The Bride Of Santa Barbara. Angela Devine
You could do nothing but lose. With a strong feeling of unreality and the first fluttering pangs of excitement she picked up his Biro and notepad and began to make a list.
‘A dozen sewing machines,’ she said. ‘Dressmakers’ dummies, cutting boards, scissors, pins, lots of coloured threads, chalk...’
Daniel’s eyes narrowed in amusement.
‘There,’ he said. ‘It’s not so painful, is it? And you won’t even need to do any of the sewing yourself. These women have all worked as wardrobe mistresses in Hollywood. They’re the best there is. All you’ll have to do is tell them what you want.’
A fresh wave of panic washed over Beth.
‘But I don’t know how to tell anyone what to do,’ she protested. ‘I’ve never done this kind of thing before. I’ve always had to do all the work myself except for a little bit of help from Warren. I wouldn’t know where to begin with bossing people around.’
‘Then you’d better learn fast,’ ordered Daniel crisply. ‘I’d say your career is on the verge of taking off like a rocket. So I suggest you just hang on and enjoy the ride.’
Twenty minutes later Daniel’s valet, Benson, arrived back from the city with half a dozen carrier bags full of clothes, far more that Beth would ever have thought necessary for a three-day period. Daniel picked up the bags and led her through to the guest wing where he showed her into a vast bedroom decorated in Spanish style. Dropping the bags unceremoniously on the bed, he looked at his watch.
‘Be as quick as you can,’ he warned. ‘Wendy and the girls will be here soon.’
When the door had closed behind him, Beth emptied the bags out on to the bed. Her eyes opened wide in amazement. Benson had bought enough clothes for a three-month holiday rather than a three-day working stint. There was hand-embroidered French underwear, three cotton nightdresses, a bikini, shorts, T-shirts, half a dozen pairs of shoes ranging from blue trainers to black evening shoes, a tracksuit, a dressing-gown, three day-dresses and a smart business suit in pale blue linen. In addition a waterproof bag held a selection of toiletries and make-up. Shaking her head in disbelief, Beth chose a pair of blue and yellow checkered shorts with a matching pale blue top and leather sandals.
When she was dressed, she took the expensive hairbrush from the toiletries bag and brushed her blonde curls into some kind of order. Then, staring at herself thoughtfully in the huge mirror above the dressing-table, she applied some make-up. A light beige foundation, a hint of blusher on her cheeks, a coral-pink lipstick and a touch of blue eyeshadow to bring out the colour of her eyes. ‘I’ll bet this is the weirdest “wedding-day” anyone ever had,’ she muttered to herself.
Just at that moment there was a knock at the door and she hurried to answer it. It was Daniel.
‘Are you ready, Beth?’ he asked. ‘Wendy and the girls are here.’
She followed him along the hallway, her sandals scuffing lightly on the brown terracotta tiles. Turning a corner, he flung open a door and revealed a spacious ballroom more than forty feet long. Beth’s mouth fell open at the scene of frantic activity that faced her. On the opposite side of the room the French doors were open and two workmen in blue overalls were staggering in, carrying a heavy sewing cabinet. Eight or nine other sewing cabinets were already set up along the room and some of them already had sewing machines in place. At the far end of the room a woman with ginger hair was pushing a couple of full-sized mirrors on castors into place. Next to them was a noticeboard covered in black hessian. The hum of conversation was reverberating around the room, but Daniel raised his voice above the uproar and addressed the woman with the ginger hair.
‘Wendy, could you come here, please? I want you to meet Beth.’
The woman turned round and her homely features split into a wide smile. She was covered with freckles as heavily as if they had been sprinkled on with a chocolate shaker. Her purple shorts and top were already festooned with the tools of her trade. A tape measure hung around her neck and a wrist pin-cushion studded with bright red and yellow and blue pins was attached firmly to her left wrist. She hurried across the room to meet them, both hands outstretched.
‘Oh, Daniel!’ she cried. ‘This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in weeks. Hi, Beth, how are you? I’m Wendy Fulton. Now, what do you want us to do?’
Hesitantly Beth began to explain. In a moment Wendy interrupted her to find a sketch-book and some coloured pencils. Beth sat down and began to draw and talk at the same time, with a sense of rising excitement. Was it really possible that they might achieve this incredible feat? Her eyes met Daniel’s and he gave her a faint smile. She caught her breath and then smiled back at him uncertainly.
‘Just call Blair’s down in the city if you need any fabric sent up,’ he told Wendy. ‘I’ll be in my study if you need me. And make sure this young lady gets some sleep some time tonight, won’t you?’
And with that he slipped away.
Beth had never worked so hard in all her life. Nor had she ever known that work could be so exhilarating. For the next few hours she was so busy that she scarcely had time to breathe. Under her direction the twelve women traced out patterns, cut fabrics and sewed together garments with a speed that amazed and enthralled her. And as the day wore on her secret conviction that Daniel Pryor was stark raving mad slowly began to give way to the wild hope that he might be a genuine miracle-worker. By seven o’clock in the evening, when the second shift of dressmakers came on duty, several garments were already completed. And more were laid out in pieces on the floor or pinned to the dressmakers’ dummies. When Benson came into the ballroom to announce that dinner was being served in the dining-room, Beth was too excited to join the others.
‘I’ll just stay on here and keep working,’ she said. ‘I’m really not hungry but if you could send me in something to drink I’d be grateful.’
Ten minutes later the English butler returned with a glass of lemon mineral water, a toasted chicken sandwich and salad on a tray. Beth smiled warmly at him, gulped down the mineral water and left the sandwich for a moment while she went to check on some problems. For the rest of the evening time flew by as she cut out fabric, drew coloured sketches or hovered anxiously behind the sewing machines, directing the workers. At the back of her mind she noted absently that Benson had switched on the overhead lights and that the garden outside was growing dark, but she was absolutely stunned when a sudden burst of laughter in the corridor outside the room announced the return of the first shift of workers. The ginger-haired Wendy came back into the room and stopped dead with a reproving clicking of her tongue.
‘Oh, Beth!’ she exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Are you still here? Don’t you realise it’s three o’clock in the morning?’
‘What?’ cried Beth. ‘I don’t believe you.’
She was crouching on the floor over a cutting-board and, as she tried to rise to her feet, a sudden cramp locked the muscles of her leg so that she had to hobble around painfully, squealing and massaging her calf. Wendy gave an exasperated groan and came to her aid.
‘Daniel will be furious if he hears that you’ve been running yourself as hard as this,’ she said. ‘Come on, sit down for a minute, honey, and let me massage it. When did you last eat?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Beth vaguely, giving a low gasp of pain as Wendy kneaded the cramped muscle. ‘I had a chicken sandwich earlier on.’
Wendy’s glance tracked across the room to the plate containing a large toasted sandwich with a single bite taken out of it.
‘Oh, did you?’ she demanded drily.
Beth grinned, showing fugitive dimples. ‘Well, I meant to,’ she said. ‘Oh, that leg is much better. Thank you, Wendy.’
Wendy hauled her to her feet. ‘Look, why don’t you go to bed now?’ she demanded. ‘You look really bushed.’
‘I know,’ admitted Beth ruefully. ‘But I can’t bear to leave until I know that suede jacket