Early that evening Elsa had walked out of the town to where a small estate of new houses had been built near the river. A couple of rungs up from starter homes, they seemed mostly to be lived in by young families. She could hear someone mowing a lawn out of sight; a car was being washed by an enthusiastic father with his two small sons, all getting very wet and soapy; and two young mothers watched their toddlers play in a paddling pool while they chatted. It was very domestic and happy, very Sunday afternoon, and she wondered if Bron was thinking of starting a family. It would be the perfect place to live if she was because there would be a ready-made network of friends. Elsa sighed, thinking of the group of friends she'd known at college – none of them lived within easy reach and because of the nature of her work and her shy personality, she hadn't built another one.
She heard the ding-dong of the bell and saw a shape appear behind the glass of the front door. When Bron opened it, Elsa thought she looked a little fraught.
‘Hello, come in,' Bron said, smiling slightly. 'I've got a bottle of wine on the go. Would you like some?'
‘Oh yes, why not,' said Elsa, 'I walked here.’
A tall, good-looking man appeared in the hallway. 'Elsa, this is Roger,' said Bron.
The man regarded Elsa with speculative eyes. 'Hello, Elsa, are you one of Bron's crimper pals?’
Elsa had to think what he meant for a minute. 'No, I'm a dressmaker. I did the wedding dress for Ashlyn's wedding. You know? The one Bron did all the hair for? Yesterday?'
‘Oh yes. So you drive some poor bugger mad by spending every weekend doing some wedding or other too, do you?' He smiled, to take the sting out of this statement, but Elsa sensed he actually meant what he'd said.
Elsa blinked. 'No, only sometimes.' She didn't bother to add that there was no 'poor bugger' in her life to be driven mad.
‘Bron's always off, leaving me to fend for myself on a Saturday. Missed your tea duty yesterday, didn't you, Muffin?’
Bron raised her eyebrows apologetically. 'I'm afraid I did. I should have remembered to swap. You don't really want to miss paid work to make a mountain of sandwiches and jam sponges.'
‘But you're actually quite good at cakes,' went on Roger, ignoring the reference to paid work. 'She made a really excellent one for my parents' anniversary. No one believed it wasn't made by a professional.'
‘Really? You're multi-talented then,' said Elsa.
Bron shrugged, apparently not wanting to admit to anything.
Roger didn't give her time to speak anyway. 'Are you going to offer Elsa a glass of wine? There's a nice bottle in the cupboard she might like. There's something I want to watch before supper so you've got half an hour.'
‘I really just came to give Bron her hairclips-'
‘Do stay,' said Bron. 'Just for a minute.'
‘OK then, but I won't be long. I'm on my way to my parents.’
Elsa followed Bron into the house. 'Come with me to the kitchen while I pour us some wine,' she said. 'I've got some Pinot Grigio in the fridge. I don't know why Roger always assumes I like sweet wine. I think it goes back to one of the first times we visited his parents and his father had opened some Liebfraumilch. I said it was lovely. It wasn't.’
Elsa felt glad she lived alone, with her work, and not with a difficult man. How awful to come back from a hard day on your feet and have to tend to someone who wanted looking after all the time. The odd twinge of loneliness must be better than that. She hoped her relief didn't show on her face.
Bron poured the wine and then led the way to the tiny conservatory at the back of the house.
‘This is nice,' said Elsa.
‘I expect you're wondering why there are no plants here,' said Bron. 'Roger doesn't like plants, they make a mess.'
‘Oh. I hadn't wondered actually,' she said. 'I'm hopeless with plants myself. My mother gardens.' Elsa settled herself on a cane chair. 'So you make cakes as well as work miracles with scissors?’
Bron made the same self-deprecating gesture she had before. 'Only as a hobby, really, but I've done quite a few wedding cakes for friends of friends, people like that. I don't charge for them, then they can't sue me if they're ill after eating them.' She smiled apologetically.
Elsa, struggling to make Bron feel better, laughed. 'I'm sure there's never been a case of someone being ill after eating a fruit cake.’
Bron sipped her wine and seemed to relax a little. 'Well, maybe not. Now, more importantly, tell me about the wedding.’
Elsa adjusted the cushion behind her and searched her mind for details. 'Well, the service went OK although I thought I'd die of embarrassment. I just had to keep reminding myself that they were all looking at Ashlyn, not me. And her dress looked fantastic! I thought it would be too much when she wanted beading, embroidery and lace, but it wasn't. It was rich, but not over the top. Everyone looked fab. It was a very stylish wedding, I must say.'
‘I'd love to see the photos, but I don't often get to, sadly. It's OK if the bride is a client of mine, but if we've only met once or twice, for the practice session and then the wedding, they don't usually remember.'
‘Well, we can ask Sarah. She's bound to get a look at them. Anyway, it all went really well except there was a bit of an incident with a dog in the churchyard – it was lovely but completely mad. It knocked over one of the little bridesmaids. Just as well she didn't cry, and then someone nearly tripped on the ribbon that had been round its neck.'
‘Oh, was the dog called Major by any chance?' asked Bron.
‘I have no idea. Why do you ask? He was a yellow Labrador.'
‘That must be him. I was just packing up to go when he arrived with this man. Apparently he had had to walk him all morning so he wouldn't be too hyper for the wedding.’
Elsa laughed. 'He obviously didn't walk him for long enough then!'
‘Tell me more about the wedding,' said Bron. 'I did an amazing makeover on you, I want to know all the details.’
Elsa sighed. 'OK, I suppose that's only fair.'
‘And don't miss anything out!' said Bron.
‘OK, after the service we got to the reception and Ashlyn needed the loo.' Elsa sipped her wine. 'I tell you, Bron, I had no idea how difficult those dresses were to pee in.'
‘But you do now?’
Elsa rolled her eyes. 'Oh yes! Still, we managed. I had to go too.' Elsa suddenly realised she'd got into territory she really didn't want to.
‘Go on then.'
‘I had to sit at the top table which was so embarrassing. But the best man was really nice to me, very polite.’
‘And did you dance?'
‘Sort of.' Just for a second Elsa allowed herself to remember the tall, kind man who had let her dance on his feet but she pushed away the image. It had developed a dreamlike quality since and she'd probably imagined half of it. She snapped herself back to the present. 'Oh, by the way, I think Sarah and the photographer had a bit of a thing.' Sliding over her own experiences, Elsa rather guiltily changed the subject by dumping her friend right in it.
‘No!' Bron said, instantly distracted. 'How amazing! Why do you think that?'
‘Well, they didn't seem to speak much when the photos were being taken, and the only time I caught them together she seemed quite – how should I put it – brisk.'
‘Go on,' said Bron eagerly.
‘Did you know she was staying over in the hotel?' Elsa asked.
‘Oh yes, she did say.' Bron nodded encouragingly. 'Well, as I left, I was sure I saw them slow dancing together!'
‘Really? But she always seems so… well, not frigid exactly, but sort of – buttoned up.'
‘Well, I dare say she'd had the odd glass of champagne by that time – it would have been perfectly understandable, the reception had gone like a breeze – and they were sort of locked in each other's arms.'
‘You can't know for sure,' said Bron.'Of course not.'
‘But it would be good! I don't know Sarah all that well but she never seems to go out for fun. It's always just work with her. And she and Hugo seem to get on well.' Bron fiddled with her glass. 'She muttered something about a wedding next Saturday, so maybe I'll ask her.’
Elsa stayed silent for a minute before changing the subject. Bron really didn't seem herself tonight. 'I've got to take the bridesmaid's dress back to Mrs Lennox-Featherstone,' she said brightly.
‘Oh, a bit scary. But she's really nice underneath all that posh voice and stuff, isn't she?'
‘Yes,' agreed Elsa, 'it's just a bit daunting, that's all.'
‘I'd offer to come with you but I'll probably be working, I'm afraid.'
‘It'll be OK. I'll ring up and find a good time.'
‘Do you like working for yourself, Elsa?' asked Bron, refilling the glasses. 'I've wondered about going freelance again myself.'
‘Well, in lots of ways I love it. I don't have to get dressed to go to work-'
‘Sorry?’
Elsa laughed. 'I live on the job. I rented a floor of a warehouse and me and my dad made a little flat in the corner. I just wander out from my sitting room into my workshop. I'm very strict with myself about not bringing my toast and marmalade though.’
Bron giggled and then looked a bit anxious.
‘Are you all right? You don't need to go and make Roger's supper or anything?'
‘Oh no – we had a huge lunch and then tea with his parents. I'll make him cheese on toast at about half-nine and he'll be fine.’
Elsa didn't speak. She was afraid that if she did she'd say something very uncomplimentary about Bron's partner. Even if Bron didn't seem entirely happy with the situation, it wasn't for Elsa to comment.
‘So,' went on Bron, 'what are the downsides?'
‘Loneliness, obviously. There's no one to bounce ideas off, unless I get someone in to help me with the handwork. And I do work stupid hours sometimes. But basically, I love my work, so that's OK. I go round to my parents for a proper bath from time to time. I'm very lucky.'
‘But no boyfriend?’
Elsa shook her head. `Nope. Not all that much social life, either. None of the friends I knew as a child still live round here – they've all gone and got careers elsewhere. Finchcombe isn't really a big enough town to employ too many people.'
‘No,' Bron agreed.
‘I really don't mind though,' Elsa went on. 'My mother thinks I waste my life stuck in my workroom but I'm fine with it.' She caught sight of Bron trying discreetly to look at her watch and got up. 'I'd better be off. Oh, I nearly forgot, here are the clips.' She stuffed her hand in the pocket of her jeans and produced them. 'You look tired, Bron.'
‘Mm. Maybe a little.' Bron smiled as she stood to walk Elsa to the door.
Elsa set off towards her parents' house in the older part of the town. They would need details of the wedding too, and her mother would have to see her new hair sooner or later. Her mother would give her supper too. On reflection, she didn't really want to ring Ashlyn's mother on a Sunday night. She would still be tired from the wedding and, more to the point, Elsa had drunk nearly half a bottle of wine. She didn't want to risk slurring her words – she'd ring in the morning.
As she walked, Elsa thought about Bron. Roger seemed rather domineering. He certainly had Bron firmly under his thumb and presumably wanted it to stay that way. Far better to be single than to be attached to a man like that, but then who was she to comment on someone else's relationship? Maybe he had had a bad day.
The next morning, having called Mrs Lennox-Featherstone, who'd said come straight over, Elsa dressed very carefully. As a gesture to the beautiful, early summer morning, she wore string-coloured linen trousers instead of her uniform black, but with a black fitted T-shirt, so as not to stray too far from her comfort zone. Her new hairstyle shone with health and she put on make-up in honour of the occasion.
The house was a little way away from the town and Elsa admired it as she drove slowly up the drive, putting off the shy-making moment as long as possible.
It was a house worthy of admiration, with classic, Queen Anne proportions. Small for a manor house, it was huge by any other standards, with two storeys over a basement and tall sash windows. There was a flight of steps up to the front door. Going by the size of the stone walls that surrounded the property, it also had a huge garden.
Eventually Elsa had to stop the car and get out. She had steamed the dress and inspected it closely for marks or signs of wear. Only the keenest eye would recognise that it had been worn, and it definitely qualified as having had 'one careful lady owner' in the best tradition of secondhand cars. She still felt terribly nervous although logically she knew she had no reason to be.
The dress was in a special bag hung over her arm, the train caught up so it couldn't trail on the ground by mistake. Elsa took a breath and pulled at the bell-pull; she heard the bell ring through the house. So as not to appear too anxious, she turned to admire the perfect lawns and the roses that lined the distant wall and rambled up into neighbouring trees. When she heard footsteps, she turned back and took another calming breath.
A young woman wearing an apron over her slacks and polo shirt opened the door. 'Miss Ashcombe? Mrs Vanessa is expecting you.' She had a middle-European accent and a friendly smile. 'Follow me.’
Elsa, holding the dress high, followed the maid through parqueted corridors until they reached a large, sunny room, with French doors open to the garden. Mrs Lennox-Featherstone was on the telephone and waved an arm towards a table and two chairs that were over by the windows, looking out into the garden. Elsa went in their direction but stayed standing, holding the dress so it wouldn't crumple on the floor, trying not to look as if she could hear every word an increasingly irate Mrs Lennox-Featherstone was saying.
‘That's just too irritating for words!' said Mrs Lennox-Featherstone into the telephone. And then, 'How am I expected to do that? It's ridiculous!' She put down the phone abruptly.
‘It's maddening! Bloody insurance won't cover an empty property.'
‘Won't they?' asked Elsa politely.
‘Apparently not. We've got a little cottage nearby that we're getting done up in the autumn, but if it burns down between now and then, we'll get nothing! Just because it's empty! Surely it's more likely to catch fire if there's someone in it?'
‘I would have thought so,' said Elsa.
‘Hm, well, if you hear of anyone who needs somewhere to live for a couple of months, let me know. Really, that's far too short a let for anyone and it's not fit for holiday accommodation.' Elsa's hostess gave a final huff and then turned her full attention to her guest.
‘Where should I put the dress?' said Elsa, feeling rather self-conscious under the spotlight of Mrs Lennox-Featherstone's enquiring gaze. 'It should be hung up, really.'
‘Oh I'll take that.' The bag was draped over a chair without quite sufficient reverence for Elsa's sensibilities. 'Now, let's have a look at you… I knew it,' declared Mrs Lennox-Featherstone after a moment's critical scrutiny of Elsa's face. 'Black really is quite the wrong colour for you. I think you might be a summer person, but we'd need to check. Sit down.’
Obediently, Elsa sat at the indicated chair, wondering if her hostess was speaking in tongues.
Mrs Lennox-Featherstone took the other chair. 'You really are a lovely girl. That fringe is adorable – very Audrey Hepburn. That hairdresser was really talented.'
‘Yes she is,' said Elsa, glad of an opportunity to say something. 'She's a friend of mine.' After last night, she felt this was true.
‘Is she? Does she do much freelance work? I have an idea to take a party of my old ladies – one of my charities – to the theatre. I think it would be great fun to give them all a mini-makeover first, so they feel pampered and special. She'd need to bring a colleague,' she added thoughtfully. 'Have you got a number for her? Or better still, a card?'
‘I haven't a card, but I've got her mobile number in my phone. I'm not sure if she's actually doing much outside her normal working hours, apart from weddings.' While Bron had hinted that she would like to do more, Elsa didn't want to push her into something she wasn't ready for.
'Pop it down there for me.' Elsa was handed a pad and a little gold pen. 'Ah, here's Olga with the drinks. Lemon green tea all right for you? It has anti-cancer properties. You could have water, if you'd rather.’
Olga set the tray down on the little table and Elsa saw there were glasses and a bottle of water on it as well as a pot of tea and two china cups and saucers.
‘Oh, the tea will be fine, thank you, Mrs Lennox-Featherstone,' said Elsa, wanting to please her hostess; it seemed safer.
‘Oh, call me Vanessa, do. My name always makes me think someone's taken a bite out of a pillow and it's gone down the wrong way.’
Elsa smiled. This did pretty much sum up her hostess's surname.
‘Good girl,' said Vanessa. She picked up the teapot and began to pour. 'Now, I want to give you a present. No, don't protest, you deserve something for standing in for that little cow at the last moment, but I'm afraid I'm going to be frightfully bossy and tell you what you should have. There's your tea.’
Elsa took the cup, aware that she'd hardly opened her mouth and yet unable to think of anything to say that would be worth the agony of saying it. Mrs Lennox-Featherstone was flitting from one topic to another like a demented butterfly.
‘I want you to have your colours done.'
‘I'm sorry?'
‘A wonderful woman I know will tell you what colours work for you and which ones don't – clothes, make-up, that sort of thing. I'll come with you, so you won't be on your own. It'll be huge fun. I'll set it up and let you know the date.'
‘Really, it's extremely kind of you…' Elsa protested. It sounded like another form of torture and anyway, what was wrong with black?
‘No, dear, don't thank me. It's a bit of a mission. I'm like it with underwear too. Not that you need help on that score. Your bra has obviously been properly fitted. But if you knew how many women are ignorant of the fact that the nipple should be halfway between the top of the shoulder and the elbow. You see more nipples at elbow height than you can shake a stick at.’
Elsa, struck by the combination of shaking sticks and nipples wanted to giggle. It was partly nerves, she knew, and took a couple of deep breaths to help her relax.
‘You mustn't mind me, darling,' said Vanessa, 'I do get bees in my bonnet about things. I'm a woman with a mission. I should have been at the top of a multi-national company really, but I gave it all up for love.' She smiled. 'How are you liking the tea?'
‘It's fine – lovely.'
‘I know one can get quite hung up on health kicks and superfoods but I do think green tea is worth drinking.'
‘It's very pleasant,' repeated Elsa. She took a couple of large sips. Just as soon as she was finished she could leave. She'd stayed the polite amount of time, after all.
Just then the telephone rang again, and while Vanessa got up to answer it, Elsa finished her tea in one.
‘Can't talk now, darling, I've got a guest,' said Vanessa. 'I'll call you later.’
Feeling churlish for gulping her tea, Elsa got to her feet. 'It's been lovely, Mrs… um… thank you so much. You've been very kind,' she said quickly, in case she was interrupted.
Her hostess smiled warmly. 'It's been a pleasure, and I'll be on to you as soon as I've arranged for my friend to sort out your colours. Oh, by the way..
'Yes?' It was uncharacteristic of Vanessa to pause, which made it significant.
‘Laurence Gentle, the best man, asked me for your telephone number. I said I had to check with you that it was all right to give it to him.'
‘Oh.' Why on earth would he want her telephone number? Unless of course his sister wanted one of her dresses – if he had a sister that is. 'Yes, I suppose it's all right.'
‘He is a really nice man, I can assure you of that.’
‘Yes. He seemed nice.' He had.
‘By nice I mean decent, in the old-fashioned way. Bit set in his ways, of course, but he is a bachelor and that can happen.'
‘Can it?'
‘Of course. If men aren't gay and don't have partners they can get quite odd. But I'll give him your number then. Oh, and thank you for bringing back the dress. Not sure what I'll do with it.'
‘You could sell it on eBay,' suggested Elsa.
‘Oh, darling, I really don't think I could do that. No, I'll think of something.’
As Elsa drove away she decided that whatever else Vanessa did with the bridesmaid's dress, she wouldn't put it in a bag and hang it in a cupboard until it turned to dust.