Wedding Tiers (28 page)

‘Maybe not…but then, he was with her in London when you ran into him before Christmas, wasn’t he? And Pia saw in
a magazine that he’d been to a charity event with her, so they must still be pretty friendly. Really, I don’t know what to think. But it’s his problem, it doesn’t matter to me.’

‘Oh, no?’ she said, looking at me thoughtfully.

‘No!’ I said, and then after a pause added, ‘I got another hen thing in the post today. Chicken and rooster oven mitts.’

‘I’ve never known Noah to be like this. He must really like you!’

‘I think it’s more of a long-running joke, because of the way we met, when I was trying to catch Aggie. But we get on fine now we know where we are. Like Rob, too—he’s happy just to be friends.’

She looked as unconvinced as Noah had about that.

‘And the TV series is all signed, sealed and ready to start shooting?’

‘March, early on, and I’m hoping they include a bit about the reception business, even though it won’t have opened by then, because it would be good publicity, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes, brilliant.’ She fingered the swatches of material that had been her reason for visiting and said, ‘Could you possibly come back with me now and help me make my mind up about these? Or did you say you had to wait in for someone to collect the WAG wedding cake?’

‘No, that’s all right. The bride’s mother came all the way from Knutsford in a taxi for it this morning. She couldn’t see it, because it was encased in giant bubble wrap by then, but she handed me an enormous cheque without a blink—if she’d been
able
to blink; her false eyelashes must have weighed a pound each. I hope the cake got there in one piece.’

‘Must have done,’ Libby said, ‘or they would have rung you up by now.’

‘I’ve got another one to make. I couldn’t resist it.’ I got out my design book and showed her a rough sketch. ‘He’s a marine biologist and she’s a Butlins redcoat—isn’t that a lovely mix? There’s
going to be a seaside rockpool scene on the top tier, with below it a sort of candy-striped, scalloped tented effect, folded back to reveal the happy couple sitting in deck chairs on the bottom tier.’

The rockpool would have a shiny, crackle-glazed surface, starfish, seaweed, a seagull, spade and bucket—the works. Even a dead crab, which suddenly reminded me of my day out at Crosby beach with Noah…

‘Come on,’ I said, getting up. ‘Let’s go to the Old Barn and compare fabric samples
in situ
while there’s still daylight.’

There were no workmen around when we got there. The main bulk of the alterations were now done and the Old Barn was acquiring its finishing touches, with the permanent stage and the sound system going in, plus a large screen where any civil ceremonies in the Great Chamber could be relayed to the rest of the guests. I’d thought this was rather an extravagance, but Libby had insisted.

The barn now had lots of subtle, rather medieval-looking lighting, a dark oak floor and a couple of large reproduction tapestries, which all gave it a sort of indeterminate historical feel that should be a good backdrop to any kind of wedding.

The former tackroom next to it was now a food preparation room, with huge fridges, worktops, sinks and a dishwasher, while the very swish new cloakrooms were done up like the Savoy, with expensive liquid soaps, a full-length mirror and piles of fluffy white towels. There were even changing cubicles (my idea!), in case the bride and groom wanted to put on their going-away clothes and leave for their honeymoon straight from the venue. This was where the fabric samples came in, though actually there was no reason why they shouldn’t be the same fabric as the cloakroom curtains, and he had lots of that left over because he’d bought a whole bolt of it off the internet.

After Libby had come round to my way of thinking we went outside so I could tell her about a brainwave I’d had.

‘When it was pouring with rain the other day, I suddenly thought how difficult it was going to be for the bride and groom to get from the car into the barn without getting soaked. There would have to be lots of dodging about with big umbrellas, and you can’t get out of a car fast if you’re wearing a meringue dress and yards of net.’

‘That hadn’t occurred to me,’ she admitted.

‘But if you had little metal rings sunk into the cobbles in front of the doorway, which would be quite unobtrusive, you could put up an awning-covered walkway whenever necessary.’

‘Now, that
does
sound like a good idea, Josie, and it could be stowed in one of the stables when we don’t need it.’

‘It would be better in some kind of synthetic material, so the mice don’t eat it.’

‘Would
they do that?’

‘They’d probably chew holes in it. Come on, let’s have a walk around the garden while the sun is shining. I think I need some cold, fresh air to blow away the cobwebs.’

The grounds were by now emerging from their years of neglect too, and Tim was devoting as much time as he could to helping Dorrie transform them back to their former glory. Seth Greenwood, Sophy Winter’s husband, had resurrected the small knot garden near the house as a wedding present (that’s what he does for a living). Although he’d had to put in a lot of new box planting, which would take time to grow together, it was defined with coloured gravel, so it already looked charming.

But the greatest bonus, I thought to myself as we walked around in the wintry sunshine, was that Libby had been so involved in the mad scramble of getting the business ready for opening at the end of March, that I was quite sure any idea she’d had about starting a family was pushed right to the bottom of her to-do list. Perhaps in the end she’d even decide she couldn’t do both—and she might even go off the idea. I mean, it wasn’t like Libby in the least!

I’d relaxed about my guilty secret a bit by now, since I’d come to the conclusion that there was no way I could ever
tell
her, so there was really nothing I could do about it. It might be an ostrich-with-its-head-in-the-sand approach, but it worked for me.

Noah hadn’t been down to Neatslake since I had the unfortunate encounter with Anji—and there had been no more fowl presents. Was this cause and effect—they were back together again and so he was too preoccupied to play chicken any more?

The Old Barn Receptions advert appeared in
Glorious Weddings
in the middle of January and soon Libby and I were stuffing brochures into envelopes and mailing them off. I suppose there will be even more publicity when that article about my cake
business comes out, complete with pictures of the Pisa wedding cake. The
Sticklepond and District Gazette
did an article about the new venture too, so there were lots of local enquiries and it was all looking very promising for the launch in late March.

The first firm booking came towards the end of January, and Libby thought it should be a fairly easy reception to cut our teeth on, since the bride’s mother was firmly in charge and not interested in any of the extras in the brochure, including my cake. Apart from the venue and the catering, she was organising everything herself. In fact, it all seemed to have been organised for months, except that the hotel where they had planned to hold the reception had just gone into receivership. Finding Libby’s advert in
Glorious Weddings
had been the answer to a prayer when they were at their wits’ end.

That booking was followed by a steadily increasing number of others, and then one day Libby phoned me in a panic to say she’d been asked if she could do a themed reception.

‘Themed? What kind of theme?’ I asked.

‘Elizabethan.’

‘Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? The inside of the barn does look vaguely Elizabethan already. It just needs a few extra touches.’

‘That’s what I thought, but I’d still like you to be at the discussion tomorrow. They said they wanted you to make the cake anyway. You
will
come, won’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. I can’t wait to see what they think the Elizabethans had as a wedding cake!’

Already we had discovered that the reception was usually organised by the bride and her mother, but sometimes the happy couple would make the arrangements instead. That day, the would-be Elizabethans had come alone, though it was clear from the start that, behind the scenes, Daddy and his expanding wallet
would be bankrolling anything his little princess set her heart on, however absurd.

‘Did you have any particular reason for wanting an Elizabethan-style wedding?’ I asked as Libby unlocked the door to the Old Barn and led the way in. I thought they might belong to a re-enactment society, or be historians or something similar.

‘No, we just thought it would be different and fun, didn’t we, Kevin?’ said the prospective bride, who was a small, skeletal creature, mounted on the highest stilettos I’d ever seen. I hoped she didn’t fall off, because there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her anywhere to cushion the blow. ‘All my friends seem to be having themed weddings, but no one’s thought of anything quite like this!’

Her fiancé, who had the sort of head that would have looked better with hair on it, nodded obediently. ‘When Laura said that’s what she wanted, I Googled “Elizabethan wedding” on the internet and they’re big in the USA, so we got lots of ideas.’

And I looked up Elizabethan banquets,’ I put in, ‘so we should have some interesting ideas between us.’

‘We’re having invitations that look like parchment, with big wax seals,’ Laura said, ‘and telling everyone that they can come in costume if they want to.’

‘What date is the wedding, did you say?’ asked Libby, switching on all the lights and ushering them in.

‘The first Monday in April. It’s the only day the church at Middlemoss could fit us in at short notice,’ the bride said, ‘but once Kevin proposed I wanted to get married right away. I can never bear waiting for anything, can I, Kev? I’m just
too
impatient!’

‘No,’ he agreed, looking long-suffering.

‘Then we couldn’t find the right place for the reception until Fee—my best friend—spotted your advert in a wedding magazine.’ She stood in the middle of the room and slowly spun around on her heels.

Libby winced a bit—probably thinking about her new wooden flooring.

‘And it’s just how I imagined it! It only needs a few details to be really Elizabethan, doesn’t it? Maybe straw on the floor? Candlesticks? Lutes playing, that sort of thing?’

‘I think oak floorboards are fine for the upper classes of the period, who would be the only ones able to afford a lavish wedding feast, anyway,’ I said quickly. ‘Straw would look a bit downmarket and the long skirts would drag in it.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she conceded. ‘Candlesticks?’

‘I’ll look into it,’ said Libby. ‘And actually, if your budget will run to it, there is an Elizabethan re-enactment society in Sticklepond who could be hired to add a bit of extra authenticity. They could serve the food, move among the guests and even do an exhibition dance from the period. They’ve got a collection of music from the time that you could play in the background, and might even know some suitable musicians.’

‘Great!’ Laura said.

‘But I think we ought to have a DJ,’ Kevin objected. ‘You can take things too far.’

‘No, that’s at the evening party, when we’ve all changed back into ordinary clothes again, dumbo,’ she said. ‘Don’t you ever listen? I’ve already booked that. They have function rooms at the old Butterflake Biscuit factory at Middlemoss. Do you know it?’ she asked us.

‘I do,’ I said. ‘It’s very nice and only a few miles away.’

‘Of course, it would be easier to have both events in the same place, but you said you didn’t do evening events?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Libby said firmly. ‘We need the time to get ready for the next day’s wedding.’

Laura flicked open a tiny mobile and relayed everything we had discussed without letting the person at the other end get a word in until right at the end. Then she snapped it shut. ‘Daddy
says I can have whatever will make me happy,’ she said with a satisfied smile.

Libby had been making copious notes and now she got out the brochure and turned to the back. ‘There are a few more extras you might like to consider, like floral decorations for the tables.’

‘Bunches of herbs were popular,’ I said, suddenly remembering my research. ‘Rosemary featured a lot too, especially gilded.’

‘Did it?’ Laura said doubtfully.

‘We have an expert flower arranger—you can safely leave it to her to produce something pretty,’ Libby assured her.

They also ordered one of the Graces’ tablecloths, to be embroidered, at my suggestion, with love knots and other Elizabethan symbols of love and fidelity.

Then the bride-to-be said to me, ‘And of course we want
you
to make the wedding cake!’

‘Actually, at that time they didn’t have a wedding cake as we know it. In fact, I think it was around then they broke a thin loaf over the bride’s head instead. But they did have what they called “subtleties”, which were three-dimensional constructions in sugar, often with biblical meaning. What about something like that?’

‘No,’ said Laura decidedly, ‘I want one shaped like a giant pomander studded with roses, just like my bouquet.’

‘But, darling, don’t you think that would look a bit odd?’ began Kevin.

Laura’s small foot began to tap on the floor and there was a glint in her eye and a rising note to her voice as she snapped: ‘I
want
it. I can
see
it. It will look
beautiful
!’

Kevin hastily agreed.

‘Mostly
white
rosebuds,’ she added.

‘I can make you exactly what you want,’ I said, and what was more, I would be able to utilise the football cake mould again. How convenient!

Libby promised to have the plans and menus with them soon, for approval, and they went away happy. Or the bride was happy, anyway. The groom looked as if he had suddenly been seized by the love knots, so I expected the reality of spending a lifetime with Laura had begun to sink in.

But then, how many marriages lasted a lifetime these days? The more I saw, the more cynical I felt about it all!

Libby got Jasper Pharamond on board as Historical Food Consultant for a small fee, to see which banqueting foods of the time could be updated for modern tastes. Then he got together with the proprietors of Movable Feasts, and they devised a menu consisting of a crab and salmon ring with pomegranate seeds, glazed roasted chickens and rastons, which were a sort of stuffed bread-wrapped morsel. There would be platters of salads too, and the desserts would be rose petal ice cream and open apple tart with cream.

Well, it was a nod in the direction of the right century.

I suggested they cook one of the peacocks, which would be traditional, especially if they dressed it up again in its feathers before serving, but Libby told me not to be silly.

Jasper also suggested some drinks of the time, but, anachronism or not, by the bride’s decree it was to be pink champagne in the loving cup.

By now, Libby was quite blasé about showing prospective customers around the Old Barn and only called me in if they were thinking of ordering one of my cakes, or if she needed some kind of backup.

It still amazed me how much people were prepared to spend on a wedding, especially on a dress they would wear only once, but it seemed to me that it was the ones prepared to lavish the most money who had the least chance of their marriage lasting past the first anniversary.

Libby also thought I’d turned into an old cynic. Well actually, she said I was an embittered old cow, but she was joking…I think. Anyway,
she
was almost as bad, because we’d started taking bets on which couples would make it past their first anniversaries—or even if their marriages would last longer than the last bite of wedding cake—though how we’d ever find out which of us had won, I wasn’t sure.

Libby said Noah rang last night to see how his gatehouse renovations were going, and she told him about the Elizabethan wedding, which she thought would make for interesting pictures, especially the bald-headed groom with the eagle tattoo on the back of his neck and a large tongue stud, dressed up in doublet and hose.

‘He said he’d been too busy to come down, but he looked forward to moving in soon.’ She paused. ‘So I told him your pile of firewood was dwindling by the day and he said he’d heard that you were seeing a lot of Rob Rafferty, so maybe
he
could take over the wood-chopping duties.’

‘What! Who told him that?’ I demanded.

‘That’s what I asked, and he said Anji’d told him she saw you and Rob in a wine bar together when she was down here recently, and you were obviously more than friends—and then Claire Flowers told her you had been seeing a lot of each other.’

‘But that is twisting the whole thing right round,’ I exclaimed.
‘She
arrived with Rob, not me. I was already there with Claire. And Claire knows Rob is only a friend, nothing more. How devious!’

All’s fair in love and war, Josie, but don’t worry, I put him straight.’

‘I’m not worried. I don’t care what he thinks!’ I declared, but wondered if perhaps this was why the hen gifts seemed to have dried up.

‘And
I told him that although you were friendly with Rob, you were certainly not on wood-chopping terms.’

‘Thanks—I think. You know, it never even occurred to me to ask Rob to chop wood.’ I giggled suddenly. ‘I expect he’d have to study for the part, first!’

I baked the round Pomander cake (the mould was in two halves so it was quite easy to make, really). There was a flat bit on the bottom, of course, so that it wouldn’t roll away.

Violet had already started to make icing rosebuds and foliage, because it would take quite a lot to cover the surface entirely. I was quite looking forward to putting it all together! I emailed Claire Flowers about it, and she said she hoped to film me putting the finishing touches to it in the programme, so I suppose I had better try to time the icing for when the film unit descends on me. That, or make another, just for the cameras.

It had been cold and damp lately and Harry had had a tendency to pore over the pictures of New Zealand that his daughter kept sending him, while crankily telling me what the temperature was over there. I think it was just because his rheumatism was playing him up, though, not because he was seriously thinking of uprooting himself and emigrating!

I had had to start chopping wood again too, because we’d almost run out. It was a task I could do without when I was so busy, but I expect the exercise was good for me, and anyway, Harry found a fire comforting when he felt all achy, and my stoves ran on the stuff, so it had to be done.

I had a phone enquiry about a cake from friends of the Goth couple I made one for last year. They were Goths too, and were trying to find a venue where they could have a themed civil wedding ceremony and reception, so I suggested Blessings and gave them Libby’s number. ‘She’s registered for civil ceremonies and the house is Elizabethan, it’s lovely.’

Libby phoned me later and said, ‘I never thought our first
civil wedding ceremony would be a Goth one! They’re coming round to discuss what they want at ten tomorrow morning—and
you
have to be here. I don’t know a thing about Goths.’