Chapter 27
27
There were twenty of them, male and female, of every nationality, judging by the muttered languages and questionable fashions. Some of them looked alert, the majority of them looked half asleep and one of them, a young man in his early twenties, smelt really bad. He was called Milo. Hairs protruded out of his nostrils and he couldn’t seem to stop biting his nails.
‘They look like really weird,’ Marisa remarked.
Marisa, George, Adam and Helen stood outside the now infamous catering wagon. It was another furiously hot day, at least thirty degrees. The worry George now had was that unless the catering wagon had air conditioning, they were going to be in serious trouble once all the ovens got going. It would be like cooking up a storm in a sauna.
‘They’re just people, Marisa, just like you and me,’ Helen commented.
‘One of them smells and that one over there, the one with the funny teeth, he’s been picking his nose since he got here,’ Marisa informed with a grimace of disgust.
‘We need to check we’ve got enough gloves in that case,’ George remarked.
‘And hand wash and antibacterial gel,’ Marisa added.
‘Should you speak, do you think? They seem to be looking for some sort of direction,’ Adam whispered .
‘I hate it but I suppose I ought to,’ George agreed, straightening the neckline of her t-shirt.
She mounted the steps to the catering wagon and turned to face her workers. She felt rather like Pontius Pilate, given the heat and her gladiator sandals. They all grew quiet and looked to her like she was the Pope, ready to address his followers.
‘Hello everyone. I’m George and this is Helen, Adam and Marisa from Finger Food. I’m not sure how much experience you guys have with a function of this size, but I think if we all work as hard as we can and pull together as a team, then this wedding feast is going to be amazing,’ George spoke.
The group in front of her suddenly began to clap and George hurriedly got down from the steps. She hadn’t meant to sound like a politician trying to gain votes, but she knew that’s how it had come across.
‘A motivational speech,’ Quinn said.
George squinted her eyes against the sun and saw Michael and Quinn had appeared at the back of the group.
‘Oh. My. God. Are you feeling better? Was it really sunstroke? You need to hydrate, like you know, water,’ Marisa blurted out before she could stop herself.
‘I’m 100 per cent. A little tired but apart from that…’ Quinn replied.
He was looking at no one else but George and she felt the back of her neck start to prickle.
‘Good morning, Team Take! Now, you make sure you do exactly what this wonderful lady tells you to. She is a culinary queen and you could learn a lot from her. George, you be sure to let me know if there’s anything you need, anything at all, no matter how trivial it may seem,’ Michael spoke, his glossy hair bobbing up and down.
‘Team Take. That is like sooo lame,’ Marisa remarked only loud enough for Adam to hear .
‘It could have been worse; it could have been Team Baylor or Quaylor or Berraro. Or how about Team Tinn?’ Adam suggested.
Marisa let out a snigger.
‘I will Michael, thanks,’ George replied, avoiding Quinn’s gaze.
‘Right well, don’t let us keep you; we’re off to be interviewed for Channel Nine and then it’s off to the castle. Toodle pip!’ Michael spoke, waving his hand in the air like an eighteenth-century courtier.
‘Hey, Adam. Meet me about three at the castle. I might have a job for you,’ Quinn called to him.
‘A job?’ Adam queried.
‘Yeah, I’ll explain later,’ Quinn spoke.
‘Sure, I’ll be there.’
‘Oh. My. God Adam! He spoke to you!’ Marisa exclaimed, eyes bulging.
There were no variations in the questions. He had been asked the same set of questions numerous times in the last month.
‘Will you be writing the wedding music?’
‘Do you know what Taylor’s dress is like?’
‘Is Charlie Sheen on the guest list?’
And he rolled out the same answers:
‘Yes, and it will feature on my new album, out in the fall.’
‘No, she’s kept it a closely guarded secret.’
‘You’ll have to ask the wedding planner, but it could be fun if he is.’
His head was aching, his mouth was dry and the last interviewer had gone on so much about the wonderful relationship he had with his future father-in-law, by the time his fifteen minutes was up, Quinn wanted to wallpaper the room with his body parts. Thank God he had plans in place for the evening.
‘Hey,’ George greeted later .
‘Hey. Where are you right now? Not still giving orders to that team of freaks Pixie’s hired you, are you?’
She laughed out loud at Quinn’s description and took a swig from her bottle of lager. She was sat on a lounger on the terrace of the villa, soaking up the scorching sun. Food preparation had finished early, Helen had gone to the market and Adam and Marisa had taken the Jeep to see the celebrity boltholes she was so keen to visit.
‘I’m at the villa. Where are you?’
‘At the castle. We’re just about to rehearse these God-awful, long, drawn-out vows. The last timing of them was four minutes each. Four minutes! Half my songs are shorter than four minutes. Are you on your own?’
‘Yep, just me, the pool and my best friend, San Miguel,’ George said, putting the bottle to her lips again.
‘Give me fifteen and I’ll be there,’ Quinn told her.
‘Don’t! You can’t! The others could be back at any time and anyway, you should stay there, rehearse the vows,’ George said.
‘Believe me, what I should do and what I want to do are poles apart,’ Quinn said.
‘I know, but we have to be realistic.’
‘I am. Four minutes each, that’s eight minutes. Golf buggy to your villa say, four minutes. I’ve three minutes to spare.’
She laughed.
‘OK, well even if I don’t make it, you and me, we’re going out tonight,’ Quinn told her.
‘Quinn, we can’t. Where will Taylor think you are? Where will I tell Adam and the others I’m going?’ George asked.
‘Make something up! Use your imagination. We’re going to the opera. It’s all arranged,’ Quinn informed her.
‘What?!’ George exclaimed .
‘Listen, I know it probably isn’t your musical taste and I don’t really think it’s mine, but I like doing different things and, well, I want to do those things with you,’ Quinn spoke.
‘But what if we’re seen? I mean, the paparazzi are everywhere at the moment.’
‘I’ve thought of that. We go in separate cars, we meet inside. I’ve hired a box; we’ll have complete privacy,’ Quinn assured.
‘I don’t know. It’s too risky. I need this job Quinn and…’ George started.
She was getting butterflies in her stomach, but it wasn’t fear; it was a thrill just thinking about the risk.
‘What I need is you,’ Quinn told her.
There was a heavy silence and neither of them spoke. George closed her eyes, not knowing what to say.
‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ she finally blurted out, trying desperately to break the intensity.
‘All in hand. Say you’ll come. With the bachelor party tomorrow and more rehearsals the day after, I don’t know how much time we’re going to have,’ Quinn spoke.
‘What are you going to tell Taylor and Roger?’ George wanted to know.
‘That I’m feeling hot and a little dizzy. It won’t be a lie, not once I’ve seen you in the dress.’
George smiled, her resolve weakening rapidly. She was supposed to be maintaining her professionalism, building a platform for the future of Finger Food. But when she thought about spending more time with Quinn, the business slipped down to second place. That had never happened before.
‘It’s the theatre in Murcia; I’ll send you over directions with the ticket. Gotta go, four-minute vow time,’ Quinn said, ending the call.
George put her mobile down, put her iPod earphones back in her ears and took a deep breath. A night at the opera. How was she going to explain that away to her team? Especially Marisa. In some areas, that girl was as sharp as a tack.
As if sensing she was being thought about, Marisa arrived, slamming shut the patio door behind her. She strutted out onto the terrace and began taking items of clothing out of carrier bags and putting them down on the table next to George.
‘OK, right. Where do I start? I have been to sooo many cool shops; you won’t believe what I bought!’
‘What have you done with Adam?’ George asked, taking her headphones out of her ears and sitting up.
‘He’s taken the Jeep to the castle. Said he didn’t want to be late for Quinn. He’s been humming and tapping and singing all the way round the town. We even had to go into a music shop so he could play guitar. Why didn’t he just bring one with him?’
‘You had to pay a fortune to bring excess baggage and he was worried they’d break it,’ George told her.
‘Look at these beauties! Aren’t they just like the most gorgeous things you’ve ever seen?’ Marisa asked, taking out a pair of banana-yellow sandals with skyscraper heels.
‘Are you thinking you might actually be able to walk in them?’ George queried.
‘I walked up and down in the shop.’
‘Hmm,’ George replied, unconvinced.
‘Well, look at these. Half price, aren’t they cute?’ Marisa said, holding up two flimsy-looking mini dresses.
‘They’re tops, right?’ George asked.
‘Argh! Mother! You said she would say that!’ Marisa exclaimed loudly.
George looked round sharply. Helen was sat on the veranda underneath the canopy, seemingly engrossed in a book.
‘Oh, Helen! When did you get back?’ George asked, trying to quell her panic .
How long had Helen been sitting there? How much had she heard? George couldn’t remember if she had said Quinn’s name out loud.
‘Not long ago. You were on the phone when I got here and then a package arrived for you. Then I had to hear all about Marisa’s shopping trip. Just sat down,’ Helen informed.
‘Another package? Where is it? Is it another expensive-looking box? Let me see,’ Marisa spoke, stepping back towards the villa in search of the sacred parcel.
‘It’s just something for a function I have to go to tonight,’ George said hurriedly, getting up and chasing after her.
‘A function? What sort of function? Where is it? Are we invited?’ Marisa questioned.
‘It’s just a get together for the team leaders of each entity involved in wedding preparations. Sorry, just me,’ George said, grabbing the box from the dining-room table and clutching it to her chest.
‘Well, it isn’t on the itinerary,’ Marisa said, a sulky expression on her face.
‘No, it was a last-minute thing because the briefing ended so suddenly the other day,’ George said, clutching the box tighter.
‘Well, we were all at the briefing; why can’t we all be at this?’ Marisa asked, scrutinising her.
‘I don’t make the rules, Marisa. Right, well, I’d better take this upstairs,’ George said, turning and heading as swiftly as she could towards the staircase.
‘Is that a dress? I saw dress material poking out; it’s a dress, isn’t it? Let me see!’ Marisa exclaimed as George began to ascend.
‘It’s just something they hired; we all have to dress up, God knows why! It’s probably one of Pixie’s ideas. It will be something completely zany and not me at all,’ George told her .
‘It looks designer to me. Is it designer? Let me see!’ Marisa begged, about to mount the stairs after George.
‘Marisa, will you stop badgering George! Isn’t she allowed any privacy? Not everyone wants to tell the world their business, do they?’ Helen reprimanded sternly as she entered the villa.
‘Well, I…’
‘Come and show me how you walk in those ridiculous shoes and I’ll decide whether or not to let you out in public in them. How about that?’ Helen spoke.
George closed the door of her bedroom and eagerly opened the box.
On top was a map and typed directions to the theatre, together with a ticket for the opera El amor y la pérdida and a note from Quinn.
Jeans don’t cut it at the opera – hope you like it Q x