Bombshell For The Boss: The Bride's Baby

‘I knew it! You’re just like the rest of us. Beneath that ice-cool exterior beats a heart of pure mush.’

‘Rubbish. Mush, let me tell you, doesn’t pay the bills,’ she said crisply. It certainly hadn’t been ‘mush’ she’d felt …

No. She was overdrawn on thinking about Tom McFarlane. Overdrawn and heading for bankruptcy.

‘So?’ she continued a touch desperately. ‘Did we do good?’

‘We did great,’ Josie said, lowering her feet to the floor and joining her at the wall plan. ‘It was perfection from the moment the bride arrived in her fairy tale coach until the last firework faded in the midnight sky.’ She sighed. ‘You were absolutely right, by the way, to resist the bride’s plea for bows on the tails of the horses.’

‘You didn’t say that when she had hysterics in the office,’ Sylvie reminded her. ‘As I recall, your exact words were, “Give the silly cow what she wants …”‘

‘I just don’t have your class, Sylvie.’

‘It’s easy to get carried away.’ To lose sight of what a wedding actually meant in the pressure to indulge in every over-the-top frill. ‘When in doubt just think of it as a feathers-and-curls situation. If you have feathers in your hat, who’s going to notice the curls?’

‘You see? I would go for both every time. I guess that’s the difference between Benenden and a sink estate comprehensive school …’

‘Not necessarily.’

It certainly hadn’t stopped Candy Harcourt from going for the feathers, the curls and every other frippery known to womankind. But then she’d had a big empty gap to fill, one that had taken all the frippery she could get her hands on, and it still hadn’t been enough.

When it had been the real thing, Candy had only needed the man she loved and a couple of witnesses. Of course that might have been because his family would have done everything they could to stop it if they’d had advance warning.

They’d sent her a photograph that someone had taken of them after the ceremony, along with a note from Candy apologising for leaving her to deal with the fallout and one from Quentin tendering his resignation.

It had been plain that he was hoping that she’d beg him to come back but she’d managed to resist the temptation and, to her relief, he’d already been snapped up by one of her competitors.

‘Besides,’ she said, doing her utmost to banish Candy and Quentin and their somewhat unexpected happy ever after from her memory, ‘you have the street smarts, Jo. One look from you and everyone thinks twice about giving us the run-around.’

Tom McFarlane wouldn’t have given Josie a moment’s trouble, she thought.

‘And no one is better at keeping everything running behind the scenes on the big day,’ she continued. ‘Taking you on was the best day’s work I ever did.’

Which was, despite the many warnings she’d received to the contrary, absolutely true.

Josie looked at her, swallowed and muttered, ‘Thanks.’ And, in an attempt to cover her confusion, bent to see what she’d been doing. ‘Hey, you’ve found another piper!’

‘Let’s hope this one doesn’t take a notion to do a spot of mountaineering and break something vital before the big day.’ She stood back. ‘Now all I need is for the happy couple to finalise the menu and, since the Rolling Stones are a little out of the budget for this affair, an RS tribute band so that the guests can revisit their ill-spent youth in a night of rock and roll.’ Then, ‘Did those new caterers do the business?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Sylvie! I told you it was perfect!’

‘There’s no such thing as perfect,’ she said, but with a smile. ‘Just find me some little thing and I’ll stop worrying.’

‘Idiot.’ Then, ‘Okay, the horses pooped in front of the church, hence my change of heart about the ribbons. Will that do?’

‘That is perfect,’ she said. Sylvie knew it was stupid, but there was always something; it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. ‘You made sure it was cleaned up?’

Josie grinned. ‘I got lucky. The church warden was hoping for a donation for his roses and he was all ready with a bucket and shovel.’

‘You both got lucky, then.’

‘Too right. And, to put your mind totally at rest, the flowers were out of this world,’ Josie said, holding up her hand and ticking the items off one by one. ‘The choir were angelic. The food was amazing, those caterers are definitely a find. The string quartet, as far as I could tell—that is soooo not my kind of music—played in tune. Even the sun shone.’ Having run out of fingers, she shrugged. ‘What else is there?’

‘You want a list?’ Sylvie held up her own hand, ready to tick off the five legendary worst ever wedding disasters that every planner dreaded. Apart from the bride changing her mind days before the wedding.

Or the wedding planner losing it with the forsaken groom, she thought, forgetting the list as she placed her hand on the growing bulk of the baby she was carrying.

That was an item of gossip that would have made the story into a STORY and she came out in a cold sweat just thinking about what a meal Celebrity would make of it if they ever found out whose baby she was carrying.

Not that they hadn’t tried. Jeremy had been less than amused to be lined up as a possibility and had called her demanding she deny the rumours.

It was cruel not to, and maybe if he hadn’t behaved like such a pompous ass she’d have done it. Not that he’d actually changed, she realised. She was the one who’d done that, but only after wasting ten years …

‘The list?’ Josie prompted, looking at her a little oddly. She might not have believed the official version, that the single mother pregnancy had been planned using a ‘donor’. She hadn’t elaborated and Josie hadn’t pushed it. And, rising thirty with no partner and a ticking biological clock, even her closest friends had let it go without more than a slightly raised eyebrow.

‘Oh, right, the list …’

Before she could begin, the phone rang.

She reached back, glanced at the caller ID and, picking it up, said, ‘Hi, Laura. How are you?’

‘Pretty good, thanks, Sylvie, but, as always, I’m in need of a favour.’

‘Let me guess. You want an “SDS Event” for the silent auction at this year’s Pink Ribbon Club lunch?’

‘No …’ Then, ‘Well, yes, obviously, if you’re offering. We raised a bundle on that last year.’

‘Then it’s yours.’

‘That’s very generous. Thank you. I’ll just write that in …’ She paused, presumably to make a note of it.

‘So?’ Sylvie prompted. ‘What’s the favour?’

‘Oh, yes! It is a big one, although on this occasion I’m in a position to offer you something in return for your efforts.’

‘Oh?’ Laura sounded really excited but not missing the fact that she would be making an ‘effort’, Sylvie sat down and, pulling her notebook towards her, said, ‘Okay, let’s hear it.’

‘You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve just had a phone call from Celebrity magazine. They want to do a feature on the charity and they’re using the Spring Wedding Fayre we’re holding as a backdrop. They’ve even offered us a generous donation for our co-operation.’

‘They have?’ No wonder she was excited. ‘They usually only pay for exclusive coverage,’ she warned. ‘That won’t win you any friends with the local press. Willow Armstrong has been very supportive.’

‘I know, but this won’t affect local coverage. Celebrity are prepared to be generous because we’re pulling out all the stops for the Club’s tenth anniversary. That’s why I approached them in the first place. Your mother was always one of their favourites. All those wonderful parties …’

‘Yes …’

Throwing parties was something of a family tradition. Experience she’d put to profitable use when everything had gone belly-up.

‘So what do you want from me?’