Page 3 of The Last Saturday In July
Jess shook her head. ‘I’d have heard.’ Her mobile rang and she checked the caller ID before swiping. ‘Jess Bradley.’ She listened for a moment. ‘I’ll be there, thanks.’ She hung up. ‘That was Frank Charleston’s secretary. There’s a meeting in ten minutes. Listen, if anyone’s looking for me …’ She hesitated.
Emily nodded furiously. ‘I’ll be able to transfer them, I promise.’
Jess smiled. ‘Great. Thanks, Emily. Catch you later.’
Jess slipped into her office and pulled the blind. Since the weekend, everything seemed to be moving far too fast. Her own wedding, which had seemed ages away, was now in less than a month. She wished … no, what else was there to wish for? She and Simon had been together for three years. And he’d been there for her and her family, right through her dad’s two-and-a-half-year battle with cancer. After her dad had got the all-clear six months ago, Simon had proposed. For Jess’s family, it had been a double celebration. Almost everyone agreed that she and Simon were a perfect match.
But now this. She’d never cheated on Simon before, and she still had no idea why it had happened now. She’d drunk too much, and that guy Declan had been … oh God, she had to stop thinking about him. Thefact was, she wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was a grown woman.
She dialled her voicemail and listened to the brief message Ian had left.Jess, Ian Finnegan here, glad I got through. Chat when I see you later.She checked her diary: there was nothing about Ian coming to Dublin. She’d phone him back after the meeting. Right now, her chest felt so tight.
Five minutes of yoga should sort her. She stepped out of her heels onto the thinly carpeted floor and tried to concentrate on breathing.In – two, three – belly out. Out – two, three – belly in. She placed a hand on her tummy.
Her knee-skimming skirt was cutting into her after the stress of the last few months had sent her sugar-cravings soaring. Which was bad enough, given her mother’s dire warnings about diabetes, but she’d be in real trouble if she couldn’t fit into her wedding dress. Why had she let her mother persuade her to buy something that resembled an eighteenth-century instrument of torture? She didn’t care who the designer was – she’d never worn a corset in her life. Now she had to spend the last Saturday in July looking like a time-travelling virgin sacrifice.
Stop it, Jess. Don’t think. Just breathe.
There was a sharp knock on the door and their head of finance stuck his head in. ‘Meeting’s about to start, Jess.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ Jess slid her feet back into her shoes and grabbed her phone and notebook, before heading to the boardroom one floor below. She could hear chatter and laughter as she approached the open door, and stopped for a moment to check her appearance, wondering briefly when she’d start to feel like she belonged at these meetings.
Adopting a confident smile, she slipped inside, her senses assailed by the competing smells of furniture polish and fresh coffee. She quickly scanned the room. Frank Charleston, chief executive of the Group, filled a large chair at one end of a long, gleaming table, while several department heads poured hot drinks and helped themselves to pastries. The only person she couldn’t place was the well-groomed, grey-haired man sitting two seats up from Frank. She greeted a few people and slipped into an empty chair, just as Frank got to his feet.
An expectant hush fell.
‘Thank you, everyone, for gathering so quickly this morning. I’m delighted to announce that we have some very exciting news about our latest hotel. One that will put Linford Castle on the world map.’ He cleared his throat. ‘As you’re all aware, this group took a huge risk when we bought Linford Castle. At the time, it was barely holding on to three stars, and badly in need of structural repairs. After restoring it to resemble a grand Victorian house, we reopened it six months ago as a five-star hotel. Today, I can announce that our gamble has paid off.’ He turned to the grey-haired man Jess had spotted when she came in. ‘I’d like to introduce you all to Ian Finnegan, Linford’s recently appointed events manager.’
Jess squirmed as Ian got to his feet, buttoning his jacket over a bright-pink shirt and dark-pink tie before looking around.
‘Good morning, everyone.’ His strong Kerry accent raised a few smiles. ‘A couple of months ago, I got a call from an American celebrity couple, to see if Linford would be available at the end of this month. Obviously, it was very short notice, but nothing we couldn’t manage. The couple want to hire the hotel for a week, starting with a three-day wedding for two hundred guests, and they’ve negotiated a very generous deal.’
‘How generous?’ someone said.
There were a few chuckles.
Two hundred people? That meant every guest cottage on the estate would be used to accommodate them.
Jess raised her hand. ‘Ian, who are the couple?’
He turned to her. ‘Chelsea Deneuve, the American reality TV star, and her fiancé Leo Dinardia, who owns a string of casinos in Vegas.’
Ian gave a genial smile, as everyone around the table began to speak over each other.
‘Wow!’
‘Christ, they’re only engaged about a minute!’
‘They’re getting married in Linford?’
‘We couldn’t pay for this kind of publicity!’
Jess knew that management at Linford wouldn’t have had many bookings to rearrange, to accommodate the wedding. The west of Ireland hotel was pitched at the very top end of the market, and business had been slow.
Frank looked to her. ‘This will be the wedding of the year, Jess. I want you to personally take charge of things from our end, manage the marketing and publicity and liaise with Ian. It’s the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.’
‘Of course, Frank.’ Jess wondered if he knew the hotel had been nicknamed Frank’s Folly. Or if he cared that most people thought buying a rundown, four-hundred-year-old castle in Mayo and giving it a full Victorian makeover had been an ego project, one unlikely to turn a profit for a long time. Not to mention the Linford Curse, thanks to its record number of wedding disasters. But if this celebrity wedding was a success, none of that would matter: the slate would be wiped clean.
Jess raised her hand again. ‘Ian, what day is the wedding?’
