Maybe I’ve moved on a little since then. I don’t dream about wearing a crumpled cream-colored lampshade for a wedding dress. I’ve even given up on marrying a member of the royal family. But still, whenever I see a wedding, part of me turns back into that starry-eyed six-year-old.
“I know! Isn’t it going to be great?” Suze beams happily. “Now, I must just brush my teeth…”
She disappears into the bathroom and I wander over to her dressing table, where the announcement of the engagement is stuck in the mirror. The Hon. Susan Cleath-Stuart and The Hon. Tarquin Cleath-Stuart. Blimey. I always forget Suze is so grand.
“I want a title,” I say, as Suze comes back into the room with a hairbrush in her hair. “I feel all left out. How do I get one?”
“Ooh, no you don’t,” says Suze, wrinkling her nose. “They’re crap. People send you letters saying Dear Ms. Hon.”
“Still. It’d be so cool. What could I be?”
“Erm…” Suze tugs at a tangle in her hair. “Dame Becky Bloomwood?”
“That makes me sound about ninety-three,” I say doubtfully. “What about… Becky Bloomwood MBE. Those MBE things are quite easy to get, aren’t they?”
“Easy-peasy,” says Suze confidently. “You could get one for services to industry or something. I’ll nominate you, if you like. Now come on, I want to see your dress!”
“OK!” I heave my case onto the bed, click it open, and carefully draw out Danny’s creation. “What do you think?” I proudly hold it up against myself and swoosh the gold silk around. “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“It’s fantastic!” says Suze, staring at it with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” She fingers the sequins on the shoulder. “Where did you get it? Is this the one from Barneys?”
“No, this is the one from Danny. Remember, I told you he was making me a dress?”
“That’s right.” She screws up her face. “Which one’s Danny, again?”
“My upstairs neighbor,” I remind her. “The designer. The one we bumped into on the stairs that time?”
“Oh yes,” says Suze, nodding. “I remember.”
But the way she says it, I can tell she doesn’t really.
I can’t blame her — she only met Danny for about two minutes. He was on his way to visit his parents in Connecticut and she was pretty jet-lagged at the time and they barely spoke. Still. It’s weird to think that Suze doesn’t really know Danny, and he doesn’t know her, when they’re both so important to me. It’s like I’ve got two completely separate lives, and the longer I’m in New York, the farther they split apart.
“OK, here’s mine,” says Suze excitedly.
She opens a wardrobe door and unzips a calico cover — and there’s a simply stunning dress, all drifting white silk and velvet with long sleeves and a traditional long train.
“Oh God, Suze,” I breathe, my throat tight. “You’re going to be so completely beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re getting married! ‘Mrs. Cleath-Stuart.’ ”
“Ooh, don’t call me that!” says Suze, wrinkling her nose. “It sounds like my mother. But actually it is quite handy marrying someone in the family,” she adds, closing the wardrobe, “because I can keep my name and take his, all at the same time. So I can keep being S C-S for my frames.” She reaches into a cardboard box and pulls out a beautiful glass frame, all spirals and whorls. “Look, this is the new range—”
Suze’s career is designing photograph frames, which sell all over the country, and last year she diversified into photograph albums, wrapping paper, and gift boxes too.
“The whole theme is shell shapes,” she says proudly. “D’you like it?”
“It’s beautiful!” I say, running my finger round the spirals. “How did you come up with it?”
“I got the idea from Tarkie, actually! We were out walking one day and he was saying how he used to collect shells when he was a child and about all the different amazing shapes in nature… and then it hit me!”
I look at her face, all lit up, and have a sudden image of her and Tarquin walking hand in hand on the blustery moors, in Aran sweaters by The Scotch House.
“Suze, you’re going to be so happy with Tarquin,” I say heartfeltly.
“D’you think?” She flushes with pleasure. “Really?”
“Definitely. I mean, look at you! You’re simply glowing!”
Which is true. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but she looks completely different from the old Suze. She’s still got the same delicate nose and high cheekbones, but her face is rounder, and kind of softer. And she’s still slim, but there’s a kind of a fullness… almost a…
My gaze runs down her body and stops.
Hang on a minute.
No. Surely…
No.
“Suze?”
“Yes?”
“Suze, are you…” I swallow. “You’re not… pregnant?”
“No!” she replies indignantly. “Of course not! Honestly, whatever can have given you—” She meets my eye, breaks off, and shrugs. “Oh, all right then, yes I am. How did you guess?”
“How did I guess? From you… I mean, you look pregnant.”
“No, I don’t! No one else has guessed!”
“They must have. It’s completely obvious!”