Callie experienced a flash of excitement. The wedding was being billed as the celebrity event of the year. TV crews and the paparazzi would be out in force at the ceremony. The reception, to be held in a majestic stately home in North Yorkshire, would be attended by every A-lister who could wangle an invitation. The whole wedding had morphed from being just one more movie star marrying a musician into a fairy-tale romance. Lilac and Finn, whether by generosity or insanity, had opened up the celebration of their union to the whole country by creating the competition to design Lilac’s wedding gown.
Callie-Louise Bridal Couture was her creation, a project she had worked ferociously and diligently on ever since leaving university three years ago. She understood what an honour it was whenever one of her designs was chosen to become the star attraction at the most important occasion in a girl’s life. She had designed wedding gowns for several actresses, even a minor royal, but Lilac and Finn’s wedding would be the highlight of her career. She did not intend to let anything scupper the opportunity of a lifetime to showcase her talents to a nationwide, if not international, audience. She intended to seize it with both hands, even if this had meant the exclusion of all life’s other demands.
Over the last three months her world had become a frenzy of late nights, cold pizza and too much coffee. She had existed on snatched naps at her work table. Mannequins heard her complaints, dressmakers’ dummies her confessions, but there was nothing new there.
Callie checked her watch. Her initial excitement and anticipation tipped over into nausea and tendrils of fear looped around her flat abdomen. Time was running out. There was only an hour left to apply the final embellishments by hand and she could not depend on Scarlet or Flora to do it to her exacting standards. Once she had attached the final pearls, the gown had to be sealed into the custom-created cardboard wardrobe provided by Lilac’s wedding planner and ready for the specially appointed courier to collect at seven o’clock that evening before completing its fateful journey from conception in their tiny studio in South West London to its debut into the glitzy world of The Dorchester the following morning.
What if something happened to the dress en route? What if it didn’t arrive? What if the courier had an accident, or stopped for a beer and overindulged, or had to deliver twins in a roadside café?
She pushed her neurotic vacillations into the crevices of her exhausted mind. Jules Gallieri, the milliner who owned the hat shop round the corner from Callie-Louise Bridal and who created exquisite wedding fascinators and tiaras for her clients, labelled her work ethic as obsessive. It was true. She’d even succumbed to regular nightmares involving Bondesque espionage by her fellow competitors. Lilac’s team would not be announcing the winning designer to the general public until her wedding day – if Callie heard nothing, it meant the Callie-Louise design hadn’t been selected. And who could blame Lilac for that? The media would have been camped outside the chosen studio for the next four months hoping for a sneak preview they could splash across their pages, and what bride wanted that?
Callie trusted no one, especially in an industry where integrity fought ignorance and ambition on a daily basis. She had sworn the whole team to absolute secrecy. If even a whiff of the design were made public, the Callie-Louise Couture entry would be disqualified. All her hopes and dreams were pinned on winning this competition, which would catapult Callie-Louise Bridal Couture into the upper echelons of bridal fashion design, the pinnacle of her lifelong ambition and the fulfilment of a promise she had made to her parents when she’d used her inheritance to start her business.
‘Take a break, will you, Callie? Flora tells me she found you snoring at your desk!’
Scarlet, as slender as a shop mannequin, lounged against the cutting table. She gazed intently at the deft weaving of the needle as Callie completed the final essential touches whilst she nibbled at the tips of her fingernails, painted the colour her name demanded.
‘You know, I still can’t grasp the reasoning behind Lilac’s crazy scheme. Why splash open your marriage to one of the hunkiest men alive in a nationwide competition to design your wedding gown? I mean, she’s one of the most sought-after actresses of her genre – especially since she won that BAFTA for best supporting actress last year. And Finn, well, what I wouldn’t do to trade places and get my mitts on those buttocks of steel! And they could get hitched anywhere in the world; a yacht moored off the Cote d’Azur, a white-powdered beach in Hawaii; I’m even certain that St Paul’s Cathedral would have overlooked the residence requirements. But oh, no, Lilac Verbois wanted to get married in Yorkshire. Nothing wrong with Yorkshire per se and York Minster is the most gorgeous venue for the ceremony. But, well, you know… Yorkshire?’ Scarlet wrinkled her pert, freckled nose as she twisted a glossy lock of her amber hair around her ring finger. ‘Why didn’t she go for The Plaza in New York or a palazzo in Venice? There’s no competition, in my humble opinion.’
‘Hey, quit dissing Yorkshire! You know it’s where I grew up,’ smiled Callie, exaggerating her accent. ‘The Verbois/Marchant wedding is going to be the glitziest, most glamorous wedding no matter where it’s held. And it’s what Lilac wants, Scarlet. Don’t you think a bride should be able to choose where she ties the knot?’
Scarlet pulled a face. ‘But why the competition to design her wedding dress? You know, I wouldn’t want the job of that poor wedding planner – what’s her name, Tish? – for all the silk in China. I bet you she’s already planning to shoot herself and the competition hasn’t even been finalised yet. It’s the end of March, the wedding’s on the thirty-first of July; that’s just four months away. I predict a confetti-infused nightmare!’
‘Well, it’s just as well she did, isn’t it, Scarlet?’ smiled Callie, tucking the sharply angled sides of her ebony bob behind her ears. She blew her fringe away from tickling at her eyelashes as she finished the last embellishment, then snipped the thread like a ceremonial ribbon.
‘Why?’
Callie rolled her eyes. Scarlet was her clear-headed second-in-command, but sometimes she seemed to inhabit a galaxy far, far away. ‘Because, Scarlet darling, in case you haven’t noticed, Callie-Louise Bridal Couture has been shortlisted through to the final stages.’
‘Oh, yes. And your design will win, Callie, I know it will. It’s a heavenly creation! I’m so proud of what you’ve done.’
‘What we’ve all done. This has been a real team effort. Even Flora has had an input.’ Callie rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes in an effort to squeeze one last drop of energy from her addled brain.
‘Sure.’ Scarlet’s perfectly outlined Cupid’s bow stretched to reveal her white, even teeth.
It was difficult not to adore Scarlet, with her signature red lips and nail polish chosen to clash violently with her auburn hair. She had, without a murmur of complaint, hand-sewn the tiniest of crystals onto the ivory silk until her fingers bled and she was banished from the studio for fear of jeopardising the pristine fabric. After that, she had assumed the mantle of caring friend, force-feeding Callie a diet of chocolate digestives and toast – the extent of her culinary knowledge – for which Callie had been immensely grateful. Some days it was the only sustenance to pass her lips and had kept the hunger pangs at bay.
Never one to hold back when delicacy was required, Scarlet would regularly burst forth with gems of her own brand of wisdom. ‘You need to get out more’ was a regular refrain delivered to Callie’s ears, and the ubiquitous ‘all work and no play’, before she went on to dispense a dose of friendly criticism of her failure to frequent the capital’s bars and restaurants. She would end with a demand that Callie join her and Flora for a night on the town when Callie could no longer focus her eyes on the wedding dress of the decade.
Callie