Chapter 20
By Monday afternoon, Eliza had decided to call Julian.
It seemed her best, and only, option. The debt wasn’t the aching hole she’d once been facing but, quite frankly, it seemed better to focus on practical matters.
Especially when her mind only seemed capable of serving up replays of Luke taking off his shirt.
So, rather than dwell on the emotional tangled web she seemed to have found herself in, Eliza picked up the phone.
‘Eliza!’ came Julian’s crisp voice. ‘Amanda said you might call. How is rural life treating you?’
‘Julian, hi. Well, the countryside was lovely while it lasted, and I enjoyed the fresh air, but I missed the city buzz a little so here I am. Amanda mentioned you might need help with something?’
‘Desperately! The Harrington gala has turned into a bloody nightmare – I’ve got the Duchess of fuck knows where demanding ice sculptures of her corgi, and the caterer is threatening to quit because Lord Harrinton keeps changing the menu.
I need someone who can handle these people, and that person, my dear, is you! ’
‘That sounds like a total Julian Mayhew special,’ said Eliza, a smile creeping into her voice.
‘Well, you wouldn’t expect anything less, would you? Can you start immediately? I will increase your pay twenty per cent if you say yes right now.’
Twenty per cent more would make a huge dent in her little debt problems, but at the same time the thought of diving straight back into the world of high society events left Eliza cold.
After the cosy intimacy of Fenella’s country wedding, the prospect of coordinating ice sculptures for neurotic women seemed absurd.
‘What about I have twenty-four hours to think about it, and you agree to pay me fifty per cent more?’ she asked, shooting her shot.
Julian let out a terribly dramatic sigh. ‘Fine. But not a minute more – I’ve got other candidates lined up if you say no. But, of course, it’s really you I want.’
The minute Eliza hung up, she couldn’t quite believe she’d counter-offered Julian. What had happened to her over the last few months?
Her phone buzzed again. There were two new messages. One from Marjorie: ‘I thought you’d like to know that Dan and I are having dinner together on Friday night. Do look after yourself in that dreadful city. M x’
Eliza couldn’t help smiling. She was so excited about the blossoming love between two of her favourite people.
The other message was from Vivi: ‘Jean Pierre says the dreadful man from the wedding, your ex, is our broker. I’m so sorry, we didn’t know. We can fire him if that will convince you to stay on. Vivi x P.S. Come back soon, we can talk or not talk, but there will always be wine.’
Henry. She’d forgotten that little complication. She hated that he was their broker, but his best trait was being a top wine merchant – especially when someone kept him in line. So, while she still had that feisty cat energy in her, she decided to text Henry.
‘I hope your dick is still in one piece and your hangover isn’t too bad. Look, I hate that we have to work together, but if you promise to do a fucking amazing job, then I’ll work with you. But remember, they are my friends. No bullshit. Eliza.’
He came straight back:
‘Thank you, and you were right, the heritage sparkling deserves the best, so I’ll return the good graces and see if we can bury the hatchet. I have a potential wedding for you to arrange. It’s for a famous rock star. It could launch your solo career. Deal?’
Eliza thought for a moment. Could this be it – the break she needed? This could stretch her finances for long enough, that she would have time to launch her own business, and she wouldn’t have to go back to Julian. Fuck it, decision made.
‘Deal. Who is it?’ she typed back.
‘Come to my office tomorrow at ten – I’ll arrange a meeting. You’ll recognise him, lead singer with one of the biggest bands around. I’ll tell him you’re the girl for the job.’
‘See you tomorrow, then,’ Eliza replied.
She sat there stunned – what a turn her life had taken in the last twenty-four hours.
She sent Vivi a text, ‘As much as it pains me to say it, he is the man for the job. I’ll ring you soon for a catch-up. E x’
‘Please do. Farmington is lonely without you. Vivi x’
At five to ten on the dot, Eliza stood directly outside Henry’s sleek office building in Mayfair, her heart hammering against her ribs with pure terror. This was it, her big chance to turn her life around, so she set her shoulders back and walked through the revolving doors.
Henry was waiting in the lobby. ‘Right on time,’ he said, his eyes appraising her outfit with approval. ‘And good choice on the clothes.’
‘I didn’t come here for a fashion consultation, Henry, but thanks for the compliment,’ Eliza replied, keeping her tone cool and professional. ‘Now, tell me about this client. Anything I should know before I meet him?’
As they rode the lift up to the penthouse, Henry gave her a quick lowdown. ‘It’s Max Sullivan, lead singer of Midnight Hour. He just proposed to his childhood sweetheart. They want something intimate but spectacular, away from the paparazzi. The catch is, they need it planned in four weeks.’
‘Four weeks?’ Eliza said, her eyes widening. ‘That’s impossible for a high-profile wedding like this!’ But Eliza wanted the job. And if she could pull off a miracle, she would be set.
‘Not for you, Eliza – I’ve already told them you’ll make it happen.’
Before she could respond, they were ushered into a sleek conference room, where a young man with tousled dark hair sat next to a pretty blonde woman. Despite his casual attire of ripped jeans and a T-shirt, there was no mistaking the charisma that had catapulted him to fame.
‘Max, Daisy – this is Eliza, the wedding planner I told you about,’ Henry said, ushering her forward.
‘Daisy!’ Eliza exclaimed. ‘That’s the name of my car, too! That’s definitely a sign this was meant to be.’
Max stood up, extending his hand, and she could understand why the pre-teens squealed, she wanted to squeal herself. ‘Nice to meet you, Eliza. Henry says you’re the best in the business, and as the man who sells me the best wine, I trust him implicitly.’
‘I think he may be exaggerating a little bit, but I like to think I’m good at what I do,’ said Eliza with a smile.
She felt it was important to give off an air of confidence and professionalism, but maybe later she could ask for his autograph for her god-daughter.
He didn’t need to know she wasn’t out of diapers and her favourite song was ‘Wheels on the Bus’.
For the next hour, Eliza listened as Max and Daisy described their vision for the wedding – something intimate yet magical, away from the prying eyes of the press and influencers.
They wanted all their family and closest friends there, but without the industry circus usually involved in celebrity weddings.
What she loved straight away was how Max and Daisy both had such a clear vision – an old-school music festival with fairy lights, handmade bunting, wildflowers in vintage vases, live music (of course), all somewhere secluded and unknown.
‘We know it’s crazy,’ Daisy said, her voice soft but determined, ‘but we’ve been waiting for this day for so long, and we only have a small window before Max goes back on tour. We just want one day when we can be ourselves, like when we first met.’
Max cut in then, running his hand through his hair a little awkwardly as he took Daisy’s hand.
‘Look, I don’t want to be that person, but do know that money is no object.
We value our privacy above all else, so if you can do this and give Daisy everything she’s dreamed of, then you don’t need to run a price list by us on anything. ’
Swooning at the thought of getting those awful creditors off her back, and already in love with their festival chic concept, Eliza didn’t hesitate.
‘Well, you know what, I can make this happen and it would be my absolute pleasure to bring this to life for you. It will be the best day of your lives, I promise you. But you’re going to have to make yourselves available, as there are going to be a lot of decisions to be made. Are you up for it?’
‘Hell yes!’ said Daisy. ‘Let’s do this.’
As Max and Daisy left the room, Henry turned to Eliza with a smug smile. ‘See, I told you they’d love you. And now you’ve got your first big client as an independent wedding planner.’
Eliza carefully gathered all her notes, not looking at him – she didn’t want Henry to see quite how happy she felt – after all, he was still an arsehole.
‘Well, thanks for the referral – I reckon we’re about even!
’ Snapping her hastily printed portfolio closed, she turned on her borrowed Jimmy Choo’s.
‘And before you ask, yes, we will have the sparkling at the wedding, the perfect low-key launch for Jean Pierre and a local never tried before wine especially for Daisy and Max. It’s a win-win. ’
‘Always the businesswoman, Eliza,’ Henry chuckled. ‘That’s something I always admired about you, among other things.’ His eyes lingered on her a moment too long.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Henry, you should have enjoyed it while you had it. But that ship has sailed.’ Eliza looked him straight in the eye.
Henry raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Of course, strictly business. Although I am curious what happened with that farmer?’
‘None of your business, Henry.’
‘LiLi, wait, don’t go,’ he said, reaching for her arm. ‘Didn’t that feel good in there? Me and you, taking on the world together again? Come on, you can’t deny it, we’re a dream team.’
Eliza jerked her arm away from his touch. ‘I told you not to call me that. And we were never a team, Henry, you made that very clear.’
Henry’s facade cracked slightly. ‘Look, I know I fucked up – but I’m ready to try and make it work. We could start again, do wine and weddings, imagine how amazing it could be.’