“Thank you for making the time to see me today. I won’t keep you long. I’m aware we all have places to be.” I open the folder on the table and start organizing the documents inside. “If you’re happy, I’ll go ahead and tell you everything I’ve done in the last week or so. You can let me know your thoughts, then tell me anything else that needs doing and I’ll get onto it.”
Lady Meade and Cordelia share a look.
“All right.” Lady Meade nods. “Please do fill us in.”
I start with Clio Vaughn. Our meeting had gone brilliantly, despite (or perhaps because of) Cordelia not being present. It turns out that renowned photographers aren’t necessarily terrifying in person, as I’d been expecting. Clio was shy, smiley, and extremely modest. She explained that she was interested in being involved in Cordelia’s wedding because, although she wasn’t a typical event photographer, her main focus was people and this wedding was, no doubt, going to include some rather high-profile faces. She was fascinating to talk to and we ended up getting on very well.
“I told her the new date for the wedding and she says she’ll move things. She is a confirmed yes, if you would like her to be your official photographer,” I say to Cordelia, looking her directly in the eye. “Can you confirm yes or no now? I should be getting back to her at the latest this evening and she’d like to meet you soon if it’s a yes.”
Cordelia receives a sharp nod from her mother, then speaks: “Yes. I would like Clio.”
“Great. I’ll book in a meeting for you to chat immediately. You can send me your schedule for next week and I’ll get that sorted. With regard to the nine other photographers you wanted—”
“Nine?” Lady Meade is stunned, turning to Cordelia. “You asked forninemore photographers?”
“It’s a large wedding.” Cordelia shrugs, refusing to be embarrassed by her outlandish request.
“Clio can provide three assistants. I’ve made a list for you of all other photographers I know or who have been recommended,” I say, sliding the list across the table for her to pick up and examine. “Everyone on that list is available on the wedding day. I was sure to check. Although they’re all brilliant wedding photographers in their own right, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind taking instruction from Clio on the day if necessary, but we should run it past them first to be sure.”
“This is wonderful, Emily, thank you, but I can’t see us needing nine,” Lady Meade says, frowning as she takes the piece of paper. “We can discuss this with your father, Cordelia, and then contact however many we need.”
“On to the next point,” I say, keeping things moving as planned. The less opportunity I give Cordelia to take control, the better. “You asked for peacocks to adorn the ceiling of the banquet hall while your guests dined.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Meade says, but I don’t let her distract me. I’m on a mission.
“I would strongly recommend that you didn’t try to create something that might be cruel to animals,” I explain calmly. “When I was lucky enough to visit Dashwell Hall, I noted that the ceiling of the banquet hall is richly painted with biblical scenes and, having done some further research, I’ve learned the paintings are from the seventeenth century. It is absolutely not my decision, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t suggest you leave the ceiling as it is for guests to enjoy a magnificent piece of history.”
“Cordelia, honestly, what is all this about peacocks?” Lady Meade asks her daughter wearily.
“However, if you are still keen on the peacock idea,” I continue, when Cordelia purses her lips, unwilling to answer, “I’ve found a couple of extraordinary luxury-event companies whohave assured me they will be able to create a ceiling of peacock feathers. They’ve sent over ideas on how they’d do it.”
I pass the designs across the table.
“I’m impressed with how creative they’ve been, actually. So, have a look at those and tell me if you’d like me to follow up with any of them. And speaking of decorating the hall, the four thousand candles you wanted aren’t a problem. I’ve included a list of companies I’ve contacted that can supply that many candles in time—” I hand Lady Meade the list. “—and I’ve also noted down the color of the candles next to the company details, as you’ll see there. I wasn’t sure if you wanted a certain color, like red as it’s Christmas, or whether you wanted a white theme. The only worry I’d have, personally, is that so many candles may be a major fire hazard in Dashwell. Do correct me if I’m wrong.”
“This is outrageous,” Lady Meade says sternly, as Cordelia takes a sip of champagne. “We can’t have that many candles, Cordelia! Do you want the house to burn down?”
“You can let me know how you want to move forward on that,” I say, shuffling some papers around, preparing for the next point on my agenda. “I’d need to know fairly quickly, though, as the date really is just round the corner.”
“I can tell you the decision now,” Lady Meade says, looking at Cordelia with great disapproval. “No need to order any candles. I already have someone decorating the house for the wedding. She’s in charge of all that.”
“Perfect,” I say, making a note to cross that off my list. “Now, on to flowers.”
“We have a few people in mind,” Lady Meade begins. “I’ve already contacted some of them.”
“Wonderful. Well, just in case, I phoned Beth earlier this week and had a great chat with her. Beth from Paxton Flowers. I think you know her, Lady Cordelia?”
Cordelia’s expression softens. “You spoke to Beth?”
“Tom introduced us when I was in Paxton and I thought she was really something. She spoke about you and I had the idea that she might just be the perfect florist for your wedding. It’s amazing how, when the supplier knows the couple, they can bring their personalities into the flowers. And I find that using a local supplier is always a win for everyone involved. She’s very passionate about you and your family, and Dashwell Hall.”
“Beth is truly talented and a friend of the family,” Lady Meade acknowledges. “But she’s a very small business. I’d worry that she’d struggle with a wedding for four hundred people.”
“I already thought of that and discussed it with her. She’s reached out to all the other florists she knows and trusts in the area and is ready with a small army of them to help if you’d like her services. She’d be in charge creatively, once she’s discussed everything you and Jonathan want, Lady Cordelia, but she’d have plenty of people ready to help.” I hesitate, wondering whether to say the next bit. “I mentioned to her that you were thinking a white bouquet, then discussed black with Nicole Percy”—Cordelia shifts in her seat—“and Beth said that of course she’d be able to do whatever you wanted, but she did remember that when you worked at the shop you were very fond of big arrangements with splashes of color. Apparently you used to say those arrangements were your favorite because they were both classic and bold. A bit like you.” I pause. “Her words, not mine.”
Cordelia can’t help but smile. “I can’t believe she remembers that.”
I move on swiftly, not wanting to involve any kind of emotion. “I’ve warned her that you’ll have contacted other florists and may already have entered into a contract with them, so if you don’t want to go with her, it’s no problem. It was just an idea, something a bit more personal and local to Dashwell Hall.”
