Page 74 of For Love or Money
‘I can’t say I know much about them myself, but I’ll do my best.’
‘Thanks. It’d be great to have a second opinion. Or just some back-up for fighting off pushy sales assistants.’
‘NowthatI’m good at.’
‘So we have a deadline now,’Al said to Lesley later when they were alone in bed.
‘Yeah.’ She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow, so she was facing him across the barrier of bolsters and cushions he’d constructed between them. ‘The end of September,’ she mused. ‘It doesn’t give us much time.’
‘But Stella seems very keen to be friends with you, so that’s in our favour.’
‘Yeah, that makes things a lot easier.’ Lesley was delighted that Stella was looking on her as an ally already. ‘And we’re going wedding dress shopping tomorrow. That’s the ultimate girly bonding experience.’ She wished she didn’t feel like such a fraud. But she mustn’t let herself fall for Stella’s charm. She was here to do a job, and she had to remain detached and professional.
‘Hopefully she’ll open up to you more when it’s just the two of you,’ Al said. ‘You should go for a boozy lunch. Get her to loosen up a bit.’
‘Good idea. If we got tipsy together, maybe I could even get her to be indiscreet. I could make a few drunken confessions of my own, to encourage her.’
‘But be subtle. You want her to feel she can confide in you, and you can keep a secret.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Lesley said, plumping up her pillows. ‘Subtle is my middle name.’
Al turned away quickly and buried his face in his pillow, but Lesley still heard his muffled snigger. She resisted the urge to pick up one of the barrier cushions and whack him with it.
24
This is my kind of shopping, Lesley thought, as she sat sipping champagne on a chaise longue, while she waited for Stella to emerge from the dressing room of a fancy bridal boutique in the new town.
‘What do you think?’
Lesley looked up as Stella pulled back the velvet curtains and stepped out. The sales assistant, a bird-like older woman with jet-black hair scraped back in a severe bun, rushed forward to fuss with the skirt of the dress as Stella stepped onto a raised platform in front of a huge mirror.
‘Ooh!’ Madame clapped her hands enthusiastically, then held them in prayer position at her mouth as she gazed delightedly at Stella’s reflection. ‘Très belle, non?’ She turned to Lesley for confirmation.
Lesley had to admit, Madame had a point. She felt like bursting into applause herself. ‘You look amazing!’ she said, standing up as Stella twirled in front of the mirror.
‘It is lovely, isn’t it?’ Stella fingered the delicate lace at the neckline – hand-made by Parisian elves or some such, according to Madame; Lesley couldn’t remember the exact details.
‘I can’t believe that’s me,’ Stella said as she gazed at her reflection. ‘I look so …’
‘Beautiful,’ Lesley finished for her. There was no other word for it. ‘It’s gorgeous. That’s got to be the one, right?’
Madame smiled at her almost tearfully, nodding her agreement.
It was a long narrow column, with a keyhole cut-out in the back revealing a tantalising glimpse of skin. The simple elegance of the design was perfect, the clean lines showing off Stella’s modelesque figure. Anything fussier would have only detracted from the effect. In this dress, Stella was the main event, and she looked like a goddess.
Madame beckoned Lesley to come and have a closer look, then bustled off to give them a moment alone with the dress. Lesley stepped onto the platform behind Stella as she turned this way and that.
‘I do love it,’ she said in a low voice to Lesley, ‘but it’s ridiculously expensive.’ She bit her lip. ‘The first one was lovely too.’
This was the third dress Stella had tried on, and the most expensive. But it was also the clear winner, as far as Lesley was concerned. ‘The first one was nice, but this is perfect. It could have been made for you.’
‘Still, almostthree thousandeurofor a dress!’ Stella frowned. ‘How can I justify spending that kind of money on something I’m only going to wear once? It’s ridiculous!’
That didn’t sound much like the thinking of a gold-digger. ‘But you don’t have to worry about money, do you?’ Lesley asked. ‘You’re going to be marrying Peter. He’s loaded.’
‘ButI’mnot, and I want to pay for this myself. Peter offered, of course, but I don’t intend to be some kind of sponging trophy wife. Whatever his family may think,’ she added under her breath. Then she laughed. ‘Listen to me – trophy wife! As if I’m some kind of prize.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I actually said that.’
‘But anyone would think you were a prize,’ Lesley said. ‘Look at you!’
