“My mother thought it would be a good way to surprise you. So did I.”

“Spring it on me, you mean!” I retort crossly, and Luke looks at me, puzzled.

“Didn’t you like the Plaza? I thought you’d be overwhelmed!”

“Of course I liked it. That’s not the point.”

“I know how much you’ve always wanted a big, magnificent wedding. When my mother offered to host a wedding at the Plaza, it seemed like a gift. In fact, it was my idea to surprise you. I thought you’d be thrilled.”

He looks a bit deflated and immediately guilt pours over me. It hadn’t occurred to me that Luke might have been in on the whole thing.

“Luke, I am thrilled! It’s just… I don’t think Mum would be very happy, us getting married in America.”

“Can’t you talk her round?”

“It’s not that easy. Your mother’s been pretty high-handed, you know—”

“High-handed? She’s only trying to give us a wonderful wedding.”

“If she really wanted to, she could give us a wonderful wedding in England,” I point out. “Or she could help Mum and Dad — and they could all give us a wonderful wedding! But instead, she talks about their garden as an ‘unknown backyard’!” Resentment flares up inside me again as I remember Elinor’s dismissive voice.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean—”

“Just because it isn’t in the middle of New York! I mean, she doesn’t know anything about it!”

“OK, fine,” says Luke shortly. “You’ve made your point. You don’t want the wedding. But if you ask me, my mother’s being incredibly generous. Offering to pay for a wedding at the Plaza, plus she’s arranged us a pretty lavish engagement party…”

“Who said I want a lavish engagement party?” I retort before I can stop myself.

“That’s a bit churlish, isn’t it?”

“Maybe I don’t care about all the glitz and the glamour and the… the material things! Maybe my family is more important to me! And tradition… and… and honor. You know, Luke, we’re only on this planet for a short time…”

“Enough!” says Luke in exasperation. “You win! If it’s really going to be a problem, forget it! You don’t have to come to the engagement party if you don’t want to — and we’ll get married in Oxshott. Happy now?”

“I…” I break off, and rub my nose. Of course, it is a fairly amazing offer. And if I could somehow persuade Mum and Dad, maybe we’d all have the most fantastic time of our lives.

“It’s not necessarily a question of getting married in Oxshott,” I say at last. “It’s a question of… of… coming to the right decision. Look, you were the one saying we didn’t have to rush into anything…”

Luke’s expression softens, and he gets up.

“I know.” He sighs. “Look, Becky, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” I mumble.

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” He puts his arms around me and kisses my forehead. “All I wanted to do was give you the wedding you’ve always dreamed of. If you really don’t want to get married at the Plaza, then of course we won’t.”

“What about your mother?”

“We’ll just explain to her how you feel.” Luke gazes at me for a few moments. “Becky, it doesn’t matter to me where we get married. It doesn’t matter to me whether we have pink flowers or blue flowers. What matters to me is we’re going to become a couple — and the whole world is going to know it.”

He sounds so sure and steady, I feel a sudden lump in my throat.

“That’s what matters to me too,” I say, and swallow hard. “That’s the most important thing.”

“OK. So let’s agree. You can make the decision. Just tell me where to turn up — and I’ll turn up.”

“OK.” I smile back at him. “I promise to give you at least forty-eight hours’ notice.”

“Twenty-four will do.” He kisses me again, then points to the sideboard. “That arrived, by the way. An engagement present.”

I look over and gape. It’s a robin’s-egg-blue box, tied up with white ribbon. A present from Tiffany!

“Shall I open it?”

“Go ahead.”

Excitedly I untie the ribbon and open the box to find a blue glass bowl nestling in tissue paper, and a card reading “With best wishes from Marty and Alison Gerber.”

“Wow! This is nice! Who are the Gerbers?”

“I don’t know. Friends of my mother’s.”

“So… will everyone who comes to the party bring us a present?”

“I expect so.”

“Oh… right.”

Gosh. When Tom and Lucy had their engagement party, only about three people brought presents. And they certainly weren’t from Tiffany. I stare at the bowl thoughtfully, running my finger over its gleaming surface.

You know, maybe Luke does have a point. Maybe it would be churlish to throw Elinor’s generosity back in her face.

OK, what I’ll do is, I’ll wait until the engagement party’s over. And then I’ll decide.


The engagement party is at six o’clock the following Friday. I mean to get there early, but we have a frantic day at work, with three big emergencies — one of which involves our most demanding celebrity client, who clearly has not got over her recent breakup, whatever she may say in People magazine. Anyway, so I don’t arrive until ten past six, feeling a little flustered. On the plus side, I’m wearing a completely fabulous black strapless dress, which fits me perfectly. (Actually, it was earmarked for Regan Hartman, one of my clients. But I’ll just tell her I don’t think it would suit her after all.)

Elinor’s duplex is in a grand building on Park Avenue, with the most enormous marble-floored foyer and walnut-lined elevators that always smell of expensive scent. As I step out at the sixth floor I can hear the hubbub and tinkle of piano music. There’s a queue of people waiting at the door, and I wait politely behind an elderly couple in matching fur coats. I can just see through to the apartment, which is dimly lit and already seems to be full of people.

To be honest, I’ve never really liked Elinor’s apartment. It’s all done in pale blue, with silk sofas and heavy curtains and the dullest pictures in the world hanging on the walls. I can’t believe she really likes any of them. In fact, I can’t believe she ever looks at any of them.

“Good evening.” A voice interrupts my thoughts and I realize I’ve reached the head of the queue. A woman in a black trouser suit, holding a clipboard, is giving me a professional smile.

“May I have your name?”

“Rebecca Bloomwood,” I say modestly, expecting her to gasp, or at least light up with recognition.

“Bloomwood… Bloomwood…” The woman looks down the list, turns a page, and runs her finger to the bottom before looking up. “I don’t see it.”

“Really?” I stare at her. “It must be there somewhere!”

“I’ll look again…” The woman goes up to the top and runs her eyes down more slowly. “No,” she says at last. “I’m afraid not. Sorry.” She turns to a blond woman who has just arrived. “Good evening! May I take your name?”

“But… but… the party’s for me!”

“Vanessa Dillon.”

“Ah yes,” says the door woman, and crosses off her name with a smile. “Please go in. Serge will take your coat. Could you please step aside, miss?” she adds coldly to me. “You’re blocking the doorway.”

“You have to let me in! I must be on the list!” I peer inside the door, hoping to see Luke, or even Elinor — but it’s just a load of people I don’t recognize. “Please! Honestly, I’m supposed to be here!”

The woman in black sighs. “Do you have your invitation with you?”

“No! I don’t have one. I’m the… the engagee!”

“The what?” She stares at me blankly.

“The party’s for me! And Luke… oh God…” I peer again into the party and suddenly spot Robyn, dressed in a silver beaded top and floaty skirt.

“Robyn!” I call, as discreetly as I can. “Robyn! They won’t let me in!”

“Becky!” Robyn’s face lights up. “At last!” She beckons gaily with her champagne glass with one hand, while with the other she moves a pair of men in dinner jackets out of my path. “Come on, belle of the ball!”

“You see?” I say desperately. “I’m not gate-crashing! The party’s being given for me!”

The blond woman stares at me for a long time — then shrugs. “OK. You can go in. Serge will take your coat. Do you have a gift?”

A gift? Has she listened to anything I’ve been saying?

“No, I don’t.”

The woman rolls her eyes as though to say, “That figures”—then turns to the next person in the queue, and I hurry in before she changes her mind.

“I can’t stay long,” says Robyn as I join her. “I have three rehearsal dinners to go to. But I particularly wanted to see you tonight, because I have exciting news. A very talented event designer is going to be working on your wedding! Sheldon Lloyd, no less!”

“Wow!” I say, trying to match her tone even though I have no idea who Sheldon Lloyd is. “Gosh.”

“You’re bowled over, aren’t you? What I always say is, if you want to make things happen, make them happen now! So I’ve been speaking with Sheldon and we’ve been tossing around some ideas. He thought your Sleeping Beauty concept was fabulous, by the way. Really original.” She looks around and lowers her voice. “His idea is… we turn the Terrace Room into an enchanted forest.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I’m so thrilled, I just have to show you!”

She opens her bag and pulls out a sketch, and I stare at it in disbelief.

“We’ll have birch trees imported from Switzerland, and garlands of fairy lights. You’ll walk down an avenue of trees, with their branches hanging over you. Pine needles will give off a wonderful scent as you walk, flowers will magically blossom as you pass, and trained songbirds will sing overhead… What do you think about an animatronic squirrel?”