“Oh yes?” Anna said, nothing more than mild curiosity in her voice.
“Mmm. But I think I’ll save it for later.” Carrie watched as Anna reached for a spare glass of flat champagne from a tray left on the bar. She was nervous now, Carrie could tell. This was Anna’s last chance to ruin things, and Carrie had already fixed it. She was in the clear. “It’ll be much better to detail all today’s little problems in my formal report Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena, don’t you think? You always told me how important it was to feedback to clients. Make sure they understand what really went on at a venue, so they knew their position regarding final payments to everyone involved?”
If it were possible, Anna’s expression grew even sourer.
From the adjoining dining room, the opening bars of Mack the Knife rang out, before cutting off. Anna jumped, and Carrie didn’t even bother to try and hide her smug smile. “You must come and hear this guy sing,” she said, as the music started again, and people began to move back through to the dance floor. “He’s really something else.” Nate’s voice rang out with the famous first line, and Carrie felt it in her blood.
One look at Anna, though, showed that she felt it more as a suckerpunch to the gut.
Carrie grinned, and went to find Stan for a dance.
* * * *
Nate sang his heart out for two and a half hours before he got a break, watching from the stage as Carrie danced first with Stan, then her father, then Jacob, and then a series of men in suits whom Nate didn’t know and instinctively didn’t like.
When he’d run through all of his backing tracks and excused himself from the stage, Carrie was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Cursing the crush of people making it next to impossible to find her, Nate headed for the next best place: the bar. Henry handed over a pint without him even asking.
“Has Carrie hired you full-time yet?” Nate asked, raising the glass to his lips.
“She might have suggested it as a possibility,” Henry said, turning to serve the next customer. “Apparently she could use a bar manager.”
“Only if it’s you,” Nate said, and took his pint back to the ballroom to look again for Carrie.
Instead, he found Jacob, leaning against the back wall nursing his own pint, watching Izzie dance with the best man to crowd-pleasing songs from somebody’s iPod. “Shouldn’t that be Carrie dancing with him?” Jacob asked, as they watched the guy’s hands wander lower than was decent down Izzie’s back.
“He’d better not try,” Nate muttered. Jacob didn’t seem to hear. He was far too focused on Izzie’s latest conquest. “You’re going to have to actually ask her out, you know. She’s waiting for you to make the first move.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacob responded instantly. “And even if I did, I’ve got enough trouble with women in my life, thanks. Between Gran, Georgia and my ex? The last thing I need is another female running things for me.”
“Yeah,” Nate agreed affably. “But if you don’t ask her to dance after this song, I reckon the best man’s going to take her out on the terrace to look at the moon.”
Jacob handed Nate his pint and said, “Sod waiting for the next song.”
Nate watched his cousin smoothly inveigle his way between the dancing couple and, leaving the best man standing bemused in the middle of the floor, led Izzie toward the terrace with some particularly fancy footwork.
Nate drained his pint, and left Jacob’s on the nearest table. He was going to go and find Carrie.
In the end, that proved easier than he’d expected. He heard Patrick Archer’s braying laugh in the lobby, and found him slapping Carrie on the back. “Fish and chips! Stroke of genius. All anyone’s talking about.” He looked up at someone else, and Nate realized Anna was there, too. This should be interesting, then. He settled in to listen from the doorway, close enough to step in if he felt the occasion warranted it. “Bet you wouldn’t have thought of that, Ann, would you?”
Anna looked particularly sour in her gray suit, so unsuitable for this suddenly wild and relaxed wedding.
“Well, it is Ruth’s favorite,” Carrie said with a hesitant smile.
Why didn’t she tell him why it had to be fish and chips? Why on earth would she protect Anna Yardley after everything she’d done? Then he realized: to protect Ruth. She wanted Ruth to be able to enjoy every last moment of her day before learning what really happened. And if Patrick knew, it was pretty certain everyone else at the Avalon would soon enough.
Ruth appeared in the doorway from the bar, looking flushed and with Graeme close behind her. “There you are! Carrie, I want to toss the bouquet.”
Nate almost laughed at the horrified look that flashed across Carrie’s face, but that would have given away his position. Instead, he watched as Patrick started to lead Anna back to the ballroom, saying, “You won’t want to miss this, Ann, will you!”
Ruth and Carrie lingered a little longer, though, and Nate suddenly felt that maybe he shouldn’t be watching this.
“Promise not to throw it directly at me?” Carrie asked, looked resigned.
“You deserve it, after all you’ve done for me today.” Ruth gave her a pointed look, as if waiting for her to confess something.
Carrie wriggled her shoulders under Ruth’s gaze, but all she said was, “It was your wedding day. I wanted it to be perfect.”
“And it was,” Ruth assured her, and Nate liked her even more in that moment than he had since she arrived. Because while the day had been a lot of fun, it certainly hadn’t been perfect, especially if she’d been paying attention to the details. “It was more wonderful than anything Anna could have planned, because it was made to suit me and Graeme.”
“I’m sorry about your lamb. And the band. And the flowers.” Carrie looked up, and Nate could see tears in her eyes.
“Firstly, I love fish and chips. Lamb’s too fatty a meat for me. Secondly, Nate’s much better than any of the bands we heard. Everyone’s talking about how we got the famous Singing Gardener to perform at our wedding.” Nate blinked in amazement at that, but Ruth went on, “Actually, you might want to warn him he’s likely to get a few booking requests in the near future. And thirdly... What was wrong with the flowers?”
Carrie looked so miserable, Nate was sure she was about to confess everything. “Nothing at all,” he said stepping into the lobby. “I thought they looked stunning.”
“Didn’t they?” Ruth said, beaming.
Carrie smiled. “They were gorgeous. Now, come on. I need to dodge a bouquet.”
Ruth bashed her lightly on the head with her flowers. “Don’t you dare.”
While Stan turned down the music, Ruth strode to the middle of the empty dance floor. “Okay then, girls,” she called back to the crowd, a wicked smile on her face.
Carrie resigned herself to her fate, and joined the press of women watching the flowers, situating herself at the back. Didn’t want to make it too easy for her cousin, after all.
Ruth gave her a look, like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Now, don’t forget girls, I was on the university netball team.” Then she turned and, without hesitation, tossed the bouquet.
Right into Carrie’s arms.
Carrie sighed and held the flowers up for Ruth to see, as she spun back ’round, that she had been right on target, as usual. Ruth clapped her hands together and squealed. Rushing over to wrap an arm around Carrie’s shoulders, she squeezed her too tightly, then turned to address the surrounding crowd.
“I know the time for speeches is over, and I know Graeme said all our thank-yous earlier, but I’ve always thought it was a bit unfair that the bride didn’t get to say any
thing.” Ruth flashed her guests a stunning smile, and they all looked a little more indulgent. “So if you’ll just bear with me for a moment, I just want to say an extra thank you to my cousin, the owner of this magnificent inn, Carrie Archer.”
Carrie felt a blush rise up her cheeks as the guests started to clap, and tried to pull away gracefully, but it seemed Ruth wasn’t done quite yet. “Carrie has been there for me all through the planning of this wedding. She’s gone above and beyond the call of cousinly duty to make this my perfect day. She even redecorated the Avalon especially for me!” There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd. “So I just want to say...”
A crash behind them made Carrie spin ’round, only to find Nate already standing between her and a crazed Anna Yardley.
The shelves of the antique Welsh dresser had smashed to the floor. Shards of china spread out like spokes in pinks and blues and flowers and swirls, the holly garland that had run along its top lying forlorn on the carpet. And beside it, arms still outstretched from pushing, stood Anna, her dark hair coming loose from its chignon, her eyes wide and wild.
“Perfect day. Hah!” Anna stepped forward, pointing at Carrie and her bouquet. “You have no idea what’s been going on here. I know. Because I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’m good at my job, and because I pay attention. Because I know how incompetent this girl is.”
Nate moved toward Anna as if to grab her arm and hold her back, but Carrie shook her head. Handing the flowers to Ruth, she spoke, soft and calm. “Anna, don’t do this here. Let’s just–”
“These dishes!” Anna grabbed an abandoned plate from a nearby table, ready for the evening buffet. “They’re not vintage, you idiots. They’re charity shop dishes. One of the old people’s home escapees told me. And the dinner! It wasn’t retro chic, or whatever you’re all calling it. It was a disaster. The fridges broke.”
People were starting to mutter now, and Carrie tried desperately to find a way to stop her, but Jacob got there first. “Because you unplugged them! I had my seafood starters and my lovely Welsh lamb all prepped in there, you bitch.”