Lady Meade.
“It was a charity auction, to raise funds for a ballet school. We were seated next to each other.”
“Cordelia never mentioned it was for a ballet school!”
“That doesn’t surprise me, she doesn’t like to talk about her charity work,” he says, chuckling. “She thinks boasting about it takes away from what it’s meant to be. You know she hates any kind of fuss. One of the many reasons I love her. But, over the years, she’s donated a lot to the arts and created many scholarships, especially for the ballet, and this school was desperately underfunded. I think she’s always regretted not learning to dance when she was growing up.” He smiles, adding, “You won’t be surprised to hear she was kicked out of ballet class as a child.”
“Why?”
“Too disruptive, according to the teachers. Victoria says Cordelia was disruptive because she was bored, and she was bored because she was so much better than the other children. I’m not sure how true that is, but I wouldn’t want to argue with the in-laws.”
“Cordelia is very elegant,” I admit. “I can imagine her being quite good at ballet. So, did you hit it off straightaway at this dinner?”
“Yes, we did,” he says, smiling at the memory. “As soon as I sat down, I told her that I’d never been to the ballet before, but I’d been asked to be at the dinner by my company, who needed a representative. They were one of the supporters. Anyway, when I said I thought ballet was boring, she was horrified and started listing the reasons I was an idiot.”
“That I can very much believe.”
“We didn’t stop talking the entire dinner. Completely ignored the rest of the table. I thought she was hilarious—she kept making me laugh. I’m not even sure she meant to. She told me about being kicked out of ballet class and, in return, I told her my most embarrassing moment—when I was a teenager and I went to a fancy-dress party back home in Norfolk but had misunderstood the theme. Well, turned out there wasn’t a theme at all, because it wasn’t a fancy-dress party. It was a posh sixteenth and I turned up dressed as a Power Ranger.”
I burst out laughing.
“Not my finest moment,” he says, grimacing. “Anyway, when the ballet dinner was coming to a close, I asked for her number. I had no idea that she was meant to be scary until everyone told me so after I’d met her.”
“Something about you made her lower her barriers.”
He smiles shyly. “I guess so. But she was different on our first date. It was as though she’d forgotten herself at the ballet dinner. Suddenly a wall came up. She was a bit chilly. Apprehensive and much less at ease. I wasn’t about to give up, though. I’d never met anyone who made me feel so…” He pauses. “… interesting. And interested.”
“You are interesting!”
“Not really,” he says, shrugging. “I’ve never been the life of the party, never really stood out in a crowd. But Cordelia made me feel that way. She really listens to me. And I never want to stop talking to her. It’s a nice feeling, that. Anyway, enough about me! Sorry, didn’t mean to go on.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to hear your side of the story,” I say, beaming at him. “How did you propose?”
“Surely you’re bored to death of that one!”
“I’ve heard the story from Cordelia, of course,” I lie. “But, as I said, it’s nice to hear it from the groom’s point of view. How long did you have the ring before you popped the question?”
“Four months. I’d spoken to Lord and Lady Meade, who were all for it. And my parents, who couldn’t have been happier. I was waiting for the perfect moment. At first, I thought I’d do it on holiday, in an amazing restaurant with hundreds of candles and red roses and all that”—he chuckles—“but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that wasn’t us at all. I decided I’d have to think of something more intimate, a bit more casual. Then, one afternoon we were at her parents’ house, out riding.”
“I didn’t know you were into horse riding too,” I say, surprised.
“Trust me, I wasn’t.” He laughs. “Not until I started dating Cordelia. I was frightened of horses. Never been on one in my life. Cordelia kept telling me to give it a go, and it got to the stage where I couldn’t put it off much longer. Now I enjoy it. I don’t like going too fast and I swear the horse I ride, Marjorie, openly laughs at me whenever I attempt my rising trot—as soon as I start, she does that snort thing horses do—but it’s fun. Have you ever gone riding with Cordelia?”
I shake my head.
“You’ll have to at Dashwell,” he says excitedly. “You get to see the countryside best that way. It’s very peaceful.”
“Sorry, I interrupted your proposal story—please continue!”
“Oh, yes. So, we were out and about, and we’d stopped to admire the view of the fields. When we were ready to continue, Marjorie refused to move. No matter what I did, she just stood there. I was huffing and puffing, giving her a nudge with my heels, demanding that she move, getting quite cross, if I’m honest with you. But Marjorie wasn’t having any of it. It was incredibly frustrating. Cordelia found it so funny that she came trotting back, crying she was laughing so hard. Then I started laughing and I couldn’t stop. The two of us idiots were just sitting there on our stubborn horses, laughing away. If anyone had seen us, they’d have thought we were mad. Anyway, that was when I said it. I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t have the ring on me. I was watching her laughing and I just … asked her to marry me.”
“That sounds perfect,” I say, enraptured.
“Not very noteworthy,” he claims. “But she said yes, so there you go. My mum still can’t get over that story. She told me off for not planning something more romantic. Not exactly the grand proposal Lady Cordelia Swann deserved!”
“I think it sounds wonderfully romantic! You proposed in a place she loves, and in a moment when you were both truly happy. What could be more romantic?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds rather good. Maybe you could have a word with my mother at the wedding.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t meet your parents at the engagement party. Do they still live in Norfolk?”
He nods. “Right in the middle of nowhere. The first time I took Cordelia there, they made a huge fuss about it. I’ve never seen them so nervous or the house so clean. They weren’t sure what food she’d like, so I’m pretty sure they bought absolutely everything. But as soon as she walked through the door, one of our dogs, Gus, went bounding over to her and she sat down on the floor to give him a good belly rub. I could see Mum’s shoulders physically relax. It’s the title. It can be misleading.”
I try to imagine the alternative version of Cordelia Jonathan is telling me about—one who loves hanging out in tiny old pubs, who happily sits on a country kitchen floor, fussing over a dog.
“What about your parents?” Jonathan asks brightly, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Where do they live?”
“Australia. They retired there,” I say, brushing aside this line of questioning with a wave of my hand. “You said one of your dogs, how many do you have?”
“My parents have four. Three springer spaniels and then Gus, a black Labrador. I imagine Cordelia’s told you all about him. She and Gus have a special bond. He adores her, follows her around everywhere when we’re at my parents’.”
“That’s so lovely. You must miss them here in London.”
“My parents or the dogs?”
“Both.” I laugh.
“Certainly, but we see them as much as we can. I don’t think Cordelia can be away from Gus too long.” He finishes his pint. “So, are you looking forward to this weekend?”
“Yes, although I’m a bit nervous. I’ve seen so many pictures of Dashwell Hall—it seems a bit surreal to be going there.”
“I know what you mean. I was the same when I first went,” he says, nodding vigorously. “But Nicholas and Victoria are so welcoming, you sort of forget where you are. They’ll put you at ease, don’t worry.”
“I’m sure,” I say, taking the last sip of my wine and putting the empty glass down.
“Right! Shall we go shopping?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Where on earth do you think we should start?”
“Actually, I think I may have an idea. You’ve given me some inspiration.”
His face lights up. “Really? What is it?”
“Well, it’s something personal,” I begin, “and it doesn’t involve any shopping whatsoever.”
“In that case, I’m in,” he says, without hesitation. “Let’s get another round in to celebrate a good job well done!”
“Don’t you want to hear the idea first?” I ask. “You might not like it!”
“Nonsense. I bet it’s perfect. I knew you’d be the person to ask, Emily.” He grins at me, waving over the barman. “I just knew it.”