Читать книгу Playing Her Cards Right - Rosa Temple - Страница 12

Chapter 4

The Dress

Wedding dress shopping with Mother had been fraught to say the least. We’d left every appointment I’d made with every reputable wedding dress couturier empty-handed. Mother knew exactly what she wanted one minute and didn’t have a clue the next. She was also terribly fussy. She had wanted all four of her daughters to be bridesmaids. That meant I had five dresses to think about. Well two designs – one for the bride and one for the bridesmaids – but my sisters and I had been squabbling about the style of our bridesmaid dress.

Then I’d had a brainwave. I was convinced I could settle the whole matter by flying out to one of the Vera Wang bridal shops in New York. If Vera (well the assistant in the shop) couldn’t settle this, then no one could. Mother and I had hit Browns Bride in Mayfair where there was a small selection by Vera Wang, and though we came close, Mother still wasn’t satisfied. I figured a larger selection might inspire her and if we went halfway around the world, Mother might feel compelled to say yes to something.

Our day in New York was booked. I’d scheduled an appointment in the Madison Avenue shop. As my older sisters Amber and Indigo both worked for my Mother’s lingerie company as head of marketing and company lawyer, respectively, time off was easily arranged. I’d managed to coax my younger sister, Ebony, away from her buyer position at Harrods with some difficulty. Ebony worked hard and played hard but she very rarely found time to play since her promotion to a senior buyer position. It took a lot of fast talking and lashings of white wine to first, detach her from her mobile phone earpiece and, second, to get Ebony to relax once we’d checked in to our New York hotel.

After two hours into our visit to Vera Wang in Madison Avenue, my sisters and I had tried on several Vera Wang bridal gowns, not one single bridesmaid dress I might add, while Mother sat watching from a corner.

‘Mother, please,’ I said to her in a dress very similar to the one Kate Hudson wore in Bride Wars. ‘You’re not taking this seriously.’

‘And you are?’ She glared at me in the full and fluffy skirt that swept the carpet. ‘Look, Magenta, these dresses are far too youthful for me. Why don’t you girls stop trying on wedding dresses and see if there’s an actual bridesmaid dress you can all agree on? Maybe we can go somewhere else for me. I’m sure I’ll come up with something.’

‘Mother, you’re impossible,’ I said staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I looked gorgeous. ‘We’ll run out of time at this rate.’

The shopping expedition wasn’t a complete disaster. The four of us settled on a dress we would be happy with as bridesmaids. The slight snag was that they were four different designs.

‘Honestly, girls,’ I said to my sisters, ‘we might as well get them in different colours, too. How about the colour of our names?’ It was intended as sarcasm but Mother adored the idea.

‘Yes.’ She leapt up and looked enthusiastic for the first time since our quest for dresses began. ‘What a great idea.’

‘It’s tacky,’ I said.

‘But delightfully so,’ Mother replied. ‘Please? For me?’

We gave in to Mother’s whim but at least that was one less thing for me to worry about. We ordered our dresses and a big tick was added to my mental Wedding To Do list.

Exhausted by the flight and the morning of trying on dresses, we needed some refreshments.

We found an authentic English teashop and ordered cream scones and strongly brewed tea.

Mother sat in her graceful way, red hair piled into a low bun and her little finger elegantly cocked as she sipped her tea.

‘We’ll have to go back to the idea of a specially designed dress for you, Mother,’ I said, my energy levels well and truly sunk.

‘Yes that’s all well and good,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got so many ideas in my head. I’m not sure I could be much help to a designer. We’ve tried and I’ve only confused them.’

I laid a napkin on the table and pulled out a pen.

‘Tell me,’ I said, licking a rogue spot of cream off my top lip. ‘How do you see yourself? It’s a romantic Caribbean wedding, by the sea, on the sand. How do you imagine yourself that day?’

Mother looked off towards the window. The painted menu on the glass obstructed the view of yellow cabs and passers-by but she seemed to be picturing herself on the beach, eyes half closed.

‘Something flowing. Not white, obviously, but something in a very pale colour to complement my complexion.’

I began to draw on the napkin. I drew a slinky figurine. Mother was slight and well toned for a woman of sixty-two. I began the sketching of swoops and lines as Mother voiced how she’d pictured herself on her wedding day. The first sketch wasn’t right. I reached for another napkin and tried again as Mother went on.

‘It shouldn’t be too young-looking but a dress rather than an ensemble,’ she said. ‘Those add years to the older woman and I don’t want to look ancient. As long as it’s comfortable but shows off the body I’ve been working on for most of my adult life. No upper arms showing. No matter how much I exercise, age isn’t kind to upper arms.’ She picked up her teacup.

‘Something like this?’ I pushed the napkin towards Mother. She took out her glasses and inspected my scribbles.

‘And what would it be made of?’ she asked, her light brown eyes being magnified by her glasses.

‘Georgette or crêpe de Chine. Something silky and flowing. It’s going to be hot on the beach.’

‘Not see-through.’

‘Of course not,’ I agreed.

‘Colour?’

‘For you, I was thinking light peach.’

Mother pulled off her spectacles. ‘Magenta, this is it. You’ve just designed my wedding dress!’

‘Have I?’ I took the napkin and stared at my drawing. ‘I have. I could take this to a designer and have them put it together.’

Mother placed her hand on mine.

‘Why don’t you do it, Magenta? You had some fabulous ideas when you were on your fashion course. I remember that smashing dress you made for an assignment.’

‘Oh, Mother, that was a hundred years ago. I dropped out of my degree course. I was crap.’

‘Don’t use that word. And you were far from crap.’ She took the napkin. ‘This is my dress, Magenta, and I want you to make it.’

My sisters were in total agreement, each one grabbing the napkin and nodding in approval.

I became excited at the prospect of being the designer of my mother’s wedding dress. But could I really pull it off? I did a mental list of the things I’d already committed to do. I remembered I’d told Anthony I was going to repaint the kitchen when I got back from New York. Was I crazy to even consider this? But it was autumn and the wedding wasn’t until the following May; surely I’d have long enough.

‘Well the girls and I all have our dresses sorted,’ I said. ‘But I still have to shop for Father’s suit.’

‘Oh he’ll be happy with anything off the peg as long as it’s from his usual place,’ Mother insisted. ‘No one is expecting you to design clothes for the whole wedding party. Just my dress, darling, and I’m sure you could do it.’

I couldn’t resist the challenge.

‘I’ll do it.’ I had a wide grin plastered across my face as we left the teashop. I walked arm in arm with Mother along the wide street, my sisters flanking us. With a renewed energy, we all managed a little retail therapy before making our way back to the hotel.

I was excited about designing and making Mother’s dress. I’d need help – I knew that. I didn’t even possess a sewing machine. I’d either have to buy one or hire a seamstress. It was going to be a mammoth task, juggling wedding dress fabrics for Mother’s gown and colours for the kitchen walls. I could envisage a catalogue of disasters but not if I got organized.

At this point I didn’t see that being organized wasn’t going to be enough. I jumped in at the deep end – wedding planner, house decorator, and entrepreneur extraordinaire. Weeks later, at age thirty, I got my first grey hair, a sign that my stress levels were on the increase, but I still didn’t take a step back from it all. You see I was in my happy place, high on a year of Saturdays spent with Anthony.