Читать книгу Wedding Bell Wishes - Lynne Marshall - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

‘MISS STEWART?’ THE woman from the airline introduced herself swiftly on the phone. ‘I’m very pleased to say we’ve found the dress box that went missing.’

It took a moment for it to sink in. They’d actually found Ashleigh’s original dress?

‘That’s fantastic,’ Claire said. She glanced at her watch. Ashleigh’s wedding wasn’t until four o’clock. Which meant she had enough time to get the hydrofoil across to Sorrento and then a taxi to the airport to collect the dress, and she’d be back in time to get the dress ready while Ashleigh was having her hair and make-up done. Thankfully, she’d brought her portable steam presser with her in her luggage, so although the dress would be quite badly creased by now, she’d be able to fix it. ‘Thank you very much. I’ll be with you as soon as possible.’

‘And if you could bring some identification with you, it would be helpful,’ the airline assistant added.

‘I’ll bring my passport,’ Claire said. Even before she’d said goodbye and ended the call, she was unlocking the safe in her wardrobe and taking her passport out.

When she went to tell Ashleigh the good news, Sean was there.

‘It’d be quicker to get the dress couriered here,’ he said.

‘I’ve already lost the dress once. If you think I’m taking the risk of that happening again...’ Claire shook her head. ‘No chance.’

It also meant she had a bulletproof excuse to avoid Sean for the next few hours. Though that was slightly beside the point. She kissed Ashleigh’s cheek. ‘I’ll text you when I’ve picked it up and I’m on my way back. But I’ll be back well before it’s time to have our hair and make-up done, I promise.’

Ashleigh hugged her back. ‘I know. And thanks, Claire.’

‘Hey. That’s what best friends are for,’ she said with a smile.

When Claire collected the dress, the box was in perfect condition, so she didn’t have to worry that the contents had been damaged in any way. It didn’t matter any more where the dress had been; the important thing was that she had it now, and Ashleigh would wear the dress of her dreams on her wedding day.

‘Miss Stewart? Before you go,’ the airline assistant said, ‘I have a message for you. You have transport back to Capri. Would you mind coming this way?’

‘Why?’ Claire asked, mystified. She’d planned to get another taxi back to Sorrento, and then the hydrofoil across to Capri.

Before the airline assistant could answer, Claire’s phone pinged with a message. ‘Sorry, would you mind if I check this?’ she asked, just in case it was Ashleigh.

To her surprise, the message was from Sean.

Transport arranged. Don’t argue. Ashleigh worrying. Need to save time.

Sean had arranged transport for her? She swallowed hard. She knew Sean had done this for his sister’s sake, not for hers, but it was still such a nice thing to do.

And the transport wasn’t a taxi back to Sorrento. It was a helicopter. And the pilot told her that the flight from Naples to Capri took less time than the hydrofoil from Sorrento to Capri, so Sean had saved her the time of the taxi journey on top of that.

She texted back swiftly. Thank you. Tell her the dress is absolutely fine. Let me know how much I owe you for the transport. She knew Sean’s opinion of her was already low and she was absolutely not going to let him think she was a freeloader, on top of whatever else he thought about her. She’d always paid her own way.

A text came back from him.

Will tell her. Transport on me.

Oh, no, it wasn’t. Dress my responsibility, so *I* will pay. Not negotiable, she typed back pointedly. No way was she going to be in debt to Sean.

She’d half expected a taxi to meet her at the helipad, but Sean was in the reception area, waiting for her. He was wearing formal dark trousers and a white shirt—Claire didn’t think he actually owned a pair of jeans—but for once he wasn’t wearing a tie. His concession to casual dress, perhaps.

He looked gorgeous.

And he was totally off limits. She really needed to get a grip. Like now.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Transport,’ he said, gesturing to an open-topped sports car in the car park.

She didn’t have much choice other than to accept. ‘Thank you.’ She looked at him. ‘Is Ash OK?’

‘She’s fine,’ he reassured her.

‘Good.’

‘And I owe you an apology.’

Claire frowned, surprised. Sean was apologising to her? ‘For what?’

‘Sniping at you last night—assuming that you’d given Ashleigh that crazy idea of getting married at the top of the mountain and going up by chairlift.’

‘Given that I’m scared of heights,’ she said dryly, ‘I was quite happy to talk her out of that one on the grounds of dress practicalities.’

‘But you went up on the chairlift last night.’

She shrugged. ‘Luke and I wanted to distract her and we thought that would be a good way.’

‘Yeah.’

She looked at him. He masked his feelings quickly, but she’d seen the flash of pain in his eyes. On impulse, she laid her hand on his arm. ‘It must be hard for you, too.’

He nodded. ‘It should be Dad walking down the aisle with her, not me.’ His voice was husky with suppressed emotion. ‘But things are as they are.’

‘Your parents would be really proud of you,’ she said.

‘Excuse me?’ His voice had turned icy.

She took her hand off his arm. ‘OK. It’s not my place to say anything and I wasn’t trying to patronise you. But I thought a lot of your parents. Your mum in particular was brilliant when my mum died. And they would’ve been proud of the way you’ve always been there for Ash, always supported her—well, almost always,’ she amended. To be fair, he’d been pretty annoyed about Ashleigh’s change of planned career. He hadn’t supported it at first.

‘She’s my little sister. What else would I do?’

It was a revelation to Claire. Sean clearly equated duty with love, or mixed them to the point where they couldn’t be distinguished. And discussing this was way beyond her pay grade. She changed the subject again. ‘So how much do I owe you for the flight?’

‘You don’t.’

‘I’ve already told you, the dress is my responsibility, so I’ll pay the costs. But thank you for organising it, especially as it means Ash isn’t worrying any more.’

‘We’ll discuss it later,’ he said. ‘Ashleigh comes first.’

‘Agreed—but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to be in your debt,’ she pointed out.

‘I did this for Ashleigh, not for you.’

‘Well, duh.’ She caught herself before she said something really inflammatory. ‘Sean, I know we don’t usually get on too well.’ That was the understatement of the year. ‘But I think we’re going to have to make the effort and play nice while we’re on Capri.’

He slanted her a look that said very clearly that he didn’t believe she could keep it up.

If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she could keep it up, either. Or that Sean could, for that matter. But they were at least going to make the effort. Though they had a cast-iron excuse not to talk to each other for the next few minutes, because he needed to concentrate on driving.

She put the dress box safely in the back of the car, took her sunhat from her bag and jammed it on her head so it wouldn’t be blown away, then sat in the front seat next to Sean. She still had her dark glasses on from the helicopter flight, so the glare of the sun didn’t bother her.

Sean was a very capable driver, she noticed, even though he was driving on the right-hand side of the road instead of the left as he was used to doing in England. The road was incredibly narrow and winding, with no verges and high stone walls at the edges; it was busy with vans and scooters and minibuses, and every so often he had to pull over into the tiniest of passing places. If Claire had been driving, she would’ve been panicking that the car would end up being scraped on one of those stone walls; but she knew that she was very safe with Sean. It was an odd feeling, having to rely on someone she normally tried to avoid. And even odder that for once she didn’t mind.

‘Is there anything you need for the dress?’ he asked as they pulled up outside the hotel.

‘Only my portable steam presser, which I brought with me on my first trip.’

He looked confused. ‘Why do you need a steam presser?’

‘This dress has been in a box for three days. Even though I was careful when I packed it, there are still going to be creases in the material, and I don’t have time to hang the dress in a steamy bathroom and wait for the creases to fall out naturally. And an ordinary iron isn’t good enough to give a professional finish.’

‘OK. Let me know if you need anything organised.’

He probably needed some reassurance that it wasn’t going to go wrong, she thought. ‘You can come and have a sneak peek at the dress, if you want,’ she said.

‘Isn’t that meant to be bad luck?’

‘Only if you’re the bridegroom. Remember that the dress needs pressing, so you won’t be seeing it at its best,’ she warned, ‘but it will be perfect by the time Ash puts it on.’

* * *

Sean looked at Claire. Her sunhat was absolutely horrible, a khaki-coloured cap with a peak to shade her eyes; but he supposed it was more sensible than going out bareheaded in the strong mid-morning sun and risking sunstroke.

He wondered if she’d guessed that he wanted reassurance that nothing else was going to go wrong with the dress—just as she’d clearly noticed that moment when the might-have-beens had shaken his composure. She’d been a bit clumsy about it, but she hadn’t pushed him to talk and share his feelings. She’d been kind, he realised now, and that wasn’t something he associated with Claire Stewart. It made him feel weird.

But, if she could make the effort, then so could he. ‘Thanks. I would appreciate that.’

‘Let’s go, then,’ she said.

He followed her up to her room. Everywhere was neat and tidy. Funny, he’d expected the room to be as messy and chaotic as Claire’s life seemed to be—even though her shop had been tidy. But then he supposed the shop would have to be tidy or it would put off potential clients.

She put the dress box on the bed. ‘Right—how much do I owe you for that flight?’

‘We’ve already discussed that,’ he said, feeling awkward.

‘No, we haven’t, and I don’t want to be beholden to you.’

‘Ashleigh is my sister,’ he reminded her.

‘I know, and she’s my best friend—but I still don’t want to be beholden to you.’

He frowned. ‘Now you’re being stubborn.’

‘Pots and kettles,’ she said softly. ‘Tell me how much I owe you.’

Actually, he liked the fact that she was so insistent on paying her fair share. It showed she had integrity. Maybe he’d been wrong to tar her with the same brush as her awful boyfriends. Just because she had a dreadful taste in men, it didn’t necessarily mean that she was as selfish as they were—did it? ‘OK.’ He told her a sum that was roughly half, guessing that she’d have no idea how much helicopter transfers would cost.

‘Fine. Obviously I don’t have the cash on me right at this very second,’ she said, ‘but I can either do a bank transfer if you give me your account details, or give you the cash in person when we’re back in England.’

‘No rush. I’ll give you my bank details, but making the transfer when you get back to England will be fine,’ he said.

‘Good. Thank you.’ She opened the box, unpacked the dress, and put it on a hanger.

The organza skirt was creased but Sean could already see how stunning the ivory dress was. It had a strapless sweetheart neckline, the bodice was made of what he suspected might be handmade lace, and it looked as if hundreds of tiny pearls had been sewn into it. It was worthy of something produced by any of the big-name designers.

And Claire had designed this for his little sister. She’d made it all by hand.

Now he understood why she’d called her business that ridiculous name, because she was delivering exactly what her client wanted—a dream of a dress.

Clearly his lack of response rattled her, because she folded her arms. ‘If you hate it, fine—but remember that this is what Ash wanted. And I’m giving you fair warning, if you tell Ash you hate it before she puts it on, so she feels like the ugliest bride in the world instead of like a princess, then you’re so getting the rusty spoon treatment.’

‘I don’t hate it, actually. I’m just a bit stunned, because I wasn’t expecting it to be that good,’ he admitted.

She dropped into a sarcastic curtsey. ‘Why, thank you, kind sir, for the backhanded compliment.’

‘I didn’t mean it quite like that,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about dresses, but that looks as if it involved a lot of work.’

‘It did. But she’s worth every second.’

‘Yeah.’ For a moment, he almost turned to her and hugged her.

But this was Claire ‘Follow Your Heart’ Stewart, the mistress of chaos. Their worlds didn’t mix. A hug would be a bad, bad idea. ‘Thanks for letting me see the dress,’ he said. ‘I’d better let you get on.’

‘Tell Ash her dress is here safely, and I’ll come and find her the second it’s ready.’

He nodded. ‘Will do.’

* * *

Once Claire was satisfied with the dress, she took it through to Ashleigh’s room. Sammy opened the door. ‘Claire-bear! About time, too,’ she said with a grin. ‘Losing the dress. Tsk. What kind of dressmaker does that?’

‘Don’t be mean, Sammy,’ Ashleigh called. ‘I’d cuff her for you, Claire, but I have to sit still and let Aliona take these rollers out of my hair.’

Claire hung up the dress, then enveloped Sammy with a hug. ‘Hello to you, too. How was your flight?’

‘Disgusting,’ Sammy said cheerfully, ‘but when I’ve finished taking photographs tonight then I’m going to drink Prosecco until I don’t care any more.’

‘Hangover on top of jet lag. Nice,’ Claire teased. ‘It’s so good to see you, Sammy.’

‘You, too. And oh, my God. How amazing is that dress? You’ve really surpassed yourself this time, Claire.’

Claire smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’m just glad we got it back.’

The hotel’s hairdresser and make-up artist cooed over the dress, too, and then Claire submitted to being prettied up before putting on her own dress and then helping Ashleigh with hers.

Sammy posed them both for photographs on the balcony. ‘Righty. I need to do the boys, now,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘See you at the town hall.’

‘OK?’ Claire asked when Sammy had gone.

Ashleigh gulped. ‘Yes. Just thinking.’

‘I know.’ It would be similar for Claire, if she ever got married: she’d be missing her mum, though her dad would be there—if he approved of Claire’s choice of man—and her mum’s family would be there, with Ashleigh and Sammy to support her.

Not that Claire thought she’d ever get married. All the men she’d ever been involved with had turned out to be Mr Wrong. Men she’d thought would share her dreams, but who just couldn’t commit. Men who’d been so casual with her emotions that she’d lost trust in her judgement.

‘But I think they’re here in spirit,’ Claire said softly. ‘They loved you so much, Ash. And Luke can’t wait to make you his bride. You’ve got a good guy, there.’

‘I know. I’m lucky.’ Ashleigh swallowed hard.

‘Hey. If you cry and your make-up runs, Sean will have my guts for garters,’ Claire said. She went into a dramatic pose. ‘Help! Help! Save me from your scary big brother!’

To her relief, it worked, and Ashleigh laughed; she was still smiling when Sean knocked on her door to say they needed to go.