is that?’ Blake was frowning. ‘Celine Dion?’
Rafe shook his head. ‘This is the original version. Jennifer Rush. She cowrote “The Power of Love” in 1984.’
It was the version that Penelope preferred. The one she had on her iPod. The one she’d been dancing to in her private space in the centre of the maze only half an hour or so ago, when she’d taken that much-needed break.
‘It’s got some great firing points. Like that...’ Rafe’s hands prescribed an arc as the crescendo started. ‘And we can use the extended version to give us a good length of time. Fade it away to leave your names in the heart hanging over the lake.’
He wasn’t looking at Penelope. He didn’t even send a triumphant glance in her direction as Clarissa and Blake enthusiastically agreed to the song choice.
Which was probably just as well. Penelope had no idea what her expression might look like but it had to include an element of shock. Surely it had to be more than coincidence and she didn’t believe in telepathy but it was impossible not to feel some sort of weird connection happening here. How awful would it be if she looked like Clarissa had when he’d told her he could finish the show by putting their names in a love heart? As though she’d just fallen head over heels in love with the man?
Not that it really mattered. The pièce de résistance of the wedding that was going to launch her new career was starting to come together and the choice of song was perfect.
With a lot of hard work and a little bit more luck, this whole wedding was going to be perfect.
SO FAR, SO GOOD.
They couldn’t have wished for a better day weather-wise for what the local media was already billing the wedding of the year. The blue stretch of summer sky was broken only by innocent cotton-wool puffs of cloud and it was warm enough for the skimpy dresses most of the women seemed to be wearing. More importantly, the breeze was gentle enough not to ruin any elaborate hairdos or play havoc with a bridal veil.
The vintage champagne every guest had been offered on arrival was going down a treat and people were now beginning to drift towards the rows of chairs draped with white satin and tied with silver bows. Penelope saw someone open the small gauze bag she’d found on her seat and smile as she showed her partner the confetti that was made up of tiny, glittery silver stars.
How much bigger were those smiles going to be when they were watching the kind of stars that would explode across the sky as the finale to this event? Rafe had arrived as early as Penelope had, driving onto the estate in the chill mist of a breaking dawn. She’d seen him and the technicians he’d brought with him, in their fluorescent vests, working in the field on the far side of the lake at various times over the hectic hours since then. Just orange dots of humanity, really, at this distance, but she was sure it was Rafe who was directing the forklift manoeuvring the pallets from the back of a truck at one point and, much later, the towing of a flat barge to float on the lake.
Because that was the kind of job a boss would do, she told herself. It had nothing to do with that odd tingle of something she had no intention of trying to identify. A tingle that appeared along with that persistent image of the man in frayed jeans and a black singlet she had conjured up. An image that had insisted on haunting her dreams over the last week, leaving her to wake with the odd sensation that something was simply not fair...
Heading back inside the house, she popped into the kitchen to check that her team was on top of the catering. Judging by the numerous silver platters of hors d’oeuvres lined up ready for the lull while photographs would be taken after the ceremony, they were right on schedule.
‘Any worries, Jack?’
‘Apart from an eight-course sit-down dinner for two hundred and supper for six hundred? Nah...it’s all good.’ The older man’s smile was reassuring. ‘I’ve got this side of the gig covered. Go and play with your bride.’
‘I do need to do that. But I’ll be back later. Keep an apron for me.’
‘Are you kidding? That dress is far too fancy to get hidden by any apron.’
‘It’s not too much, is it?’ Penelope glanced down at the dark silver sheath dress she had chosen. A lot of effort had gone into what she hoped would be her signature outfit as she occupied an unusual space in a wedding party that was more than simply hired help but less than invited guest. The dress was demure with its long sleeves and scooped neckline that only showed a hint of cleavage. The skirt was ballet length and fell in soft swirls from thigh level but it did fit like a glove everywhere else and it had a soft sparkle that would probably intensify under artificial or candle light.
Jack grinned. ‘You look like the director of the nation’s most successful event managing company. Make sure they get some photos of you for one of those flash magazines. Now—stop distracting me. Get out of my kitchen and go and keep our first event ticking. Isn’t Princess Clarissa about due for another meltdown?’
‘Oh, God, I hope not.’ With a worried frown, Penelope headed for a ground-floor room in the west wing that had been set aside for the bride and bridesmaids to get dressed in. A room in the east wing was where the groom and his entourage were waiting. That would be the next stop, to make sure they were in position on time. Penelope checked her watch. Only twenty minutes away. The countdown was on.
She took a deep breath. At least she didn’t have to worry about the catering side of things. Jack—her head chef—had worked with her ever since she’d advertised for someone to come on board with a fledgling catering company nearly ten years ago. His own restaurant might have failed despite his talent with food but together they’d built a company to be proud of and it had been his idea for her to take the risky move of taking on event management.
Dreaming about something and even making endless lists of the things that she’d have to keep on top of hadn’t really prepared her for the reality of it, though. The catering was only one aspect. Had the celebrant arrived yet? Were the photographers behaving themselves? How were the band going in setting themselves up? She’d seen the truck parked around the back an hour or more ago and people unloading a drum kit and amplifiers but what if they couldn’t find enough power points? There was a lighting expert who was coming to supervise the safe positioning and lighting of all those candles and would then be in charge for any spotlighting of key people. He hadn’t arrived as far as she knew but they weren’t due to meet until after the actual ceremony.
At some point, she would have to find Rafe, too, and make sure that he was happy with his set-up. The fireworks were scheduled to go off at one a.m. to mark the end of the party and there was plenty of security personnel discreetly in place to make sure nobody went into forbidden areas and that everybody left Loxbury Hall when they were supposed to.
It was possible that this was the moment when the tension was at its highest. The moment before the carefully timed show that was going to be the wedding of the year kicked off. With her heart in her mouth, Penelope opened the door of the bride’s dressing room. Clarissa—in a froth of white—was standing serenely in the centre of the room with a champagne flute in her hand. She was surrounded by her six bridesmaids who were in same shade of orange as one of the colours of Blake’s football club. One of the girls sent another champagne cork hurtling towards the ceiling with a loud pop and the shriek of happy giggles was deafening. The flash of the camera from the official photographer showed he was capturing every joyous moment.
The
