Page 34 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
All my love for ever,
Rosie x
Nine
The next morning we were up bright and early.
The wedding was at eleven o’clock, so we didn’t have long to get ready before we had to leave for the church on the other side of town. I scrutinized my appearance in the full-length mirror that hung in my hotel room while I waited for Sean to arrive.
I hadn’t really known what to expect when I turned up at Oscar’s shop early yesterday morning, but I had been pleasantly surprised.
Oscar’s tiny boutique was a cornucopia of fashion. He had everything in there from sixties chic and seventies retro, to up-to-the-minute designer wear. Everything was unique—and very “Oscar.” The only thing the clothes had in common was that they were all jostling for prime position on the bulging rails and in the shiny display cases.
I had no idea where to begin looking, but Oscar produced three perfectly matched outfits immediately upon my arrival. I tried each one on in turn and was surprised to find I looked quite good in all of them.
In the end we settled on a dress—a simple design, in redcashmere. It had a high roll neck, short sleeves, and fit me like a glove.
“It could have been made for you, darling!” Oscar cried when he saw me in it. “Now we just need some accessories.”
The accessories—a thick black belt, a pair of stiletto-heeled, black suede boots which we purchased from a shop three doors down from Oscar’s, and a long, black wool coat—finished off the outfit perfectly.
“Darling, you will look divine!” Oscar approved when he saw the whole ensemble. “What a shame you’re only going with Sean to the wedding; it’ll be wasted on him.”
As I turned back and forth in front of my hotel mirror I knew Oscar was right: it was lovely. Even my self-critical eyes were enjoying what they saw for once. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about my appearance usually, far from it. I liked a good shopping spree as much as the next Gok Wan or Stacy London—I just didn’t do dresses that often. In fact when we’d been to seeKingLearDavid commented that the next time he was likely to see me in a dress would be on our wedding day. Which at the time I felt was a little unfair, but in retrospect was probably quite justified.
As if he knew, my mobile phone rang on the dressing table beside me and David’s name flashed on the screen. I debated whether to answer it. But David had been so good about not calling me too often since I left that I thought perhaps I should speak to him this time.
“David, how are you?” I asked brightly.
“I’m well, Scarlett, how are you? How’s London?” David’s voice sounded a bit forced.
“Er…I’m not actually in London right now.”
“Where are you then?”
“Glasgow.”
“Glasgow! What the hell are you doing in Glasgow?”
“I’m going to a wedding,” I replied calmly.
“Whose wedding?”
“Er…” Oh God, what was the name of the bride again? Or the groom, for that matter? “It’s a friend’s cousin’s wedding. I just met up with them the other day in London, and they mentioned the wedding and asked if I’d like to go with them.”
“What, just like that?”
“Yes.”
I desperately tried to think of a way I could change the subject quickly. “It’s a lovely hotel we’re staying in, David—the Radisson.”
“The Radisson! Blimey, you’re not paying, are you, Scarlett?”
Yep, it worked. “No, my friend is, David, don’t worry.”
There was a knock at my door.
“Oh, that’ll be them now; we’re just about to leave for the church. I’ll have to catch up with you another time. Bye-bye now!”
