The Surprise Party. Sue Welfare
who looked after her nails, had just brought over the new shade card for her to take a look at.
Liz had emailed Grant the directions and the postcode and then, just in case he still couldn’t find it, had popped round to his house while he was at the office and got his Polish cleaner to let her in so she could programme the route into the sat nav in his new 4x4 and the Audi. Grant had taken the Aston to work, which was a real shame because she had been hoping that that was the one he’d come up to Norfolk in.
Mrs Elizabeth Bingham-Forbes. Lizzie Bingham-Forbes. It sounded so good, so natural, it just rolled off the tongue.
Liz glanced down at her newly manicured hands; obviously it was a way off yet but she was thinking maybe a big solitaire might be nice, with something really special inscribed inside the band. Or maybe there was something antique and elegant in Grant’s family that had been passed down from generation to generation. That would be nice. It would probably need remodelling but people with taste understood that.
If the ratings for Starmaker carried on as they were then they could probably swing a deal with Hello! or OK for the rights to the wedding. It had crossed her mind on the drive up to Norfolk that maybe she should get her agent onto it now – or at least dip a toe in the waters to see if they would be in with a chance.
Lizzie wriggled her fingers in anticipation, then leant forward to look more closely at her face in the magnifying mirror she’d brought with her, turning her head one way and then the other, gently pulling the skin of her cheeks up a little with her fingertips, wondering whether the time had come for a little lift.
One of the make-up artists on the show had recommended she try a new Russian cosmetic dermatologist called Gregor who had been working on a radical new treatment to deal with lip lines, crow’s feet and loss of elasticity. Not that Lizzie had any of those problems yet of course, but Gregor said he was always keen to start early – better to preserve rather than repair – and that she had the most wonderful skin tone and quality for someone of her age.
Lizzie had managed a smile: someone of her age – for God’s sake, she was thirty-four not sixty-four. Anyway, apparently she was an ideal candidate for Gregor’s new treatment, needing just six initial diagnostic consultations and then twelve holistic in-house therapy sessions, followed by a regular regime which he promised Lizzie would help restore, retain, and maintain that springy dewy look that teenagers took for granted.
Lizzie leant in close to the mirror and screwed up her eyes, trying to judge how the new regime was coming along. Her glasses were in her bag but there was no way she was going to use them if she could manage without.
In an ideal world Gregor recommended four applications of his patent skin cream a day, although he understood most people (the implication being the lesser mortals) could manage only two. Gregor had looked a little disappointed when he’d said it. There were two little tablets to be taken with Gregor’s specially electro-neuro-something-ed mineral water, at fourteen quid a bottle, followed by an intensive facewash night and morning, bi-weekly facepacks, and then daily sessions with a strange silver machine with a long handle that you passed over the skin on your face, neck, hands and bosom before you went to bed.
Bosom was a very Gregor-esque word. He had lovingly lingered over the sound of it, extending the first syllable so that it sounded like something warm and liquid in his mouth, while his assistant had demonstrated the technique on a medical mannequin, pointing out the layers of deep tissue that the machine’s special rays reached and improved.
Apparently it did something really impressive with oxygen and magnets and ions . . . or maybe it was crystals and ozone and crushed rocks from Tibet. Liz couldn’t remember which now. Anyway, it puffed out air, smelt a bit like a mixture of cloves and seaweed and cost about the same as a really good holiday.
Slipping off her robe, Liz plugged in the machine and set the dial to high; after all, she wanted to look her fabulous best for Grant.
Chapter Four
In the marquee it was getting warm. Suzie was showing a copy of one of the original wedding photos taken at her parents’ reception to Matt Holman, whose company she had hired to do the catering.
‘God, it’s so romantic all this, isn’t it?’ he said with a smile, his gaze moving backwards and forwards between the photo and her face and then around the inside of the marquee. He took another long hard look at the photo. ‘I reckon we’ve just about got the look right. What do you think they’ll say?’
Suzie shrugged. ‘I genuinely don’t know. Mum and Dad are both a bit low key. I’m just hoping they’re going to be pleased with it. Actually I’m sure they will be, they’ll love everyone being together, having a good time. They’ve always had a lot of friends and most of them are going to be here tonight, but they’re not too keen on big displays and big fusses if you know what I mean.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘So a buffet supper for half of Norfolk?’
‘Might be a bridge too far, but it seemed like a good idea at the time and I’m sure they’ll be okay. I mean, how often are you married for forty years?’
He smiled and moved in a little closer. ‘You know, you look fabulous. I can’t wait to see you in your new outfit.’
Suzie reddened and hastily stepped back. ‘Stop it,’ she said in an undertone. ‘People will see us.’
He grinned. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, I do,’ she hissed. ‘Let’s get back to the arrangements, shall we? We’re going to put giant-sized copies of the original photos up on the display boards on the screens in front of your prep area,’ she said, pointing over to the far corner of the tent. ‘I thought people might like to see how everyone’s changed over the years and I’m hoping it’ll break the ice a bit.’
Matt nodded. ‘Great idea – you know this is a lovely photo. Has anyone ever told you, you look just like your mum?’
Suzie raised her eyebrows, warning him off.
‘Don’t look at me like that. It was meant as a compliment,’ said Matt defensively. ‘Good bones. Anyway we’re more or less bang on schedule; all tables in all the right places, garlands and swags look great. The top table is a picture,’ he continued. ‘Food’s all under control. Champagne’s chilling. So all we need now are the guests and the happy couple.’
Suzie nodded. ‘And we’ve still got the banners to put up.’
‘The banners?’
‘Uh-huh. Ten feet long, three feet high – “Happy Fortieth Wedding Anniversary to Rose and Jack”. I know it sounds a bit tacky and it probably is, but I was persuaded into buying them by the woman I bought the flowers from—’
‘Conned more like, you mean,’ Matt said with a grin. ‘Come on, before we break out the step-ladders, how about we grab a little drink? The outside bar is up and ready to roll. Steady the old nerves – or do you fancy road-testing a bottle of champagne?’
‘Nice idea, Matt, but I really need to be stone cold sober for the next couple of hours.’
‘Don’t be such a control freak, Suzie, relax. One little glass isn’t going to hurt anyone.’ Matt moved in closer and slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘And besides I want to have a quiet word with you,’ he murmured. ‘Have you had a chance to talk to Sam about us yet?’
‘Will you stop it? This is a family party. There isn’t any us,’ Suzie hissed, pushing him away as she glanced nervously towards the open door of the marquee where she could see Sam pacing up and down, talking into his mobile. ‘No us – all right? The last thing we want is anyone seeing us and jumping to conclusions.’
‘Come on, you know what I mean. You’ll have to say something to him sooner or later. And he’s going to be hurt if he finds out from someone else.’
‘Don’t,’ said Suzie, raising a hand to silence him. ‘It’s just really difficult