Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,31
her shoulder. Which might seem unrealistic but it’s probably more than Ben ever did to me. Then as I push myself to think of them moving out of the bathroom and climbing into their super-king-sized bed together I get as far as the Egyptian cotton sheets and featherlight down duvet from The White Company and I swallow so fast I choke on my cake. Once I get my breath back, I decide to stop the pictures for now.
‘That’s very helpful to know.’ I’m trying to be gentle yet persistent. ‘But is Elfie happy about it?’ That sounds so challenging now it’s out, I’m immediately back-tracking. ‘I mean, weddings are hard work to put together, but they’re fun and fabulous too.’
‘And?’ Nic’s wrinkling his nose.
‘It’s a lot for you to take on by yourself.’ I brace myself to go in for a last stab at the truth. ‘Right now, I’m picking up a lot more angst from you than bliss. Not judging. Just wondering if there’s anything extra we can do to help at all?’
He rubs his chin. ‘On balance, I’d say, carry on as you are.’
Which takes us right back to where we started. Thank you, Nic. Except we have learned something crucial – however hard I imagined this was going to be, times it by ten. Or maybe a hundred.
I push the last of my muffin in, make sure I swallow without choking this time, then pull out another bright smile. ‘Lucky we’ve saved the most grown-up venue here until last. Even the most reticent couples fall in love with this one.’ Reticent is a politer word than fussy. Or demanding. Whatever he’s looking for, and however unfocused his thinking is, what’s up next might well make him fall in love. I pick up a last muffin. ‘Ready to take a look at the old farmhouse?’
Chapter 8
Later on Monday.
On the way to Rose Hill Manor.
Cloudy skies and puddle suits.
So, how did our third viewing go? In and out, and another rejection pretty much covers it. And now Nic and I are back in the van, heading down from the farm courtyard towards the road and Rose Hill Manor.
If I’m slightly wound up, it’s only because after four straight rejections I’m struggling to get any meaningful feedback from Nic at all. Poppy’s simply-restored Georgian farmhouse was my trump card. It held Nic’s interest for a good half hour, all the way past the grand piano, the monumental fireplace and the orangery. Then he saw the bride’s changing room, mumbled about it being ‘too tight’, and we were back in the yard before you could say ‘impossible client’. Which is why, for the next attempt, Poppy’s following behind us in her Landy, to give me some much-needed backup. And hopefully a few tips on how to get more out of Nic.
I’ve decided it’s best not to give Rose Hill Manor any advance build-up either. I’ve saved it until last because it’s the jewel in today’s selection, so the plan is that I’ll just let the house slide into view around the last twist of the tree-lined approach. Then let the mellow, welcoming façade with its random small-paned windows, and the big, shiny slate roofs and the lakeside setting capture Nic’s heart all by themselves. I’m counting on him being instantly wowed. I’ll have gone partway to proving myself. And we’ll all go home happy.
I’m too tired for more questions, and I can’t risk exposing him to my girly songs either, so instead of flicking on my CD player I lean forward and tap the address into the sat nav. It’s less than a mile down the road, but I’d rather take instructions from the sat nav lady than listen to the kind of personal-life interrogation I was getting from Nic on the way here.
‘Turn right in two hundred yards.’
How I’d hoped she’d keep Nic quiet I have no idea. Take him into a wedding venue and he’s like a mute. Put him in a vehicle, set off down the road, and even having to compete with the sat nav lady, there’s no shutting him up.
‘You know the trouble with sat navs? People turn them on and switch off their brains.’
My smile’s wry. ‘I’ve already proved I don’t have a brain, so that won’t be a problem for me, will it?’
He shakes his head but he’s still going. ‘A friend of mine got one letter wrong tapping in the post code and ended up in Norwich instead of Nottingham.’