Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop: Celebrate Christmas in Cornwall with this magical romance!. Jane Linfoot
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of Tickled Pink I’m still confused. ‘Which cliffs are you talking about, exactly?’
That makes her smile. ‘The cliffs are proverbial, Holly. The unnerving bit is I’m about to go on holiday with a man I barely know and you’re here to be a wedding photographer when you haven’t got the first clue how to be one.’ She pauses long enough for that to sink in. ‘I always tell people to feel the fear and do it anyway but now it comes to me, it’s not that easy.’
As party talk goes this is a bit deep. And whereas my little surfie wedding isn’t quite the big deal for me she’s making out, it’s true Jess is about to dive out of her comfort zone. After years of being defiantly single, she’s taken everyone by surprise and got together with a guy called Bart, who she first met as a teenager. Bart’s main claims to fame are an all-year-round tan and being loaded. As well as owning the fabulous Rose Hill Manor just outside the village where I grew up, he’s got places in the Caribbean and Switzerland. He lets out the Manor for occasional weddings, which are now run by Poppy and Rafe’s wedding team, from nearby Daisy Hill Farm. With a couple of December bookings coming up, he’s decided to go away, and has persuaded Jess to go with him. But as Jess hasn’t had a day away from the shop in ten years, being whisked off to the Alps by Bart is a huge deal for her. So I can completely see why she’s feeling less in control than usual.
‘To be honest, Jess, I’m hoping we’ll iron out any problems for the wedding when we do our practice shoot tomorrow.’
She gives a disbelieving sniff. ‘Well, I’m glad you feel so chipper. But that still leaves me with two weeks at Bart’s mountain hideaway in Klosters. I’ll be going mad worrying about the shop. And all that time alone with Bart, too.’ The corners of her mouth couldn’t be pulled any further down. ‘I don’t even like snow.’
The note of panic in her voice sweeps me back to my first time away with Luc. That was when I saw his passport said Luke, and found out he’d swapped the ‘ke’ for a ‘c’ in a bid to look less geeky. We went for two weeks in Madeira with his parents, because that’s what he’d done every year before he met me. Although holidaying with his mum wasn’t a great idea for someone trying to look cool. I swear I only stayed sane getting sloshed on cane rum cocktails and eating my own weight in honey cake. Then the ticking time bomb of all-inclusive caught up with me. By the second week the only holiday clothes I could get into were my travel leggings. You wouldn’t believe how badly fleecy joggers chafe at thirty degrees. Not that Jess will have that problem, with her wide-leg linen trousers in sub-zero Klosters.
‘Some time apart every day might help?’ I’m remembering how burying myself in a book got me through. ‘And take thermal leggings.’
Jess knocks back her Margarita in one go and reaches for another. ‘Good thinking. My trouble is, Bart can be such a wind-up merchant.’
Poppy laughs as she joins in. ‘You know we’ll be fine here, Jess. And even though Bart loves to tease you, you always give as good as you get. Don’t forget, you two love birds have been pretty much joined at the hip since September.’
That was when Jess and Bart finally went public, after a summer of secret assignations on a secluded island at the Manor. Although, if they really are as close as Poppy says, it hits me that maybe there is a piece of valuable advice I can pass onto Jess, after all. If they’re trying to make up for lost time, it’s completely possible that in a backdrop as picturesque as Klosters, Bart might pop the question. In which case, it will pay Jess to be prepared.
I take a deep breath, and given what I’m about to throw into the mix, I drop my voice. ‘There is one very important tip – if Bart does happen to get out a ring and ask you to marry him, for goodness sake ram your finger into it and nod madly. Then decide how you really feel about it later.’ This one’s right from the heart. My downfall last Christmas is a well shared secret among our friends in St Aidan. I’m completely resigned to people knowing every last detail. ‘If you panic, like I did, and go skiing off into the distance, there’s a chance you’ll blow it forever.’ I’ve spent the last year pining for my lost life. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
For a second Jess looks as if she’s going to explode. ‘Me ski? I’m not a bloody snow bunny.’ As her voice rises to a shriek, everyone turns to listen. ‘Bart knows, I will not be going anywhere near any slopes, kindergarten or otherwise. And salopettes are completely out of the question.’ As her tone softens, a smile spreads across her face. ‘Although I’ll make an exception for the après ski, obviously.’ That thought puts the purr back into her voice. As tonight proves, no one loves a party like Jess does.
‘Good point, Hols.’ Poppy and I exchange glances over our three glasses. It’s significant that Jess has chosen to go ape at the mention of skiing, not the proposal.
‘Thank you, Holly. I had a feeling you’d set me straight. It’s exactly why I asked the question.’ Jess’s nostrils flare and her smile warms. ‘When our resident wedding photographer, Jules, gets here I’ll introduce you. He’ll be delighted to help you, in return for the absolute gems you’ve given me.’
I get in fast to jump on that idea. ‘Thanks, but there’s really no need.’ Super pro Jules is someone else I was hoping to avoid. I definitely don’t want him thinking I’m treading on his toes here.
‘I absolutely insist.’ Jess is beaming now. ‘And the forecast for tomorrow is abysmal. You’ve heard we’ve taken over the building next door and the first floor’s still empty. It will be perfect for you to use for indoor shots with your lovely couple.’
Over the years Poppy’s told me about Jess’s legendary rail-roading. I just wasn’t expecting to be flattened by the runaway train myself. ‘Nate and Becky want us to go to the beach, whatever the weather.’ Even though I say it in my firmest voice, I get the feeling no one’s listening.
‘So where were we?’ As far as Jess is concerned, I haven’t said a thing. ‘Ah yes, waiting for Jules to arrive. Meanwhile, Lily’s over there, she’ll be looking after the shop with you, Poppy and Sera while I’m away. Hasn’t she done wonders down here?’
‘It’s brilliant.’ As I check the room again, this time I’m taking in the decor and the beautifully arranged stock too. Even if the silver stars-all-over theme is way too Christmassy for me this time around, it’s obvious Lily’s a natural with the styling. The space is bursting with everything from vintage cake tables, to signs, to place settings to four-foot-high illuminated letters spelling LOVE.
That’s the funny thing. A snap shot of any corner of this showroom might have come from my food photographs at work, because the props we use are exactly like the pretty things here. The cleverest people at our company, like Poppy in her previous career, develop the tasty new food products. Then it’s my job to photograph them so they look so delicious that people rush to buy them.
The first time someone put a camera in my hand it was for a student project, photographing a bread range. We were all collapsing with giggles as the lecturer kept telling us to arrange our baps so there was a spiral in the picture. None of us could see any spirals at all, but apparently all my pictures had them anyway. Which was lucky in a way, because when it came to taste innovation, I turned out to be hopeless. My spinach and toffee pudding scored the lowest mark in the history of the course. But once I’d accidentally hit on those invisible spirals, everyone overlooked my strawberry and cauliflower tart disasters. So what began with those seeded buns ended up for me as a career taking food pictures.
Jess’s eyes are shining with pride as she beams at the fabulous place settings and the fairy lights overhead. ‘Every couple needs to make their wedding unique to them, and Lily brings those dreams to life. And talking of making dreams come true, I can’t wait for you to see the studio space next door.’ Note that in two minutes, Jess has changed an empty floor into a studio. But that’s Jess all over, from what Poppy’s told me. ‘Oh, and here’s Jules now. Ju-u-ules!’ As she yells and practically knocks us over with her wave, a guy who could have strolled straight off the pages of GQ magazine is heading our way. With his trademark pink, blue and green-striped scarf muffled around