The Perfect Christmas

Bring it on!

‘Hi, Robyn!’ Saffron crosses her office, a slender figure with a glorious mane of red hair and skin like double cream. ‘Thanks so much for coming over. I’m so sorry about changing the location at the last minute, but Hester insisted she’d never be able to make it to Chelsea for ten.’

I bet she did! Yet she could make it to Covent Garden. Weird, when she works just down the road from Chelsea, in Fulham. If I was paranoid I would think she did it just to mess me around.

‘That’s no problem.’ I shake her hand, noticing the simple but elegant French manicure. ‘I’m just pleased to be here. There was signal trouble on the tube, I thought we were all going to boil alive.’

Saffron shudders. ‘Poor you. Take a seat and I’ll get my PA to fetch you a drink. Water?’

‘That would be great, thanks.’ I’m relieved she’s indicated that I sit on a black leather sofa rather than perching in interview style in front of the desk. Saffron seems really friendly. I love the simple green trouser suit she’s wearing; it compliments her fiery hair and clear blue eyes perfectly and the big platform boots that peek out from beneath the boot leg trousers make a perfect contrast.

By the time my water arrives I’m feeling cooler and much more at ease. Saffron and I chat for a while, laughing over our love of unusual heels, and I’m delighted when she admires my vintage bag.

‘It’s very classic,’ she comments. ‘It reminds me of Donna Reed in my all-time favourite film – It’s a Wonderful Life – all that joy and those beautiful clothes – what’s not to love! I just love Christmas.’

‘Me too!’ I say, delighted to have met a kindred spirit. ‘I know that most people moan when the decorations go up right after Halloween but I’m always really excited! I love the cheesy songs and seeing Oxford Street all lit up.’

Saffron grins. ‘You’re not alone. I think I must be just a big kid at heart! When Fergus proposed I knew straight away that I wanted a magical Christmas wedding – I’ve dreamed about it since I was a little girl.’

We beam at each other.

‘So,’ says Saffron finally. ‘What ideas have you got for me?’

I take a deep breath. ‘I’ll be honest, Saffron, I’ve spent ages thinking up ideas, making mood boards and sketches, but now I’ve actually met you, I don’t think any of my ideas are right.’

Saffron’s mouth is open; she was probably waiting for more hog roasts and jesters.

‘You’re welcome to look at my portfolio,’ I plough on, ‘but I think I’ve just had a better idea. Why don’t we use your love of It’s a Wonderful Life and give your wedding a family Christmas theme? We could even have the wedding on Christmas Eve.’

Saffron stares at me. Whether she’s delighted or horrified I can’t tell but it’s too late in any case because my mouth’s going into overdrive.

‘It could be fantastic! Lots of understated glamour and beautiful 1940s clothes. But with what’s important at the heart of it – your family and friends. The spirit of Christmas.’

Saffron stares at me. She’s totally silent.

Oh God, I’ve blown it. I should have mentioned flamingos or paper cranes.

Then her mouth curves into a smile.

‘It’s brilliant! I adore it! Do you think we could really pull it off?’

‘Of course we can!’

I’m nearly bursting with ideas for utilising all my experience of rummaging through vintage clothes boutiques and antique stores. ‘We could have so much fun sourcing all the materials and we could make it so cosy and warm. In fact,’ I add, thinking of my favourite little shop in Camden, ‘I know a great place to start. If you want to start, I mean. I don’t want to presume anything. I know Hester had an amazing portfolio.’

‘Yes, she certainly did,’ deadpans Saffron. ‘Absolutely amazing.’ Then she catches my eye, her lips twitch and she convulses with laughter. ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ she gasps. ‘I shouldn’t laugh but can you really imagine me wearing angel wings and an edible chastity belt?’

‘Not really,’ I admit.

‘Or poor Fergus in a Father Christmas outfit?!’

I start to laugh. ‘But what about the banquet? You need to think carefully before you turn down a stuffed swan.’

Saffron shudders. ‘Her ostentatious ideas were such a turn-off. Is that really how people see me?’

‘Not if they know you,’ I tell her. ‘Hester just likes to go to town.’

‘That’s one way of putting it. I wasn’t impressed either when she suggested I delay the date of the wedding until next year so we can really go all out. Fergus would have gone mental.’

‘That’s totally understandable. The whole point of the wedding is so that you can be together; it shouldn’t be keeping you apart!’

‘Caught you! You’re a romantic!’ Saffron cries, clapping her hands. ‘That’s perfect! A wedding planner who actually believes in love and who has brilliant ideas! That does it! Robyn, I’d love you to plan my wedding – if you’d like to?’

‘If I’d like to?’ I parrot, only needing a cage and some seed to complete the look. ‘Of course I’d like to if you’re sure you want me?’

‘Oh, I’m sure,’ says Saffron. ‘Perfect Day is exactly what Fergus and I have been looking for. I can hardly wait to get started.’

‘Nor can I,’ I say, as we shake hands. ‘Nor can I!’

CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_7df15f34-6245-566c-96c3-2f6425be0f00)

June

‘You know what you need to do with this car?’ the AA patrolman says from beneath the bonnet.

‘What?’ I ask, hoping it’ll be something quick and inexpensive.

‘Scrap it and get something new.’ He smiles at his little joke. ‘My missus has got a lovely Fiesta.’

‘Right,’ I say, fighting the impulse to ram his head into the engine. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

‘Besides, we’ve been called out for this car too many times and we’re within our rights to refuse to give you any more assistance.’

‘Maybe I should join the RAC instead?’

‘They’ll only tell you the same. Get rid of this monstrosity and find yourself a car that works.’

‘I love my car!’ I protest. ‘Dolly the Mercedes is a design classic!’

He snorts. ‘If you say so. But you’d be better off with a Fiesta. You’ll never get a baby seat in that contraption. You know, when the time comes.’

I roll my eyes. I’m more likely to grow another head than I am to have a baby. Call me old fashioned but I’d quite like to find a man first and that is proving easier said than done. Thirty-four, single, and with no hope of finding a decent man. It’s a problem that even Stephen Hawking couldn’t solve. Unless he knows the address of the parallel universe where they all live.

Anyway, here I am, a woman on her own at the side of the A4, and my knight of the road turns out to be the same grumpy git who’s attended Dolly the Mercedes’ previous two hissy fits. And I literally mean hissy fits. I haven’t seen this much steam since I last went to the Sanctuary Spa.

While the patrolman delves under the bonnet I fan my face and wish I had my emergency wedding kit with me: sunscreen and a bottle of Evian would be very handy right now.

My ancient Mercedes can be a little temperamental but Dolly’s over twenty years old and probably feels she’s earned the right to have a senior moment from time to time. I’d have sympathy except I wish she’d chosen a better time. A beautiful June evening like this should be spent on the Heath drinking wine, not sitting at the roadside being lectured about my car and the lack of children I have borne.