Don’t tell the Boss Page 7

  ‘Archie, get down,’ calls out Henri.

  To my amazement, Archie leaps down immediately and places himself at Henri’s feet. She unpacks a tray of tea and cake onto the little bistro table.

  ‘Milk, sugar?’ as she pours the tea from a teapot into rose-patterned china.

  ‘Just milk, thanks.’

  ‘Sorry about Archie,’ she says, pointing to him as if I would have forgotten who he is. ‘I think my mum lets him sleep on the sun loungers and he thought you were lying on his bed.’

  I stand up immediately, not wishing to repeat that extra-special cuddle. But after Archie settles himself down by Henri’s lounger, I decide it’s safe for me to sit down again.

  ‘So I hadn’t realised that Archie was such a … big dog,’ I say diplomatically. I could have easily said slobbery monster, but ‘big’ sounded the most polite option.

  ‘Oh, he’s like a gentle giant, aren’t you, Archie-woo.’

  ‘And you want Archie to be your ring-bearer?’

  ‘Yes. That won’t be a problem, will it?’

  ‘Would it be a deal-breaker if it was?’

  ‘Well, it really would mean a lot to me if Archie was involved.’

  Henri has these puppy-dog eyes that sort of make it impossible to not let her have her own way.

  ‘How about we find a venue first, and then worry about Archie further down the line?’

  ‘OK,’ says Henri, stroking Archie’s ears.

  I know that the dog will be at the wedding. Perhaps I’ll get her to negotiate with the venue herself; if both she and Archie give them puppy-dog eyes, I think it would be hard for anyone not to agree.

  ‘So Nick was saying that you’d had some ideas for venues,’ I say, taking a sip of tea.

  ‘When did you speak to Nick?’ asks Henri.

  Even though she’s now placed her oversize sunglasses down over her eyes, I know she’s staring hard at me. Bugger. When do I say I spoke to Nick?

  ‘I, er.’ Shit, Penny, think. ‘In the week.’

  ‘What about? He never told me that he’d spoken to you.’

  With the tone in Henri’s voice, I’m fearing this is fast becoming some sort of international incident.

  ‘Well he wouldn’t have,’ I say.

  Henri’s actually propped her glasses on top of her head now, and I can see her eyes are screwed-up in scrutiny.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Because he wanted to talk to me about organising you a surprise for the wedding. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.’

  ‘A surprise?’

  Henri’s tone has totally changed. The frosty hue has melted and now there’s a high-pitched, child-like sound to her voice.

  ‘Yes, and I can’t tell you any more.’

  Henri claps her hands in glee, and I make a mental note to text Nick and get him to plan Henri a surprise. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.

  ‘So, what are you thinking with regards to the venue?’ I say, trying to steer the topic to safer ground.

  ‘I’d still really love a big country hotel. There’s one just down the road from here and we could get married in the village church.’

  I try and swallow, but there’s a huge lump in my throat. There’s only one country hotel in the vicinity of this village and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Henri wouldn’t be able to afford it on her beau-jay.

  ‘I think the Walston might be a little bit on the pricey side. But at least you know what you want. So a countryside wedding is important to you, then?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I love those outdoor photos with the bride and groom surrounded by beautiful lawns.’

  ‘And you want to get married in a church?’

  ‘Yes, better for the photographs, don’t you think?’

  I nod as they do make for lovely pictures, but I’m not convinced the church would appreciate that as a reason for picking them.

  ‘Have you thought about picking a more unusual venue? Sometimes a quirky building can be cheaper than a more traditional venue?’

  ‘Oh no, my dad wouldn’t like that. It’s got to look like a wedding.’

  ‘I had my wedding in a museum, and in fact it was like being in a hotel. It was an old officers’ mess—’

  ‘I’m sure it was lovely, Penny, but I think simple and traditional is best. Country hotel, National Trust property, old manor house. You know a lot of old manor houses are being let out for weddings so that the owners can afford the up-keep. Even the one in Downton Abbey does weddings, doesn’t it? That’s near here, maybe that could be an option?’

  My eyes almost pop out of my sockets, Highclere Castle? Is she joking? Most people that have their weddings there appear on the pages of Hello! magazine. It’s where Katie Price and Peter Andre had their wedding reception with that glass carriage, for heaven’s sake. I dread to think how far £10,000 would get, but I’m not entirely sure it would be enough for the deposit.

  ‘Just a traditional wedding,’ says Henri, nodding as if it’s the most simple request in the world.

  Traditional wedding in July, for under £10,000 all in. That isn’t going to be hard at all.

  ‘What about getting married on a day other than a Saturday?’

  ‘Penny, it has to be a Saturday. My parents would throw a fit if it wasn’t. I mean, who gets married in the week?’

  Um, lots of people these days, especially ones who want to take advantage of cheaper rates, but Saturday it is then, judging by the look on her face.

  ‘It’s just it might be a little late to find a venue with just two months to go, especially one in our price range.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I’ve got you to help me!’

  Silly me! Of course, I’m Penny the miracle worker. I’ll just wave my magic wand and, voilà, I’m sure I’ll sort it out.

  I sigh. I feel like I’m not getting anywhere.

  ‘Any thoughts on guest numbers?’

  ‘Ninety-eight.’

  ‘That’s precise,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘It was well over a hundred, but Nick was very strict and he told me it had to be sub one hundred.’

  ‘And is that day guests?’ I say, hoping desperately that that’s the combined total and that only half of them would be invited to the wedding breakfast.

  ‘Both, we’re not have any separation between day and evening. People can come to all or nothing.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ I say through gritted teeth. I’m doing sums in my head, and even if we found a caterer as cheap as the one I used, at forty pounds per head, we’re looking at £4,000 on food alone.

  That leaves us £5,000 for a venue and I’m not even going to think about Henri’s dress. Today she’s dressed in an Yves Saint Laurent maxi-dress and her feet are in Chanel wedges. I’m wondering if we could do a Becky Bloomwoodesque clothes sale and pay for the wedding out of her shoe collection.

  ‘To be honest, as long as it looks like a proper white wedding, Penny, I’ll be happy.’

  I’m biting my lip as I nod in agreement. I’m wondering how I’m going to pull this all together and whether I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

  ‘I just think that perhaps you need to be a little bit flexible if we’re going to get what you’re after on your budget. It would be a different story if we had years to plan, but it’s just two months, it’s quite tight.’

  ‘But that’s why I’ve got you.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say taking a deep breath, ‘but unless we scoured the breadth of the country and you weren’t fussy where we ended up, it might be a bit tricky. I’m thinking that we’d have to be open to other options, like maybe a village hall.’

  I look over at Henri, who is wrinkling her nose up. It makes me smile as this was my trademark move when my best friend Lou was suggesting budget wedding options to me.

  ‘Traditional,’ is all Henri mutters.

  ‘OK, well let’s leave the venue for now’ Much more fun to save that for later, when it gets even closer to the deadline. ‘How about we t
alk about things I know we could do a bit cheaper. Have you given any thought to flowers?’

  ‘Oh yes, I want lovely floral table centres. I want exotic ones. Orchids, lilies, birds of paradise.’

  ‘Well, if you use in-season flowers then it can be slightly cheaper.’

  ‘Of course. But you know, a wedding really deserves something quite spectacular, doesn’t it?’

  Oh boy. The sunglasses are back on the top of her head and she’s giving me the puppy-dog eyes again. This is a far cry from the woman who had no thoughts about her wedding.

  ‘What about photographs? I’ve recently met this brilliant photographer who’s just starting out. He’s cheaper as he works out of his flat, and he comes by himself without an assistant. He doesn’t do any fancy books or expensive prints, he gives you your photos on a disk.’

  ‘On a disk?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say slowly, ‘You then get the ones you want printed or make a book from one of the online photo companies. It will save you about a thousand pounds.’

  ‘A thousand pounds?’ says Henri tipping her head to the left like a dog. ‘That sounds marvellous.’

  Phew. One budget area sorted then.

  ‘Of course, I’d have to see his work first. To check I was happy.’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll send you the link to his Facebook page so that you can have a look at the weddings he’s done recently.’

  ‘Great. Well I think that we deserve cake now, after all that hard work. I really feel like we’re getting somewhere.’

  She does? At least one of us does.

  ‘Yes, I think that’s quite enough for you to be getting on with. I think that perhaps if you have a look at the types of venues we can get, then we’ll be really progressing’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to get the Internet up now? So we can rule things in or out?’

  ‘No, I think it’s best you have a look and get back to me with some options.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, tucking into a hearty bit of cake. I know this is only the second wedding I’ve planned, but Lara and Ben’s was so different to this. They gave me a budget, told me they weren’t fussy and when I heard about where they’d met, the Greek restaurant popped into my mind and it all fell into place. I’m not entirely sure that’s going to happen with Henri.

  This is my second time meeting with her and she’s still a mystery to me. Finding mutual ground is difficult as we don’t have much in common, bar her husband Nick and a shoe collection that I want to steal. She’s got that posh vibe going on but, unlike Jane, Henri’s got a down-to-earth quality. I just wish I could get a better sense of the real Henri as that might make it easier to think of a genius idea for her wedding.

  I sit listening to her as she starts to talk about her dream wedding dress, and I try not to have palpitations after she mentions the words train and Swarovski crystals. For now I’ll let Henri dream and I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

  ‘Right, Henri, I’d better make a move. I’ve got a hair appointment before I go out with Mark for our wedding anniversary.’

  ‘Oh, how exciting. Where are you off to?’

  ‘Chez Vivant. It’s where we got engaged.’

  ‘Chez Vivant! Wonderful! Penny, have a lovely time. And, when you’re there, see how much their weddings are. That would be an amazing place to have the reception.’

  I smile and nod to Henri. I know she doesn’t like the word budget, but I’m also thinking she doesn’t actually know what it means. I’m guessing that tonight’s meal for two of us, with nice wine, will come to over two hundred pounds. I shudder to think what the hire and food cost for an event would be.

  ‘So being married for a whole year, huh, Penny? I’m guessing it will be babies soon,’ says Henri.

  I’m taken aback at first. I always am whenever anyone asks me when we’re starting a family. It’s like one giant kick in the teeth that reminds me that Mark and I are having no luck trying. It seems to be that whenever anyone clocks my wedding ring they think it’s perfectly acceptable to ask. It’s so intrusive. It’s not like Mark and I are officially having trouble, we haven’t been trying for long enough to get tested, but other people don’t know that. For all they know, I’m barren and Mark’s shooting blanks. And let’s not get started on what if we didn’t want children. But, instead I smile and say: ‘That’s the plan.’ As if you can actually plan those kind of things.

  ‘I’m sure that’ll be our plan too, eventually.’

  ‘Well, thanks for inviting me here, Henri, it’s such a lovely garden,’ I say, trying to change the subject.

  ‘I know. Too bad it isn’t big enough for a marquee, eh? It could have made a lovely venue.’

  I look round the garden to see if there was any way one could fit, but despite it being a long, thin garden, there are too many water features, flowerbeds and blossom trees in the way.

  ‘Yes, such a shame. Anyway, I’ll put my thinking cap on and let you know in the week if inspiration hits me.’

  ‘Great. Thanks, Penny, and have a lovely time tonight,’ says Henri. I walk out of the gate and wave and Henri disappears round the back of the house again.

  I can’t resist popping down to the pond to see the ducks before I go. There’s something that stirs in my childhood memories about feeding them. I’m just marvelling at a gander when I hear an almighty shout and, as I stand up to look at what the noise is about, something smacks me squarely in the face.

  The next thing I know, I’ve fallen on my bum.

  ‘Are you OK?’ calls out a man dressed in white. He’s running towards me and, for a moment, I wonder if I’ve died and he’s an angel. It really wasn’t that hard a bang on the head, was it? I mean, I can’t die now I haven’t got to stage six (having babies) yet, and I’ve been working so hard at the office, what a waste. I could have been spending my final days surfing the net, and instead I’ve been having terse conversations with scary sergeant majors.

  ‘I’m so sorry, we’ve got a new teammate who can’t resist a good six. Are you OK?’

  The man bends down and holds out his hand.

  ‘Do you think you can stand? We should get you into the clubhouse. Michelle will make you some sugary tea.’

  I can’t actually speak, which can only mean one thing: I’m in shock. It appears I’m not dead, but I’ve been hit in the head by a cricket ball.

  ‘We should probably get you some ice for your eye, too. It looks like you’re going to have quite the shiner.’

  ‘What?’ I say, finally finding my voice. ‘No. No, I can’t have a black eye. I’m going to Chez Vivant tonight. A black eye just won’t do.’ I burst into tears. I know I’m being a drama queen, but come on, I just got hit in the head by a flipping cricket ball. I’ve been telling Mark for years that it’s dangerous being a sports spectator but he’s never listened to me.

  ‘Chez Vivant. Fancy! I’m sure that a little bit of foundation will cover it right up,’ says the man. I might have believed him if I couldn’t see him grimacing and crossing his fingers behind his back.

  As we get onto the main green, I see that a cricket match is underway. People are sitting round the edges watching, or at least they were, they’re now looking at me being led across the grass. The man who came to my rescue deposits me in a chair on the patio outside what is presumably the clubhouse. It’s a cute building, a white wooden structure with an extraordinary number of windows considering its proximity to such a violent sporting event.

  ‘Hello, I hear you’ve had a bit of a bump,’ says a woman bringing me a Styrofoam cup of steaming hot tea. She bends down and has a look, ‘Oh, quite a lump forming there. I’ll go get the ice.’

  I can’t stop crying now, as I try and come to terms with the fact that my black eye is going to match my black dress.

  ‘There you go,’ she says, handing it over. ‘Are you all right? Do you want me to call anyone? I don’t think you should drive, you might have concussion.’

  Concussion? Oh, great.

&
nbsp; ‘I’m fine. My friend’s mum lives on the green. I’ll go and see her in a minute.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. You’re a bit unlucky. First test match of the season and already we’ve got a casualty!’

  ‘Ha, that’s typical of my luck. So, are you here to provide first aid to the injured?’

  ‘We don’t usually have that many, but with that new guy Johnson, maybe we will. My husband is the team captain. I’m here to do the sandwiches and the tea.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ I say. I wonder if I’d be so supportive if Mark played sports.

  ‘It’s nice to be part of what he’s up to. Plus there’s usually a gaggle of us WAGs that come along.’

  ‘Sounds nice. It’s a really lovely cricket ground,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, we’re really lucky. We got Lottery funding for our new clubhouse and we finished it last year.’

  ‘It’s great.’

  ‘Yes, it really is. We’ve got a new bar in there and everything.’

  ‘A bar? And toilets?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ says the woman, looking at me a little bit strangely.

  ‘Tell me, do you ever have marquees on your lawn, you know if someone wanted to have a wedding?’

  ‘Sometimes, for the village locals, we do. If the cricket ground isn’t being used for a match, that is.’

  ‘If my friend’s mother lived over there,’ I say pointing, ‘do you think that would count as a local?’

  ‘Probably, you’d have to speak to the caretaker.’

  ‘And is he in today?’

  ‘He’s over there on the boundary, he’ll be in in about ten minutes or so when they call tea. I’ll introduce you.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say. Maybe getting hit on the head with a cricket ball has knocked a genius idea into my head for Henri’s wedding.

  chapter seven

  princess-on-a-shoestring:

  Ask Penny!

  Dear Penny,

  I’m starting to lose the will to live with my soon-to-be mother-in-law. She keeps banging on about Save the Date cards. My fiancé’s brother is getting married too and he sent out really fancy ones. And we can’t afford to spend more than twenty pounds. Any tips?