Chapter 20

Zara and Marcus Wiseman-French, newly proclaimed husband and wife, were being posed by their photographers before the various focal spots in Alveley Manor’s famous gardens.  Factions of the punch-quaffing guests were periodically rallied to bunch around the rapturous couple.

‘Stunning dress,’ Robyn admired as Jerry the photographer fanned Zara’s sprawling train around her.  ‘I’ve never seen so many sequins in my life.  It’s like Royal Ascot here, isn’t it?  I love her outfit – ’ she nodded towards a cousin with a nose job, in tiers of frappuccino chiffon.

‘Nah, still think you look the best, Robs,’ appraised Heidi loyally.  Robyn was wispy and elfin in delphinium blue, the shade an exquisite contrast with her titian tresses. 
Robyn for once quelled her instinct to pooh-pooh the sincere compliment.  She was here not only as a supplier but a friend, and had received more than one approving once-over from types who’d have barely spared the everyday Robyn, with her overalls and secateurs, the time of day.  She’d grinned overhearing two aunties in blinding diamonds cooing over the bouquets.  ‘Aren’t they ducky!  Dread to imagine the cost, though.  Even Zara must have had to re-mortgage.’

‘You’re not so tatty yourself.’  Heidi was in eye-stinging canary.  A short-skirted suit, and a fascinator blooming out of her head. 

‘Thanks very much.  Ah, look at diddums on his own.’  Warwick was slogging from foot to foot, tossing punch down his throat, clearly hating being there.  ‘To think this would have been me and him next month – yuck, the thought!’

Robyn smiled, relieved her qualms about Heidi seeing Warwick in a nuptial environment were proving unwarranted.  She half closed her eyes for a moment and let the rays bathe her bare arms.

‘Typical Zar,’ said Heidi, ‘probably clicked her fingers and ordered this perfect weather.’

‘When are they doing the dove release?  Hope it’s soon – I hate to think of those poor birds penned up too long.  Don’t really agree with that sort of thing, to tell you the truth.’

‘No, me neither.’

‘Could we have all of Marcus and Zara’s friends over here please?’ summoned Jerry.  There was a surge towards the cream gazebo which was forming the backdrop to this group shot.  Robyn smirked at the competitive shoving amongst certain girls, and their catwalk pouts.  She lagged at the back, not quite chummy enough with the bride to consider herself worthy of the foreground.

Heidi, a habitual back row occupant also, due to her height, couldn’t resist snaking up to the loath-to-be-photographed Warwick.  ‘Hard luck about the court case, Woz.’

‘Piss off Heidi.’

‘Manners!’

‘Now let’s have a nice big smile from you all – ’  Heidi and Robyn beamed charmingly.  At the edge of the shot slouched Warwick, whose scowl could have clotted cream.  ‘Everybody look this way one more time – ’

‘You haven’t met my friend Robyn, have you?’ Heidi hissed, ventriloquist style, not disturbing her camera-smile.  ‘Rowan’s sister.  If you’re wondering where Rowan is, he’s walking up in the Peak District with Emily.  Robyn’s friend Emily.  I believe you’re already acquainted with her.’

‘Emily?’  Now she had his attention.

‘Yes, Dominic, Robyn heard the full story from her last night.’

‘The walk’s with your brother?’
Warwick screwed his eyes shut with failure and let out his breath in a bitter wheeze.  If that streak of piss from the golf club was getting his mitts on Emily, it was nobody’s fault but Warwick’s.  Or rather Dominic’s. 
‘I’m amazed you’re taking it so well then, Heid – Em frolicking in the fells with your boyfriend.’
‘Oh, things never worked out between me and Ro.  Emily was more his type all along actually – pity she was otherwise engaged all that time, with a liar.’
‘Engaged not being an apt word in this case – that privilege hasn’t been enjoyed by anyone but you, my darling.  And won’t be by anyone else for a good decade yet, I imagine.’
‘Womankind can breathe!’  Robyn waved her hands in a praise-the-Lord fashion.
‘By the way,’ Heidi’s lips twitched with blatant glee, ‘so sorry to hear about Ben and Erin.’
‘What’s this?’ queried Robyn.
‘Only that it turns out the gorgeous Erin’s a lesbian.’ 
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No, she’s left him for a shepherdess in Christchurch,’ said Warwick.  ‘Now if you ladies will excuse me – ’
While the girls cackled like macaws, Warwick drooped away from the dispersing photographed friends and mused upon last night’s harrowing showdown with Emily.