Chapter Twenty-Nine
Laura was preparingto go home when a message came from Tirana
TIRANA: What happened? Why is Millie changing her mind?
LAURA: What?
TIRANA: About the dress.
A screenshot came through of a Twitter post.
NICOLE BARBER: Lord Du Montford’s son to wed, bride wearing Vivienne Westwood couture.
Another screen capture followed of an Instagram post showing a picture of Millie standing in front of a huge box with the logo Vivienne Westwood emblazoned all over it.
Stunned, Laura sat down on the edge of the chair which toppled sideways and spilled her on the floor. Her phone went skittering across the hardwood.
She got up, wincing at the pain in her elbow; she must have landed on it.
What had happened?
Had she imagined this? She needed to look at the images properly.
The phone had slid all the way to the back under one of the cabinets. She got down on her knees and tried reaching for it. Her elbow hurt too much so she tried the other arm and still couldn’t reach. She contemplated moving the cabinet but it was full of pots of paint and the acid for creating the Devore effect on her own dress. Laura had made herself a midnight blue velvet shift dress and used the acid to make flower petals and leaves to echo Millie’s dress.
You didn’t go shoving bits of furniture with liquid contents that could spill. She looked around for something to hook the phone out — a stick, a broom handle — but nothing worked. Part of her mind told her she had imagined the messages. Millie had been delighted with the dress; she couldn’t possibly change her mind.
Laura sat on the floor, legs akimbo, and rested her arms on her knees.
What the hell?
She thought back to her first meeting with Millie at the café surrounded by piles of beautiful drying herbs and flowers, talking about not wanting to wear white because it was her second marriage.
What could have possibly happened to change her mind?
Laura had no answers. Her phone dinged with another message. Was it her imagination or did her phone sound smug because it was safely out of reach?
She wished her friend Joanie were here; it was her idea to do this. Joanie was Millie’s bridesmaid, would Millie reject her gift so easily?
And why hadn’t she told Laura herself before letting her find out from social media?
Unless she was planning to tell her tonight over supper. But Nicole, smug, triumphant, evil Nicole couldn’t wait to gloat all over the internet.
She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. Blinking furiously, she focussed on anything, anything other than dress designs and crazy brides who changed their minds.
Another message dinged, sounding even more smug.
She got up and unlocked the cupboard and took out the pots and containers carefully, one at a time, and placed them on the table, making sure the dress was far away and safe from any spillage.
Finally empty, the cabinet could be moved and there was the phone lodged in the corner. Bastard!
She picked it up. There was another message from Tirana with a forwarded tweet.
NICOLE BARBER: Amazing help from couturiers at Dior, Vera Wang and Oscar de la Renta, Zuhair Murad and Chanel. Very generous with advice and personalized consultations. The bride has made her choice.
The second message was from Pierre.
PIERRE: Don’t look on Twitter.
