wedding dress long enough to spear Simone with a narrow-eyed glance. ‘And what do you mean by “well-founded” reservations? You haven’t even seen Rafe yet.’
‘Not true. He happened by this afternoon.’ Simone headed for the outer hanging cupboard and pulled a strapless floor-length gown in coffee cream with slightly darker pearl beading across the bodice from its depths. ‘Voila! It suits me very well and offsets your gown to perfection. I told you the couturier knew what he was doing.’
‘And so he should, considering what he charges. But you’re right, he does know clothes. You’re going to look divine.’ Gabrielle sent her a questioning smile. ‘Ordinarily I would wax lyrical over the gown a little longer, but my curiosity’s killing me. Rafe was here earlier?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ Simone slid the dress back into the cupboard and shut the door.
‘And?’ Gabrielle sounded impatient.
Simone turned to face her. ‘And what?’
‘Stop stalling. Was he civil?’
‘After a fashion.’
‘Were you civil?’
‘But of course,’ she said lightly.
‘It was a disaster, wasn’t it?’ asked Gabrielle darkly.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you still have feelings for him?’
‘We grew up together, Gabrielle. I’ll always have feelings for him. Nothing can change that.’
‘Okay, fair enough, let me rephrase. Do you still desire him?’
Trust Gabrielle to get straight to the heart of the matter. ‘It’s hard to say.’
‘Say it anyway,’ muttered Gabrielle. ‘Let me rephrase again. Does he still want you?’
‘He couldn’t get away quickly enough,’ muttered Simone. ‘Does that answer your question?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ said a disgruntled Gabrielle. ‘I knew you’d be an unreliable witness. Why do you think I wanted to be there?’
A discreet knocking sounded on the door. Simone flinched, and stilled, but the knocking did not get louder or more insistent. It had to be room service knocking. The door would not open to reveal Rafael this time. She hoped. Releasing her breath slowly, Simone forced tense muscles to relax and turned towards the door.
‘Allow me.’ Gabrielle shot her a curious glance before heading for the door and opening it to reveal a smiling Sarah bearing a trolley laden with food, elegant crystal wine glasses and white wine on ice.
‘Sarah, you’re just in time,’ said Gabrielle as she helped Sarah wheel the trolley into the room. ‘Did you see Rafe earlier?’
‘Yep.’
‘How did he look?’
‘Bothered.’
‘What about hot?’ asked Gaby the shameless.
‘He always looks hot,’ said Sarah, putting a hand to her heart. ‘Hot and bothered was a new look for him, but frankly, he wore it well. Shall I pour wine for two?’
‘Double over here,’ murmured Simone.
Gabrielle snickered. ‘You do still want him.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Simone said indignantly. ‘Sarah, did I say that?’
Sarah dimpled and handed her a wine glass filled perilously close to overflowing. ‘So you’re the one.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The one who’s got him all riled. The one who got away. The one who ruined him for all other women,’ offered Sarah expansively.
‘Oh, that’s harsh,’ said Gabrielle, accepting a much smaller glass of wine from Sarah. ‘Harsh, yet disturbingly accurate.’
‘I did not ruin him for all other women.’ ‘Not knowingly,’ conceded Gabrielle. ‘If you had I couldn’t love you the way I do.’
‘Anyway, define “ruined”,’ argued Simone. ‘He didn’t look particularly ruined to me.’ He’d looked dangerously, broodingly desirable. ‘I’ll bet plenty of other women have found his attentions more than adequate.’
‘I’m sure they have,’ murmured Gabrielle soothingly. ‘The point being that he never attends them for very long. More wine?’
Simone had forgotten all about the wine. She sipped, and sipped again. They were big sips. Fortifying sips. It was very good wine.
‘You need a plan,’ said Gabrielle.
‘I have a plan. It’s called stay for your wedding and then leave.’
‘You need a better plan,’ said Gabrielle, sipping her own wine thoughtfully. ‘Sarah, can you ask Inigo if we can bring forward the menu planning to this afternoon? Say 5:00 p.m.?’
‘I can,’ said Sarah. ‘And he will. But he won’t be happy about it.’
‘Tell him there’s a bottle of Angels Tears in it for him. That ought to cheer him up.’
‘It’d cheer me up,’ said Sarah as she headed for the door.
‘Who’s Inigo?’ asked Simone.
‘The restaurant manager,’ murmured Gabrielle. ‘He’s very fussy about food choice. Anyone would think he was French.’
‘Most of us just think he’s mad,’ said Sarah from the door. ‘But he does run a fine restaurant service. He’s been trying to nail Gabrielle down to a meal plan for the reception for weeks.’
‘I was waiting for you to arrive,’ said Gabrielle to Simone as Sarah closed the door behind her on her way out. ‘My decision-making powers have temporarily deserted me. Mind you, if you prefer one thing and I prefer another we’ll still be without a decision. I’d better call Rafe. He can meet us there.’ She offered up an encouraging smile. ‘You don’t mind if he joins us, do you?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Simone carefully. ‘But Rafael might not be enamoured of the notion.’
‘He doesn’t have to be enamoured,’ replied Gabrielle blithely as she fished her mobile from her handbag. ‘Although I’m not ruling it out.’ She pressed a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear. ‘He just has to be there.’
Which was how, at exactly five past five that afternoon, Simone came to be examining plateware patterns in a sumptuously appointed private dining room with Gabrielle the indecisive and Inigo the sorely put upon. Rafael had not yet arrived, but the spectre of him doing so made concentrating difficult.
‘What about the pink and ivory Limoges design?’ asked Gabrielle.
‘Very
