‘No.I mean, yes?’ Sam replied, her bottom lip wobbling, wishing she’d applied for the summer job at the fudge concession instead.
One of the catering students elbow-nudged the other with a sidelong glance at the poor struggling girl.
‘And you two,’ Minty rounded on the boys. ‘Breaks are fifteen minutes every four hours. Please refer to the schedule.’ Tapping her pen on her clipboard, she indicated the thirteen-page document that was also printed out and taped across the kitchen walls to ensure there was no room for confusion today. ‘And remember, if in doubt…?’ she prompted, fixing a sharp eye on the smaller of the two students.
‘Uh, shout?’ he said.
‘Shout?Shout?Good grief, no. If there’s even the tiniest hint of trouble, head straight for Jowan. I mean,Mrde Marisco Clove-Congreve.’ She turned to indicate the gaffer tape cross on the floor like an actor’s mark, where Jowan was to be stationed all day. One of the boys took the opportunity to snort a laugh and Minty’s head whipped back accusingly. ‘He will liaise with me on the…?’
‘Talkie-walkie?’ Sam threw in, unable to hide the fact she wished this was over. They’d already been through the whole thing the day before and there is such a thing as overkill.
‘Close enough,’ Minty told her witheringly, not understanding why the young people regarded the black plastic radio strung across her body as a ridiculous relic of a time before even their parents were born. She’d found them in the attics and was delighted they still worked, so why wouldn’t she make use of them?
As if to prove their efficacy, the device crackled into life now, making everyone start in fright, even Minty.
‘You there, Mint, my love?’ asked Jowan who, from the sounds of him, was stationed somewhere near Newfoundland and not, in fact, in the pantry.
Minty dismissed her serving staff, telling them to wipe each champagne glass in the crates before setting them out on the trestle tables, and toUse the special glass cloths, please.
She lifted her radio to her face. ‘This is Coordinator One. Why aren’t you using your call sign? Over.’
‘It’s me, Mint.’
‘Well, I know that, but our guests might overhear and think we’re running some kind of amateur operation.Over.’
Jowan sighed heavily into the crackling receiver. Guests wouldn’t be arriving for at least a couple of hours. ‘This is Number Two. Over.’
Minty dropped her shoulders, giving up. ‘Is there a problem, Jowan?’
‘No, Coordinator One. Only it’s time for Aldous’s walk. Over.’
Minty looked at her watch, then consulted her schedule. ‘Quite right.’ And then, thinking again, she added, ‘When you return, get him in his spot in Leonid and Izaak’s room. We can’t have him frisking our guests for cheesy nibbles.’
She thought she heard Jowan chuckling before he delivered a terribly serious, ‘Roger that. Number Two. Love you. Over and out.’
Through the high windows, she glimpsed a van pulling up on the lawn outside.
‘No, no, no! Round the back!’ she called, even though they couldn’t hear her.
Marching from the ballroom, she grumbled about how in her day carrying out simple instructions was theleasta delivery person could manage and hadn’t they received their copy of her schedule, for goodness’ sake?
From the window above, Monty watched the unfortunate florist’s delivery guy gaping in wide-mouthed amazement in the face of Minty’s dressing down, as she pointed a neat red fingernail at the tyre-trampled grass. Failing to get through to him, she was now exasperatedly showing him the schedule.
‘She’s going to lose a supplier at this rate,’ Monty said, turning from the window to see Elliot brushing his long hair down over the jacket of his dark suit. Jude wasn’t going to know what hit her when she found this guy standing at the end of the aisle.
‘Ready, mate?’ Monty ventured.
Elliot set the brush down and tugged at his collar. ‘Ready to marry Jude, definitely. Bit less ready for Minty’s wedding circus.’ He assessed himself in the full-length mirror, pushing back his sleek black hair. ‘Should I do a plait or something?’
‘Uh, no, loose is best. More weddingy?’
‘Is it?’
Monty shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Might tie it back,’ said Elliot, unsure, and worrying at his cuffs now.
‘Doesn’t Minty have anything to say about the groom’s hair inThe Schedule?’ Monty joked, gesturing wryly at the many A4 pages Blu Tacked across the walls of the high-beamed attic apartment which Izaak and Leonid had made their own with every houseplant known to green-fingered man.
