out details like this from New York, and I’m just so busy at the moment, what with sorting out everything here before I come over to London. I had no idea how much work organising a wedding would be on top of it all!’
‘It’s a lot to do at such short notice,’ Imogen agreed, reflecting that Julia wasn’t the only busy one. Sadly, they didn’t all have fiancés with assistants they could fob off with all the time-consuming jobs!
‘I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it?’ Julia’s laugh sounded a little wild to Imogen. ‘But Stavely Castle suddenly had a cancellation and it just seemed meant somehow. As I said to Tom, when you know you’ve found the right person, why wait?’
Imogen murmured something noncommittal. It seemed to her that if you wanted a spontaneous wedding, it made sense to keep things simple and let the rose petals and the string quartets go. Still, it wasn’t her wedding, and Julia and Tom had plenty of money to throw at the problem, which always helped.
‘How is Tom?’ Julia was asking.
‘Er, he’s fine,’ said Imogen, wondering if she was expected to report that her boss was working himself into a frenzy of excitement about the wedding. ‘Working hard. You know what he’s like.’
Julia laughed. ‘I know. Isn’t he a darling? He’s so British sometimes!’
‘Absolutely,’ Imogen agreed, boggling at the phone. Tom Maddison, a darling? Julia must be in love!
‘Is he there?’
‘Of course. I’ll put you through.’
Putting Julia on hold, Imogen buzzed Tom. ‘I’ve got Julia on the line.’
‘Julia?’ he snapped.
‘Your fiancée,’ she reminded him.
‘What does she want?’
‘She didn’t say. I imagine she wants to talk to you.’
‘I can’t talk now,’ he said irritably. ‘Can’t it wait? Tell her I’m in a meeting.’
‘I’ve already said that I would put her through.’
He made an exasperated sound. ‘Oh, very well.’
Imogen grimaced as she put down the phone. Some darling!
She felt sorry for Julia. There had been a feverishness to the other woman’s voice that boded ill for a measured conversation with her fiancé. A few minutes’ conversation had been enough to show Imogen that Julia was a control freak, and already stressed by having to organise the perfect wedding at long distance. Right now, Julia needed calm reassurance, but Imogen was afraid she was unlikely to get it from Tom in his current mood.
Five minutes later, Tom banged out of his office, his mood clearly even worse than she had feared.
‘This wedding business is getting out of control,’ he snarled. ‘I haven’t got time to talk about invitations and vows and rehearsal dinners! And you’re spending far too much time on it, too,’ he added accusingly.
‘I don’t mind,’ she said quickly. ‘It’ll be easier when Julia is here.’
‘I hope to God you’re right!’
‘You have to make allowances.’ Imogen was beginning to feel like a counsellor. She certainly seemed to spend more time talking to Tom and to Julia than they were talking to each other. ‘A wedding is a big deal for any woman,’ she tried to placate Tom. ‘Julia’s giving up her life in New York to be with you, so it’s going to be an even more emotional time than usual for her. I know it seems like a lot of stress at the moment, but it will be worth it when you’re married, won’t it?’
Tom stopped pacing and imagined a time when he and Julia were safely married. Everything would be calm again, and he would go home every night to a beautiful, accomplished wife who understood what made a successful relationship and who would support him professionally and personally. He could rely on Julia to always say the right thing, and do the right thing. She was neat and orderly and sensible—except when it came to weddings, it seemed.
Perhaps Imogen was right, and it was just the stress of arranging a wedding at short notice that was making Julia so uncharacteristically emotional. Once this damned wedding was over, surely she would go back to the way she had been before?
It had taken Tom a long time to find just the right wife. Julia wouldn’t normally expect him to be all lovey-dovey. They had come to a very clear agreement about what they both wanted from marriage, so if it didn’t work with her, it was never going to work with anyone.
No, Julia was perfect. He didn’t want to lose her now.
He would just have to be more patient, Tom decided. He would try harder to show an interest in the wedding if that was what Julia wanted.
He could feel Imogen’s stern eye on him and remembered her question. It will be worth it, won’t it?
‘Of course it will,’ he said.
CHAPTER TWO
IMOGEN waved at the girls on Reception and pressed the button to call the lift. This was Tom’s last day in the office before the wedding, and the staff had planned a surprise champagne reception later that afternoon to wish him well.
She hoped Tom would appreciate the gesture and manage a smile for them. Most of the staff were terrified of his brusque manner, but they respected him, too. He was tough, but fair, and no one was in any doubt that he had transformed Collocom in the six months he had been there. Their boss’s wedding was an excuse to celebrate a much more secure future for them all.
It had been a busy few weeks. Imogen had spent most of them chasing up string quartets and florists and photographers. She was an expert now on everything from the design of the place settings to special licence arrangements, and she was on first-name terms with the staff at Stavely Castle after ringing on a daily basis to change or check endless details. Perhaps when she got back from her travels she could set up as a wedding planner?
There had been no word from Julia for a couple of days now, which was odd. Tom’s fiancée had been backwards and forwards between New York and London for the past few weeks, but ten days ago she had arrived, she said, to stay. Imogen had arranged for her to lease a fabulous flat in Chelsea Harbour so that she could prepare for the wedding, but she had still been on the phone several times a day. Imogen just hoped that—finally!—everything was ready and Julia could stop fretting.
Tom’s fiancée was very lovely, as slender as predicted, and beautifully dressed. There was a glossiness and a sheen to her that made Imogen feel gauche and faintly shabby in comparison. They were probably much the same age, but Julia was so much more sophisticated she seemed to come from a different world, one where first-class travel and designer clothes were the norm, and a million miles from Imogen’s life sharing a chaotic flat in south London.
In spite of the differences between them, Julia was determined to treat Imogen as her new best friend when they’d finally met in the office one day. She was warm and friendly, embarrassingly so at times, but Imogen sensed a tension to her and a frenetic undercurrent to her obsession with wedding arrangements, as if she were wound up like a tightly coiled spring. Imogen hoped she would
