I have never worn anything less flattering in my life.

‘Oh Becky!’ I look up – and, to my horror, Mum’s in tears. ‘I'm so silly!’ she says, laughing and brushing at her eyes. ‘It’s just... my little girl, in the dress I wore...’

‘Oh Mum...’ Impulsively I give her a hug. ‘It’s a... a really lovely dress...’

How exactly do I add, but I’m not wearing it?

‘And it fits you perfectly,’ gulps Mum, and rummages for a tissue. ‘But it’s your decision.’ She blows her nose. ‘If you don’t think it suits you... just say so. I won’t mind.’

‘I... well...’

Oh God.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I manage at last, and give Mum a lame smile.

We put the wedding dress back in its bag, and have some sandwiches for lunch, and watch an old episode of Changing Rooms on the new cable telly Mum and Dad have had installed. And then, although it’s a bit early, I go upstairs and start getting ready to see Elinor. Luke’s mother is one of those Manhattan women who always look completely and utterly immaculate, and today of all days I want to match her in the smartness stakes.

I put on the DKNY suit I bought myself for Christ­mas, brand new tights and my new Prada sample sale shoes. Then I survey my appearance carefully, looking all over for specks or creases. I’m not going to be caught out this time. I’m not going to have a single stray thread or crumpled bit which her beady X-ray eyes can zoom in on.

I’ve just about decided that I look OK, when Mum comes bustling into my bedroom. She’s dressed smartly in a purple Windsmoor suit and her face is glowing with anticipation.

‘How do I look?’ she says with a little laugh. ‘Smart enough for Claridges?’

‘You look lovely, Mum! That colour really suits you. Let me just...’

I reach for a tissue, dampen it under the tap and wipe at her cheeks where she’s copied Janice’s badger-look approach to blusher.

‘There. Perfect.’

‘Thank you, darling!’ Mum peers at herself in the wardrobe mirror. ‘Well, this will be nice. Meeting Luke’s mother at last.’

‘Mmm,’ I say non-committally.

‘I expect we’ll get to be quite good friends! What with getting together over the wedding preparations...’

Extract 4

I arrive at La Goulue at one o’clock on the dot, but Elinor isn’t there yet. I’m shown to a table and sip my mineral water while I wait for her. The place is busy, as it always is at this time, mostly with smartly dressed women. All around me is chatter and the gleam of expensive teeth and jewels, and I take the opportunity to eavesdrop shamelessly. At the next table to mine, a woman wearing heavy eyeliner and an enormous brooch is saying emphatically, ‘You simply cannot furnish an apartment these days under one hundred thousand dollars.’

‘So I said to Edgar, “I am a human being,” ’ says a red-haired girl on my other side. Her friend chews on a celery stick and looks at her with bright, avid eyes.

‘So what did he say?’

‘One room, you’re talking thirty thousand.’

‘He said, “Hilary–” ’

‘Rebecca?’

I look up, a bit annoyed to miss what Edgar said, to see Elinor approaching the table, wearing a cream jacket with large black buttons, and carrying a match­ing clutch bag. To my surprise she’s not alone. A woman with a shiny chestnut bob, wearing a navy blue suit and holding a large Coach bag, is with her.

‘Rebecca, may I present Robyn de Bendern,’ says Elinor. ‘One of New York’s finest wedding planners.’

‘Oh,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Well... Hello!’

‘Rebecca,’ says Robyn, taking both my hands and gazing intently into my eyes. ‘We meet at last. I’m so delighted to meet you. So delighted!’

‘Me too!’ I say, trying to match her tone while simultaneously racking my brain. Did Elinor mention meeting a wedding planner? Am I supposed to know about this?

‘Such a pretty face!’ says Robyn, without letting go of my hands. She’s taking in every inch of me, and I find myself reciprocating. She looks in her forties, immaculately made up with bright hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a wide smile exposing a row of perfect teeth. Her air of enthusiasm is infectious, but her eyes are appraising as she takes a step back and sweeps over the rest of me.

‘Such a young, fresh look. My dear, you’ll make a stunning bride. Do you know yet what you’ll be wearing on the day?’

‘Er... a wedding dress?’ I say stupidly, and Robyn bursts into peals of laughter.

‘That humour!’ she cries. ‘You British girls! You were quite right,’ she adds to Elinor, who gives a gracious nod.

Elinor was right? What about?

Have they been talking about me?

‘Thanks!’ I say, trying to take an unobtrusive step backwards. ‘Shall we...’ I nod towards the table.

‘Let’s!’ says Robyn, as though I’ve made the most genius suggestion she’s ever heard. ‘Let’s do that.’ As she sits down I notice she’s wearing a brooch of two intertwined wedding rings, encrusted with diamonds.

‘You like this?’ says Robyn. ‘The Gilbrooks gave it to me after I planned their daughter’s wedding. Now that was a drama! Poor Bitty Gilbrook’s nail broke at the last minute and we had to fly her manicurist in by helicopter…’ She pauses as though lost in memories, then snaps to. ‘So you’re the lucky girl!’ She beams at me and I can’t help beaming back. ‘Lucky, lucky girl. Tell me, are you enjoying every moment?’

‘Well–’

‘What I always say is, the first week after you’re aged is the most precious time of all. You have to savour it.’

‘Actually, it s been a couple or weeks now–’

‘Savour it,’ says Robyn, lifting a finger. ‘Wallow in it. What I always say is, no-one else can have those memories for you.’

‘Well, OK!’ I say with a grin. ‘I’ll... wallow in it!’

‘Before we start,’ says Elinor, ‘I must give you one of these.’ She reaches into her bag and puts an invitation down on the table. What’s this?

Mrs Elinor Sherman requests the pleasure of your company…

Wow. Elinor’s holding an engagement party! For us!

‘Gosh!’ I look up. ‘Well... thanks. I didn’t know we were having an engagement party!’

‘I discussed the matter with Luke.’

‘Really? He never mentioned it to me.’

‘It must have slipped his mind.’ Elinor gives me a cold, gracious smile. ‘I will have a stack of these delivered to your apartment and you can invite some friends of your own. Say... ten.’

‘Well... er... thanks.’

‘Now, shall we have some champagne, to celebrate?’

‘What a lovely idea!’ says Robyn. ‘What I always say is, if you can’t celebrate a wedding, what can you celebrate?’ She gives me a twinkling smile and I smile back. I’m warming to this woman. But I still don’t know what she’s doing here.

‘Erm... I was just wondering, Robyn,’ I say hesi­tantly. ‘Are you here in a... professional capacity?’

‘Oh no. No, no, nooooo.’ Robyn shakes her head. ‘It’s not a profession. It’s a calling. The hours I put in... the sheer love I put into my job...’

‘Right.’ I glance uncertainly at Elinor. ‘Well, the thing is – I’m not sure I’m going to need any help. Although it’s very kind of you–’

‘No help?’ Robyn throws back her head and peals with laughter. ‘You’re not going to need any help? Please! Do you know how much organization a wed­ding takes?’

‘Well–’

‘Have you ever done it before?’

‘No, but–’

‘A lot of girls think your way,’ says Robyn, nodding. ‘Do you know who those girls are?’

‘Um–’

‘They’re the girls who end up weeping into their wedding cake, because they’re too stressed out to enjoy the fun! Do you want to be those girls?’

‘No!’ I say in alarm.

‘Right! Of course you don’t!’ She sits back, looking like a teacher whose class has finally cracked two plus two. ‘Rebecca, I will take that strain off you. I will take on the headaches, the hard work, the sheer stress of the situation... Ah, here’s the champagne!’

Maybe she has got a point, I think, as a waiter pours champagne into three flutes. Maybe it would be a good idea to get a little extra help. Although how exactly she’ll co-ordinate with Mum...

‘I will become your best friend, Becky,’ Robyn’s saying, beaming at me. ‘By the time of your wedding, I’ll know you better than your best friend does. People call my methods unorthodox. But when they see the results...’

‘Robyn is unparalleled in this city,’ says Elinor, taking a sip of champagne, and Robyn gives a modest smile.

‘So let’s start with the basics,’ she says, and takes out a large, leather-bound notebook. ‘The wedding’s on June 22nd...’

‘Yes.’

‘Rebecca and Luke.’

‘Yes.’

‘At the Plaza Hotel...’

‘What?’ I stare at her. ‘No, that’s not–’

‘I’m assuming that both the ceremony and reception will take place there?’ She looks up at Elinor.

‘I think so,’ says Elinor, nodding. ‘Much easier that way.’

‘Excuse me–’

‘So – the ceremony in the Terrace Room?’ She scribbles for a moment. ‘And then the reception in the Ballroom. Lovely. And how many?’

‘Wait a minute!’ I say, planting a hand on her note­book. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your wedding,’ says Elinor. ‘To my son.’

‘At the Plaza Hotel,’ says Robyn with a beam. ‘I don’t need to tell you how lucky you are, getting the date you wanted! Luckily it was a client of mine who made the cancellation, so I was able to snap it right up for you then and there...’

‘I’m not getting married at the Plaza Hotel!’

Robyn looks sharply at Elinor, concern creasing her brow.

‘I thought you’d spoken to John Ferguson?’

‘I have,’ replies Elinor crisply. ‘I spoke with him yesterday.’

‘Good! Because as you know, we’re on a very tight timescale. A Plaza wedding in less than five months? There are some wedding planners who would simply say, impossible! I am not that wedding planner. I did a wedding once in three days. Three days! Of course, that was on a beach, so it was a little different–’

‘What do you mean, the Plaza’s booked?’ I turn in my chair. ‘Elinor, we’re getting married in Oxshott. You know we are.’

‘Oxshott?’ Robyn wrinkles her brow. ‘I don’t know it. Is it upstate?’

‘Some provisional arrangements have been made,’ says Elinor dismissively. ‘They can easily be cancelled.’

‘They’re not provisional!’ I stare at Elinor in fury. ‘And they can’t be cancelled!’

‘You know, I sense some tension here,’ says Robyn brightly. ‘So I’ll just go make a few calls...’ She picks up her mobile and moves off to the side of the restaurant, and Elinor and I are left glaring at each other. I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

‘Elinor, I’m not getting married in New York. I’m getting married at home. Mum’s already started organizing it. You know she has!’

‘You are not getting married in some unknown back­yard in England,’ says Elinor crisply. ‘Do you know who Luke is? Do you know who I am?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘For someone with a modicum of intelligence, you’re very naive.’ Elinor takes a sip of champagne. ‘This is the most important social event in all our lives. It must be done properly. Lavishly. The Plaza is unsurpassed for weddings. You must be aware of that.’

‘But Mum’s already started planning!’

‘Then she can stop planning. Rebecca, your mother will be grateful to have the wedding taken off her hands. It goes without saying, I will fund the entire event. She can attend as a guest.’

‘She won’t want to attend as some guest! It’s her daughter’s wedding! She wants to be the hostess! She wants to organize it!’

‘So!’ A cheerful voice interrupts us. ‘Are we re­solved?’ Robyn appears back at the table, putting her mobile phone away.

‘I’ve booked an appointment for us to see the Terrace Room after lunch,’ says Elinor frostily. ‘I would be glad if you would at least be courteous enough to come and view it with us?’

I stare at her mutinously, tempted to throw down my napkin and say no way. I can’t believe Luke knows anything about this. In fact, I feel like ringing him up right now, and telling him exactly what I think.

But then I remember he’s at a board lunch... and I also remember him asking me to give his mother a chance. Well, fine. I’ll give her a chance. I’ll go along and see the room, and walk around and nod politely and say nothing. And then tonight I’ll tell her equally politely that I’m still getting married in Oxshott.

‘All right,’ I say at last.

‘Good.’ Elinor’s mouth moves a few millimetres. ‘Shall we order?’