Chapter 40 Nora
Nora
‘You’re getting the quick version of events’—I whip off my top, avoiding my freshly made-up face, and throw it on the floor—‘because Saoirse’s decided she needs me to help her pick up some painting she’s got for Miles and that is not on my agenda, and it’ll probably take at least half an hour. An hour, even.’
‘Okay.’
Elle raises her shapely eyebrows at me from where she sits cross-legged on the massive bed upstairs in my and Theo’s beautiful cottage at Sorrel Farm.
My fake boyfriend, supposed bedfellow for tonight and all-round love of my life, has not materialised yet, and with every hour he stays away, I wilt a little more.
According to my WhatsApp group chat with Saoirse and her bridesmaids, he has indeed delivered the groom to Sorrel Farm, so I have no idea where he is now.
‘You all right, though?’
‘If you’re asking the wedding planner part of me, then yes, I’ll be fine, even though Jackson James confirmed that he’d arrive tomorrow by car and is in fact arriving shortly.
By helicopter, naturally.’ My trousers hit the floor.
‘But if you’re asking the non-wedding planner part of me, then no.
I’m not okay. Because I’ve fucked up so badly and I have no idea if I’m going to be able to fix it. ’
‘Oh, sweetie.’ She blows out a sympathetic breath. ‘What the hell’s been going on?’
I summarise the whole sorry tale as succinctly as I can while hunting around in my suitcase for the sexy bra and thong I bought for this evening’s rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. A girl can dream. Or if she can’t dream, at least she can be prepared.
I tell Elle that the intimacy that bloomed between Theo and me in France only grew more intense when we got home.
That I found myself trusting him, and once the trust was in place, I was unleashed. We were unleashed.
That Theo’s behaviour shifted, and I stopped being able to read him like a book the way I had previously.
That I made the catastrophic assumption that if he had anything important to say to me, he would come right out and say it.
That I was so busy congratulating myself on being freed from my inhibitions around sex that I totally missed what was happening.
That it took Jonathan to open my eyes to the true reality. Theo had bowed out. He’d sacrificed his happiness in favour of what he thought would make me happy. What I thought would make me happy.
That Jonathan and I were both laughably relieved to discover neither of us had feelings for each other.
That Evelyn offered me a dream job.
And that I’d walk away from it right now and follow Theo to New York if it meant I had a future with him.
As I’m talking, I’m stripping. Off come my boring beige bra and pants and on go the sexy pair. Next up: a gorgeous Astrid Carmichael shift in palest pink wool crepe courtesy of Elle.
I halt my tale of woe, not ignorant of the fact that it resembles some kind of Shakespearean farce.
’Zip me up?’ I ask her.
She hops off the bed as I twist behind her.
‘Bloody hell, Nor.’ Her voice is soft. ‘I leave you for a couple of weeks, and look what happens.’ She zips me up and rubs my shoulders kindly before coming round so she’s in front of me.
‘Tell me about it.’ I sigh.
She eyes me up, and I can tell she’s choosing her words.
‘Look. It’s a lot to take in. For you, I mean.
But everything you’ve said sounds good, no?
I can’t believe Theo broke down in front of Jonathan—he hates him so much.
But if that’s not a sign he’s hopelessly in love with you, I don’t know what is. ’
‘I don’t know.’ My eyes prick with tears of frustration. ‘I can’t get my head straight. I just need to see him. I know if I see him, talk to him, I’ll have my answer.’
‘I think it’s great that you both have feelings for each other.’ She pauses.
‘But?’
‘There’s no but, really. I just want to make sure this is what you really want.
I adore my cousin, but we both know how important having a secure life partner is for you.
From what you’ve said, it sounds like he’s turned over a new leaf, thanks to you.
But It’s a big step, walking away from your career for him.
I mean, none of this is part of your plan. ’
‘I know.’ I smooth my dress over my hips. ‘Don’t remind me. Believe me, it’s freaking me out.’
‘Okay. I have two questions for you.’
I meet her eyes, hopeful she’ll take me in hand. ‘Go for it.’
‘One. Do you really love him? And two. Do you really think he can make you happy? Because if the answer to both of those is yes, then nothing else matters much.’
I nod. This is good. Elle giving me a life questionnaire with nice, neat yes-no answers is helpful. It’s the safety net I need for jumping into the abyss.
‘Yes and yes,’ I tell her. ‘It’s like I don’t even have a choice. I’m so miserable without him. I don’t want to be on my own with some stupid plan. I want to be with him.’
‘Excellent.’
‘A plan won’t keep me warm at night, will it?’
‘Plans are useless for orgasms,’ she agrees.
‘Yeah.’ I blow out a breath and stare at my toes.
‘Nor. You’ve done this before, you know. Torn up whatever mental rule book you’re intent on living your life by, and followed your very smart gut instead.’
My head jerks up. ‘When?’
‘When you handed in your notice to Bitch Boss from Hell at the Times and struck out on your own. That is not the act of some pathetic little pencil-pusher. That’s the act of a smart, gutsy woman who owns her intuition and her power.’
I stare at her in admiration and disbelief. ‘Jesus. Thank you.’ She’s right. I did that. And I never looked back. I’m so much more fulfilled now than I could have imagined.
‘Look at you now,’ she continues. ‘You’ve pulled together the wedding of the year for one of the most uptight, demanding men I know. I’m sure you never could have imagined that when you were in your sad little cubbyhole at the Times. Nor, life never turns out exactly how you imagine.’
‘Says the Oscar winner who got her very own Hollywood happy ending.’ I give her a watery smile.
‘Exactly.’ She puts her arms around me and pulls me in. ‘And you will, too. Repeat after me. I don’t need an AGA or a rectory to feel secure in my future.’
‘I don’t need an AGA or a rectory to feel secure in my future,’ I mumble reluctantly. Sometimes it’s a total bummer, having friends who know you so well.
After Elle’s wandered off to ‘get herself some orgasms’ in her own words, making me promise not to ruin my eye makeup with any more tears, I call Saoirse.
‘Ready to go get that painting?’
She giggles. ‘Definitely! Let’s do it!’
She’s so sweet. So upbeat about everything. She sounds as though picking up her wedding present for her fiancé is up there with the most exciting adventures she’s ever undertaken.
‘How far away is this place?’ I ask once we’re strapped ourselves into her gorgeous new car.
‘Ightham.’ She keys a postcode into her SatNav. ‘Ten, fifteen minutes away.’
That’s good, at least.
‘And where are you picking it up from?’
‘From the painter.’ She gives me a huge grin and I smile back weakly, miserably failing at matching her enthusiasm. ‘From her house.’
As she drives, we chat about who’s arrived so far, how the preparations in the Walled Garden are going, and the fact that her mum has taken Bea to the Oast House for ice cream to get her out of Miles’ hair. If anyone’s more excited than Saoirse, it’s Bea.
‘I know I’m going to say it a million times this weekend, Nora.’ She turns to me. ‘But thank you for giving me my dream wedding. I know it’s going to be amazing.’
I pat her hand. ‘It will be. And if I can give you any advice after planning forty-plus weddings, it’s not to sweat the small stuff. Things are bound to go wrong, but try not to let them ruin your day.’
‘You’re so right.’ Her beam is dazzling, and I know that if there’s ever a bride who doesn’t need to hear that advice, it’s Saoirse. Nothing can dampen her happiness. Her excitement. Her positivity.
‘You’re definitely the most well-adjusted bride I’ve ever met,’ I tell her, and she laughs.
‘I think this is it.’
She hits her indicator in front of huge iron gates that stand open. The pillars flanking them have The Old Rectory engraved into the ancient stone. Nice.
‘Wow. This artist must do well for herself,’ I quip, and she turns to me, eyes dancing.
‘Yeah. Something like that.’
We sweep into an imposing gravel driveway.
There are two cars parked: a glossy Audi, and a red car that’s the same model as Theo’s.
What are the chances? But my eyes are drawn to the house.
It’s a Country Life reader’s wet dream. A spectacular Georgian building, long and low, covered in unmistakably gnarly vines of wisteria.
Symmetrical rows of stunning windows flank a huge pillared door, and it’s open.
There’s a man standing in the doorway, leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed. He has aviators on, but he’s unmistakable. It’s Theo.
I turn to Saoirse in confusion. She’s watching me with a warm, expectant smile.
‘What’s going on? Is Theo helping with the painting?’
My gaze swings back to Theo. He’s striding across the gravel towards Saoirse’s car. Pushing his aviators up from his eyes. His body’s lean and rangy in jeans and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up. His face gorgeous but uncertain.
‘There is no painting, hon. Let’s just say your boyfriend’s planned a little ambush, and he roped me into his evil plan.’ Saoirse’s voice goes up a couple of octaves with excitement. She squeezes my arm. ‘Go get him, gorgeous girl. I’ll see you at the rehearsal.’