Evan glances over his shoulder at me, his brow furrowed, before returning his attention to Philippa Berkeley. ‘I’m afraid we’re the only two here. Harri and Bethan have made other plans.’
‘Would you be so kind?’ she implores, pressing her palms together in a prayer-like plea and giving us full-on puppy-dog eyes.
‘What would we have to do?’ I ask reluctantly, noticing that I subconsciously adjusted my accent to sound a bit more ‘proper’.
‘Just serve champagne, the caterers will do the rest. We would be so grateful.’
I really don’t fancy serving champagne to a bunch of toffs, but she’s asking nicely and is clearly stressed. Plus, she seems decent and the job sounds easy enough.
‘Okay,’ I agree just as Evan says, ‘No worries, Mrs B. What time do you need us?’
‘Could you come back at four?’ she asks hopefully.
Evan checks his watch as my eyes widen with alarm.
‘Or four thirty?’ she amends.
That’s still no time at all.
‘Do you need us to wear a uniform?’ Evan asks.
What have I let myself in for?
‘Yes, black. You can help yourselves to a polo shirt from the storeroom if you need to.’
‘All good, see you in a bit,’ Evan says.
She turns around and shouts jubilantly across the room: ‘All sorted, Gwen! Our glorious gardeners are stepping in!’
I shower, do my hair and make-up, and change into a knee-length black dress before grabbing a quick bite to eat. I don’t know how long I’ll be expected to help out, but hopefully it won’t be all night.
Evan knocks on the cottage door at four twenty.
‘Is this okay?’ I ask when I answer, waving my hands at my dress. ‘Or do I need to wear a polo shirt too?’ The black one he has on must normally be used by catering staff, but it’s the same design as our gardening uniform with a white embroidered crest.
‘No, you look great.’ His gaze catches on my lips.
I’m not sure he’s ever seen me wear red lipstick before. I wanted to feel bold and brave.
‘The only black shoes I have are heels.’ They’re the only pair of heels I have, period – I gave so much away when I left home and these have still barely been worn. ‘I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’
‘I’m not sure we had much choice,’ he replies with a grin.
‘No,’ I agree wryly, following him out the door andlocking it behind me. I slip my key into a pocket, along with my lipstick. I’m travelling light tonight.
The Great Hall is beautifully bright and airy, with whitewashed walls, a cream stone floor and sunlight pouring in through a multitude of windows on three aspects. The garden views are stunning.
I had assumed Gwen would be overseeing tonight as she was here earlier, but I soon learn that the outside caterers are in charge. Their boss is a total dragon lady.
‘Can you put that ponytail into a bun?’ she barks at me as she proffers a frilly white apron, hustling me into it. ‘And your lipstick is too bright. Please remove it.’
‘I don’t have any bobby pins,’ I reply irritably, at which she huffs with annoyance and instructs another girl to go and get some for me.
Who’s doing who the favour here? Am I even being paid for this?
Once I’ve grudgingly removed my lipstick and styled my hair to the dragon lady’s approval, I’m shooed into the kitchen, a 1970s modern addition that is in dire need of updating. Guests are due to arrive from five thirty and there are still a lot of champagne glasses that need polishing. Evan is already hard at work at one of the pockmarked grey laminate counters. I’m in a foul mood as I grab a tea towel and join him, but when the string band starts warming up, I pause. What the hell? Is that ‘Creep’ by Radiohead?
Indie rock songs must be their thing, because ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ by The Verve is next. I wonder who booked the band.
