One Greek Summer Wedding

Chapter 39

‘How about this one? Ooo, it really makes your eyes stand out.’

Margot pressed the silky olive-green dress up against Cara’s front and regarded her. It was early evening now and they were in a tiny little boutique, all spotless white paintwork, arches holding beautiful clothing on simplistic rails. There weren’t many pieces – not a full-to-the-brim Primark store by any means – but what was here was stunning. Except Cara wasn’t really in the mood for shopping. She wasn’t in the mood for anything except lying in the cave coolness of their exquisite hotel room and rehydrating.

‘Come on, let’s try this one on,’ Margot continued, whipping the dress over her arm and grabbing another coral-coloured one from the wall.

Cara couldn’t really remember leaving the bar after the dog incident. She remembered speaking to Akis, she knew she had calmed significantly and she also knew that when she had opened her eyes, a kind lady had been there in front of her helping her up from the floor. She’d staggered out into the Santorini sunshine, disorientated and sluggish, reeling, not from the wine, but the presence of her literal black beast. Something she hadn’t yet told Margot about. Because what was the point? Margot didn’t understand why she hadn’t sung since Eurovision. She wasn’t going to understand that she still had a very real and desperate fear of canines that even therapy had failed to fix.

‘Your mother called me,’ Margot stated, matter of fact as she picked up a rather tiny silver handbag that looked like it was incapable of carrying anything except perhaps a packet of chewing gum.

‘What?’

‘I know! Needy, isn’t it? Because it’s always about her and your father.’

‘She tried to call me earlier but I… didn’t get to it in time.’

‘Yes, she told me.’ Margot sighed. ‘I swear she thinks I have you imprisoned in the warehouse most of the time.’

‘Well, what did she say?’ Cara asked.

‘Nothing really. You know your mother. It’s all poisonous bullfrog campaigns and saving undergrowth. Your dad has some rash. Probably from bullfrogs or undergrowth. That was it. She told me she’d call you again when she could. But you know what communication can be like in the middle of deep vegetation. Almost as bad as communication can be in some of those loud, nastily cheap award ceremonies we’ve had to endure.’

‘Dad had a henna tattoo apparently,’ Cara remarked.

‘Don’t you mean “Nettlewood”? He will be getting his hair braided next. Classic eco-warrior midlife crisis. So, moving on, what do you think of this one for me?’

Margot held a dress to herself that was so far away from her aunt’s usual style that Cara was left wondering if this was a trap. It was light and white and floaty, beautifully on the bias cut and the very opposite to Margot’s preferred classic, professional, no-nonsense tailoring. And the longer Cara took to answer the more chance there was to get this wrong.

‘It’s…’ Why couldn’t she think of one simply great word? Come on, brain. ‘It’s?—’

‘I’ll help you,’ Margot said. ‘It’s ridiculous. Ugh, vile! I can’t bear to touch it any longer! Take it from me! Take it and put it back!’

Cara had the white garment thrust at her while Margot carried on stalking toward the changing room. Cara looked at the dress and at her aunt moving faster than an Amazon Prime Day deal and tried to connect the dots. Was this interest in more girlish, romantic fashion about Raj? Cara had never known there be anyone even semi-permanent in Margot’s life romance wise. In fact, the only people semi-permanent were Randulph who valeted a car that Margot only vaguely used and her hairdresser, Lesley, who was at least seventy-five. Men were picked up, played with and just as quickly put back in whatever business toy box they had been found in. But what if the maharajah was more than just someone she wanted to do business with? What if he was someone Margot had loved?

‘Margot, wait,’ Cara said, rushing over the stone floor, the hanger holding the white dress in her hands.

Her aunt was already putting the olive-green dress and the tiny handbag inside the changing room.

‘Why are you still holding that rag?’ Margot asked, narrowing her eyes at the white dress like it wasn’t fit for polishing the glass boxes in here that held beautiful silver bangles and bracelets.

Cara looked at the dress. ‘I like it and it’s a bit different. Maybe if I try this green dress on, you might try on the white one,’ she suggested, holding it forward.

‘Why?’

‘Because it will be fun. You know, like when we went to Liberty before we came to Greece.’

‘I did not try on anything like that white thing in Liberty. In fact, the only thing in Liberty that looks like that is the toilet paper.’

‘Please, Margot,’ Cara said, shaking the dress.

Margot rolled her eyes. ‘If I do, will you stop bleating about this event I’ve lined up and at least try to get a few good notes out? Or, maybe, we should consider lip synching. Everyone does it these days, don’t they?’

There was currently only one answer she could give if she wanted Margot to be in the dress and perhaps open up about Raj. Margot opening up about anything other than business strategy was as rare as some of the steak tartare she ordered at restaurants. Her aunt might share TMI of her sexual encounters, but when it came to the emotional side of personal there was a definite void. Perhaps this was her chance to unlock a piece of that.

‘I will stop bleating,’ Cara said, not really committing to anything.

‘Fine,’ Margot said, ripping the hanger from Cara’s hand and pulling the curtain shut.

Cara waited, hearing a disgruntled Margot undressing, shoes clunking to the floor and then… silence. Only disturbed by more silence. Until Cara felt that maybe there was something wrong and she couldn’t let it go on any longer.

‘Margot, are you OK?’

Nothing.

‘Margot,’ Cara said again. ‘Unless you say otherwise, I’m going to pull back the curtain.’

Still nothing.

Cara whisked the piece of material back and there was her aunt like she had never seen her before. The white dress fitted her perfectly. The neckline plunged elegantly and the fabric skimmed across Margot’s curvaceous hips and flowed down to just above the knee. It looked simple, yet perfect, unique and like a kind of sexy type of wedding dress…

‘Oh, Margot!’ Cara exclaimed. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Margot was staring at herself in the small fitting room’s full-length mirror as if she was seeing a different version of herself for the first time. She was staring straight at her reflection, eyes wide and, Cara could see, a little watery.

‘I… don’t look like me,’ Margot finally said, standing a little awkwardly as if she didn’t know where to put her hands.

‘You look amazing,’ Cara said. ‘Honestly, you have to get this dress.’

‘I don’t know. I feel a little bit… weak.’

Cara swallowed, looking at her aunt anew. She seemed suddenly exposed, raw, like her tough business veneer had been de-shellaced.

‘It really does look stunning,’ Cara said softly. ‘It makes you look, I don’t know, sort of delicate.’

‘Delicate!’ Margot exclaimed, sounding horrified, fingers already clawing to find the top of the zipper. ‘Ugh! No! No one wants to be delicate, Cara. Delicate is just another word for “pathetic”.’ She drew back the curtain with force. ‘The sooner I get this off, the sooner we can find something actually appropriate.’

And, with that said, Cara knew the white dress was definitely going back on the peg.