A Wedding at Leopard Tree Lodge / Three Times A Bridesmaid…: A Wedding at Leopard Tree Lodge. Nicola Marsh
She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing discount about this wedding but, since I wasn’t part of the negotiations, I couldn’t say what financial arrangements were made with the owners. I was brought in at the last minute when the original wedding planner had to pull out. Not that it’s any of your business,’ she added.
‘If it had been your call?’ he pressed. ‘Would you have chosen Leopard Tree Lodge?’
‘The venue is the bride’s decision,’ she replied. Then, with the smallest of shrugs, ‘I might have tried to talk her out of it. Not that the location isn’t breathtaking,’ she assured him. ‘The drama of flying in over the desert and then suddenly seeing the green of the Okavango delta spread out below you, the gleam of water amongst the reeds. The river…’
She was going through the motions, he realised. Talking to him, but her brain was somewhere else. No doubt working out the implications of a cuckoo in the nest.
‘The photographs are going to be breathtaking,’ she said, making an effort. ‘Any special deal that Celebrity managed to hammer out of the company that owns this place is going to be cheap in return for the PR hit. Six weeks of wall-to-wall coverage in the biggest lifestyle magazine in the UK. Well, five. The first week is devoted to the hen weekend.’
Undoubtedly. A full house as well as a ton of publicity. Whoever it was on his staff who’d negotiated this deal had done a very good job. The fact that he or she hadn’t brought it to his attention in the hope of earning a bonus suggested that they knew what his reaction would have been.
Not that they had to. His role was research and development, not the day-to-day running of things. No doubt they were simply waiting for the jump in demand to prove their point for him. And earn them a bonus.
Smart thinking. It was just what he’d have done in their position.
Tf the setting is so great, what’s your problem with it?’ he asked.
It was one thing for him to hate the idea. Quite another for someone to tell him that it was all wrong for her big fancy media event.
‘In my experience there’s more than enough capacity for disaster when it comes to something in which such strong emotions are invested, without transporting bride, groom, a hundred plus guests, photographers, a journalist, hair and make-up artists, not to mention all their kit and caboodle six thousand miles via three separate aircraft. One of them so small that it’ll need a separate trip just for the wedding dress.’
‘You’re exaggerating.’
‘Probably,’ she admitted. ‘But not by much.’
‘No. And that’s another problem,’ he said, seizing the opening she’d given him. ‘It’s a gift to the green lobby. They’ll use the high profile of the event to get their own free PR ride over the carbon footprint involved in transporting everyone halfway round the world just so that two people can say “I do”.’
‘You think they should have chosen the village church?’
‘Why not?’
‘Good question,’ she said. ‘So, tell me, Gideon McGrath, how did you get here? By hot-air balloon?’
For a man who probably flew more miles in a year than most people did in a lifetime that sounded very appealing and he told her so.
‘Unfortunately, there is no way of making a balloon take you where you want to go.’
‘Maybe the trick is to want to go where the balloon takes you,’ she replied.
‘That’s a bit too philosophical for me.’
‘Really? Well, you can stop worrying. Tal Newman’s PR people have anticipated the negative reaction and he’s going to offset the air travel involved by planting a sizeable forest.’
‘Where?’ he asked, his interest instantly piqued. A lot of his clients offset their travel, but maybe he could make it easy for them by offering it as part of the package. Do more. Put something back, perhaps. Something meaningful…
‘The forest?’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, that information is embargoed until the day before the wedding.’
‘In other words, you don’t know.’
‘No idea,’ she admitted. ‘Everything about this wedding is on a “need to know” basis. Not that you could call anyone and tell them.’ She thought about that and added, ‘You know it’s possible that the lack of communication may be one of the reasons Celebrity seized on this location. Without a signal, there’s no chance of the guests, or staff, sending illicit photographs to rival magazines and newspapers via their mobile phones so that they can run spoilers.’
‘I thought you said the location was the bride’s call?’
‘It is for my brides but this isn’t just a wedding, it’s a media event. Of course Crystal apparently loves animals so it fits the image.’
He snorted derisively.
‘Any animals she sees here are going to be wild and dangerous—especially the furry ones. She’d have done better getting married in a petting zoo.’
‘You might say that,’ she replied with a deadstraight face. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’ Then she took out her notebook and jotted something down. ‘But thanks for the idea.’
He laughed, jerking the pain in his back into life.
Josie’s hand twitched as if to reach out again, but she closed it tight about her pen and he told himself that he was glad. He preferred his relationships physical, uncomplicated. That way, everyone knew where they were. The minute emotions, caring got involved, they became dangerous. Impossible to control. With limitless possibilities for pain.
‘You don’t believe in any of this, do you?’ he said, guarding himself against regret. ‘You provide the flowers and frills and fireworks but underneath you’re a cynic.’
‘The flowers and frills,’ she replied, ‘but it was stipulated by the resort that there should be no fireworks.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. You never know which way a startled elephant will run.’
‘That’s an image I could have done without,’ she said. ‘But, since you won’t be here, there’s no need to concern yourself. How was the coffee?’
Gideon looked at his empty cup. ‘Do you know, I was so absorbed by all this wedding talk that I scarcely noticed.’ Holding it out for a refill, he said, ‘I’ll concentrate this time.’
Josie replenished it without a word, then leaned forward to stir in another spoonful of honey.
‘Enough?’ she asked, raising long, naturally dark lashes to look questioningly at him.
‘Perfect,’ he said as he was offered a second glimpse of her entrancing cleavage. A second close-up of that faint scar.
Was it a childhood fall? A car accident? He tried to imagine what might have caused such an injury.
‘So, what have you actually done to your back?’ she asked, distracting him. ‘Did you get into a tussle with a runaway elephant? Wrestle an alligator? Total a four-by-four chasing a rhino?’
‘Actually, since we’re in Africa, that would be a crocodile,’ he pointed out, sipping more slowly at the second cup. Savouring it. Making it last. He didn’t want her to rush off. ‘The creatures you should never smile at.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s a song. Never smile at a crocodile…’ As he sang the words, he felt the tug of the past. Where the hell had that come from?
‘Peter Pan,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, but I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan.’
He shrugged without thinking, but this time it didn’t catch him so