Читать книгу Just The Way You Are - Lynsey James - Страница 12
ОглавлениеThe next morning, I woke up to an email from Miranda. Normally, these never brought happy news but today I was dreading reading it even more, thanks to my new position.
From: Miranda.stark@sleek.com
To: Ava.clements@sleek.com
Ava,
Here are the details of your first assignment as Sleek’s wedding reporter. Please ensure you arrive promptly to the ceremony; the bride has expressly said she won’t tolerate lateness of any kind. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are responsible for maintaining Sleek’s excellent journalistic reputation, so please make sure you act in a professional manner throughout the ceremony and reception.
Kind Regards
Miranda
I scoffed loudly and rolled my eyes. “Act in a professional manner”?! What did she think I was going to do, get drunk and smash the wedding cake before copping off with the best man?
Not flipping likely, since weddings were my idea of a living hell. I’d been to enough to last me a lifetime and all the happy couples had ended up crumbling to dust.
I scrolled down to see where the wedding was taking place; they were having an evening ceremony at a posh city centre hotel, followed by a reception at the same place. I raised my eyebrows in appreciation; if nothing else there would be good champagne. I was also getting my very own photographer for the night; someone from one of the agencies the magazine used. I looked at the date and my jaw dropped. It was tomorrow!
‘Miranda, you absolute cow.’ I threw my head into my hands and groaned.
I had less than twenty-four hours to find a dress, research the couple, fix a meeting with them and prepare interview questions. It was as though Miranda was rooting for me to fail.
Before I could get in too much of a flap about it, Gwen came into my room and flopped down on my bed. This was her typical hangover routine: wake me up, get me to take her to McDonald’s or Krispy Kreme then watch movies with me all day on the sofa. Today, however, she had a strange look in her eye that I wasn’t altogether comfortable with.
‘Look what I found in the living room this morning!’ She reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out the letter.
My face flushed and I tried to bury my head in my duvet. I must’ve forgotten to put it back in my bag after looking at it last night. Gwen was too quick and snatched it away before I could take refuge.
‘When were you going to tell me about this, this is absolutely massive! Your secret admirer’s back after six bloody years!’
I couldn’t help but smile. Gwen was treating this significant development with her usual trademark enthusiasm.
‘I was going to show you today,’ I replied. ‘Don’t quite know what to make of it really; I mean, why’s he getting in touch after all this time?’
‘Well that’s obvious; he’s been thinking about you since he stopped writing the letters, kicked himself and now he’s decided to put things right.’
I loved how simple things were in Gwen’s world; if only the real world were like that.
‘What if it’s not that though; what if it was just a huge joke the whole time and now he’s back for another pop to see how much he can get me to fall for him?’
She wrinkled her nose up and scoffed. ‘Unless he’s a major sad case with nothing better to do, I don’t think that’s the reason he’s writing again! This is big Ava; he must’ve been thinking about you all this time. Maybe this is all meant to be and it was just the wrong time for you guys at uni.’
I raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘This isn’t a Disney movie Gwen, things like that don’t happen in real life.’
‘This is real though!’ She waved the letter in front of my face to prove her point. ‘Whoever’s writing these is obviously mad about you. If you want my opinion, I think you should try and find out who this guy is instead of waiting around for him. If you want him, go out there and get him.’
Oh great, I thought, first Max says it and now Gwen! If both of my best friends were suggesting this utterly mad, hare-brained scheme to find my secret admirer, maybe I should give it some consideration. I couldn’t deny I was tempted. Getting the opportunity to put my Miss Marple hat on in the name of true love appealed to me.
‘Maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t know where to start though,’ I protested. I folded my arms in defeat and sunk back onto my pillows.
Gwen shuffled her bum across the bed until she was sitting beside me. ‘Nowadays, if you want to find anyone you go on the internet. Make a blog or something; didn’t you say you had to write about an unusual love story? This could be it; how many women can say they received love letters from a sexy secret admirer at uni then again years later! You’ll trump anything Maddie could come up with.’
Excitement swelled inside me. Maybe this wasn’t as ridiculous as I’d first thought it was. I glanced over to my wardrobe and my breath caught in my throat. It was in there, wedged tight and hidden from view. Every single letter he’d ever written to me was stuffed into a shortbread tin. So much love had been crammed into that slightly bashed metal box. Was it safe to unleash it all again?
I took a second to think before addressing Gwen. It wouldn’t be easy to find him and I could be in line for a nasty shock if it all turned out to be a massive prank.
‘I think I’ll leave it up to Fate for now,’ I replied. ‘If it’s meant to happen, it will.’
Before I tackled the mountain of work that lay before me, I decided to devote some time to researching possible topics for my feature. I trawled the internet for quirky love stories, from bizarre meetings to ones that worked under unusual circumstances. I found the usual: met on a plane then saw each other again five years later, couples who lived on the other side of the world from each other and ones who only saw each other every few months due to work commitments. None of them had the spark I was looking for; I couldn’t find any fresh angle to take on any of them. They were quirky but not quirky enough. I remembered the amount of work I had to do to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding and decided to put my feature idea to one side.
Max’s earlier suggestion burned at the back of my mind: using my own unusual love story for the feature. Part of me began to think that might not be such a bad idea, but my practical side put the kibosh on it. To put my personal experiences out there in public for everyone to read was unthinkable; the thought made me feel sick. I imagined the elusive Mr Writer reading my diatribe and wondering why he’d ever loved me in the first place. That thought settled things in my mind: Mr Writer wouldn’t be gracing Sleek any time soon.
***
Over the next twenty-four hours, I pulled off nothing short of a miracle.
After thoroughly researching the happy couple – Giselle the bride was a model and the groom Aaron was a footballer who’d just signed for United – I quickly made up a batch of interview questions. I tried to make them fun and informal; after all I was asking them about the happiest day of their lives, not accusing them of phone hacking.
Thanks to my two best friends, I had a dress and a date for the evening. Gwen had “borrowed” one of her designer friend’s dress prototypes and Max agreed to be my chaperone.
‘Given your talent for trouble Munchkin, it’s probably a good idea to have someone around who can clean up the mess!’ he’d said with a chuckle.
The worst thing was, he was probably right.
I slipped on the midi dress Gwen gave me, feeling it hug my figure in all the right places. For the first time in a long time, I looked like I had a waist and hips. Being a journalist meant I was always on the move so comfort came before style, but this dress was something else. It was an off-white colour with black broderie anglaise detailing down the front and a sweetheart neckline. I felt like a catwalk model in it as I teetered in front of my full-length mirror in some black skyscraper heels. My hair fell in soft brown curls around my shoulders and my pewter eyeshadow complemented my hazel eyes perfectly.
‘You shall go to the ball Cinders,’ I said under my breath.
A knock on my bedroom door made me jump and almost fall over in my ridiculously high shoes.
‘Can I come in?’ came Gwen’s muffled voice from the other side.
‘Sure!’
She came in bundled up in a multi-coloured poncho with a pair of massive koala slippers sticking out from underneath.
‘Wow, you look amazing! Jessica Alba’s got nothing on you.’
‘Thanks. I thought you’d be off out to some posh restaurant or swanky party with Tom?’ I gestured at her outfit while fixing a few unruly locks of hair.
‘Not tonight, he’s working late. Got a big client to wine and dine or something. He’s taking me out next weekend and buying me a present to make up for it.’
I felt a little pang of jealousy. Although I’d recently declared myself a firm non-believer of love, I couldn’t help but feel envious of Gwen having someone who spoiled her so much. Aside from that, she said he listened to her, made her feel special and showered her with compliments.
‘Will I do then?’ I realised I hadn’t spoken for a while so I gave a little twirl to let Gwen see how her friend’s handiwork looked on me.
‘Um, yeah I think so! Your date’s in the living room by the way.’
My heart jolted a little until I remembered it was only Max and not an actual date. There was no need for nerves or butterflies or anything else that accompanied a first date with someone. I found that strangely comforting and a bit sad at the same time.
I walked through to the living room. I saw Max’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open.
‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured.
I blushed and pushed some stray hairs out of my face. The dress looked like something that some Best Actress nominee should be wearing to the Oscars. It was far too beautiful for a wedding reporter from Manchester.
‘You look smart,’ I said, looking at him. ‘Very James Bond.’
Max looked at his black tuxedo and gave a soft chuckle as he fiddled with his bow tie. ‘Why thank you Miss Moneypenny. You ready to go?’
‘Not bad for some!’ Gwen scoffed. ‘Now, it’s just the poor little match girl over here who isn’t going.’
‘Don’t worry; I’ll see if I can get you a piece of wedding cake.’ Max grinned and ruffled her hair, something he knew she hated.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, go on the pair of you! Off you go, Daniel Radcliffe!’
‘What?’ Max scrunched his nose up as he tried to decipher what she meant.
‘Isn’t he the one who plays James Bond just now?’
‘That’s Daniel Craig, you cereal box!’ I giggled. ‘Daniel Radcliffe played Harry Potter.’
Gwen shrugged and shook her head. ‘It’s all the same to me. Anyway, you two go off and have a nice time. A cup of tea and Netflix are calling me.’
Max put his arm out for me to take and we walked out into the cool autumn night to wait for our taxi. A delicate hum of activity resonated from the streets. A steady stream of people were beginning to venture out to see what the city’s nightlife had to offer. Even on a Sunday, there was plenty to do in Manchester. It never really stopped.
‘So where’s Amira tonight?’ I asked, regretting the question as soon as I asked.
‘She’s got a photo shoot,’ Max answered. ‘She has to get some new headshots done for her portfolio.’
The way he said it made it sound like she was off volunteering at a soup kitchen or declawing cats. My heart skipped when I heard she wouldn’t be there to make me feel like the third wheel. Which I was.
‘Oh what a shame,’ I said, trying my best to sound sad. ‘Maybe next time eh?’
‘Yeah, I’m kind of glad she’s not coming actually. We haven’t spent time alone together for ages have we? Gwen and Amira are usually there so it’ll be good to have some one-on-one time with you.’
I peeked up at him and saw a broad smile stretch across his face, all the way up to his eyes. He really was very handsome.
‘Yeah, we haven’t had any Max and Munchkin time for a while,’ I agreed.
To my right, I heard him grunt with frustration as he began playing with his bow tie again.
‘Bloody thing won’t sit right!’
‘God, you men can’t do anything for yourselves, can you?!’ I joked. ‘Come here, I’ll fix it.’
Max twisted his body round so I could work my magic. I undid the tie and carefully redid it, straightening it proudly when I was finished.
‘There, now you can go to the ball, Cinders!’
‘Is there anything you can’t do, Munchkin?’ When I looked up, I noticed a sparkle lighting his eyes.
‘Nope. Well I’m not very good at swimming, or dancing for that matter. Apart from that though, I’m basically Superwoman.’
‘Cheeky!’ Max pulled me close to him and pretended to lock me in a headlock. ‘God, you’re freezing! Here, have this.’
He pulled off his suit jacket and offered it to me.
‘Nah, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘The taxi will be here in a minute.’
Goose bumps began to rise on my arms as a sharp chill swirled around my shoulders. I shivered; why hadn’t I brought a coat with me?
Max draped his jacket round me and began rubbing my arms to warm them up.
‘Is that better?’ he asked.
I nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah thanks, you’re a complete gentleman.’
Just then, the taxi drew up. He gallantly opened the door for me and closed it then ran round the other side to get in.
‘I have my moments. Anyway, how’s the whole Mr Writer thing coming along? Are you going to mount a search for him or use him in your Valentine’s Day feature?’
I sighed. My eyes stung slightly from the heat in the taxi coupled with Max’s jacket. Research for the wedding had taken up so much of my time that I hadn’t even thought about what my next move would be.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. I pulled Max’s jacket off and handed it back to him. ‘I suppose I could try and find out who this guy is once and for all. On the one hand, the mystery would finally be solved and maybe I could meet my soulmate. On the other hand, it might all turn out to be someone’s horrible idea of a joke or he’ll be so disappointed when he sees me, warts and all, that he’ll wonder why he bothered in the first place.’
Max’s dark eyes widened with surprise and he put his arm round my shoulders.
‘That won’t happen Ava, trust me. When you and Mr Writer finally meet, he’ll be over the bloody moon with you: why wouldn’t he be? He’s obviously mad about you to have started writing to you again after all this time.’
‘Yeah but he only knows the me he’s been writing letters to. He’s probably built me up to be something I can never live up to. He presumably saw me around uni, maybe spoke to me a few times and decided he liked me so that’s why the letters started. He doesn’t actually know me, not like you or Gwen do. What if he gets to know me, decides I’m not what he thought I was and buggers off? After all, look what happened with Dave. I wasn’t enough for him so he left; simple as that. What’s to stop Mr Writer from thinking the same?’
I felt an odd sense of relief at airing my innermost thoughts on the Mr Writer situation. Somehow, a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I turned my head to Max, who looked deep in thought over what he’d just heard.
He didn’t have time to answer me as we drew up to the wedding venue. For some reason, I felt a little cheated that he didn’t produce one of his rousing pep-talks.
Strings of fairy lights greeted us outside The Regency Hotel. They were wound around the metal railings of the bridge leading to the front door and across the glass-and-steel awning that spanned the entire width of the building. They looked beautiful against the indigo star-strewn sky. A slightly gaudy red velvet carpet was draped over the stairs, presumably to give the whole thing a “celebrity” feel.
Max and I approached the burly security guard, who didn’t look especially pleased to see us. After a short conversation with him and a lot of fumbling about for press passes and other identification, he agreed to let us in.
‘They’re in the Markham Suite,’ the guard grunted. ‘First door on the right as you go in.’
Max had been there before and led the way through the cream and gold hallway to a large open room on the right-hand side. I walked in and was instantly transported into a fairy tale. Large bunches of glittery silver twigs were dotted around the room, strings of white fairy lights coiled lovingly around them. A cream runner led the way to a beautiful white arch, lined with red roses. The sixty or so chairs were draped with white cotton sheets and silver ribbons were tied around them. The entire room embodied winter wonderland.
‘Wow, it’s beautiful in here,’ I breathed.
Max and I took our seats at the back of the room while guests filed in for the ceremony. As I watched an array of dresses and suits mill past me, my phone rang.
‘Hello?’ I said when I’d walked out to the hallway.
‘Ava, it’s Miranda here.’ Her voice reminded me of Amira’s; saccharine to the point of nauseating. Paddy was probably in the room.
‘What can I do for you?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone as civil as I could. I hated how she could be nice one minute and nasty the next. She was Sleek’s version of Jekyll and Hyde.
‘I just wanted to check you’d arrived at the ceremony OK. No hiccups, were there?’
‘None.’
‘Good, good to hear that. Listen, the agency photographer who’ll be helping you for this assignment will meet you outside in about… ooh… five minutes. He’s new and it’s his first assignment so try and make sure you’re professional when you greet him, will you?’
Miranda rang off without saying goodbye. I sighed; oh great, just perfect. It was my first shot at wedding reporting and I had to babysit some college graduate who’d probably produce some out-of-focus shots of the couple and some “arty” landscape pictures and walk off with three hundred quid for his trouble. I stormed outside in a huff, but wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me.
Standing outside under the canopy of fairy lights, looking utterly delectable in a black tuxedo, was possibly the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Moonlight sliced his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones, slate-coloured eyes and perfect profile.
He turned to look at me. One stare almost turned me to jelly.
‘Hi, I’m looking for Ava Clements?’ His voice had a soft south London brogue: gentle but a little rough around the edges.
My heart skipped and danced with joy. I’d never been happier to be me.
‘Well you’ve found her,’ I replied with a smile.
