Stirling is shivering by the time she makes it down the hill and through the door of The Crab and Lobster. The weather has shifted along the north coast of Cornwall and a chilly wind is blowing off the Celtic Sea. Winter is fast approaching and with it, the madness of the holiday season, the optimism of a New Year, and, ultimately, Stirling and Joe's wedding.
Her mind is still back at the surgery as she shakes the rain off her coat and hangs it on a hook just inside the pub door. Several people smile and greet her as she walks between the tables, eventually sitting down at a booth already occupied by two other women.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she says, settling onto the bench seat across from them. "I had a few last minute instructions to give the team."
Joe, Al and a few other village men are currently up at the surgery working at organizing and packing Stirling's household items in preparation for the big move, expected to occur on the upcoming Saturday, just 10 days before Christmas. She has managed to organize the kitchen into items that stay and items to go, so they have started in that room. She's hopefully not much destruction will occur in her absence.
She looks across the pub table at the two curious faces gazing back at her, bright-eyed and attentive, and takes a deep breath. "I'm glad you agreed to meet with me tonight," she says. "I'm sure you're getting really tired of hearing this but – I need your help."
Louisa and Morwenna look at her with big smiles.
"Well, we're here," says Morwenna. "What do you need?"
"I need a clothing designer," explains Stirling. "Actually, a tailor who understands clothing design, specifically wedding dresses. Know anyone?"
Morwenna claps her hands in excitement and glances over at Louisa.
"As you know, adding to the complexity of the request is I need a quick turnaround time," Stirling adds, taking a gulp from the glass of ice water a server has just set in front of her. "Twenty-one days."
"I think I know just the person," Louisa says with a smile. "He's not right in Portwenn. He lives closer to Delabole. He's a bit of a character, displaying that stereotypical artistic temperament. But I think you already know how to deal with difficult people."
Stirling laughs.
"What's his name?"
"Pablo."
"Pablo? There's a person with the first name Pablo living in Cornwall?"
"Just Pablo, no last name," Louisa adds.
"I like him already," says Stirling with a smile. "Can you give me his contact information?"
Louisa pauses.
"Why don't you leave it with me?" she says. "I'll set up an appointment for you to meet with him and I'll come with you."
Stirling looks at Louisa curiously.
"Pablo and I have an understanding," she explains. "I can help with the introduction, smooth the waters, so to speak."
"Thank you Louisa, I really appreciate it."
Morwenna is vibrating with excitement. "Pablo is amazing," she gushes.
"I hope so," says Stirling, "because I need a miracle worker. I've left this way too long."
"What's the dress like?" Morwenna asks.
"It was my mother's," Stirling explains. "It's actually a very special dress. Her father – my Poppa – bought it from a designer in France. It caused quite the stir in the town my mother grew up in and has become this wedding urban legend story in my family."
"Who was the designer?" Louisa asks.
Stirling thinks for a moment. Fashion has never really meant a lot to her and it's been a few years since she last heard the fairy tale-like story of her mother's wedding dress.
"I think it was de Givenchy?"
There's complete silence from Morwenna and Louisa as they stare at Stirling in amazement.
"What?" she asks nervously.
"Your wedding dress is a de Givenchy?" Louisa asks softly.
"Yes. Is that important?"
"Can we see it?" Morwenna whispers almost reverently.
"Sure," says Stirling. "It's back at the surgery. It's been sealed in a box for the past 45 years so don't expect anything fantastic."
After they pay for their refreshments, Louisa and Mowenna practically drag Stirling through the wet, dark evening up the hill to the surgery. As they walk through the front door, music and mayhem can be heard coming from the kitchen.
"Where is it?" Morwenna demands.
"It's upstairs in the guest bedroom," Stirling says, not really comprehending the excitement. "I thought I'd better move it out of the piano room about a week ago. It had been sitting there since Joe dropped it off earlier in the fall."
The three women climb the stairs – Louisa and Morwenna a bit slower due to their expanding stomachs – and walk into the small bedroom. The gigantic box sits against the wall.
Stirling grabs a pocket knife from her bedside table drawer – "Don't ask," she says to Louisa and Morwenna – and carefully cuts through the tape holding the box closed. It opens like a vertical travel trunk. She brushes aside the miles of tissue paper and finds the dress, still sealed in a plastic sheath, beneath. She carefully unhooks the heavy-duty wooden hanger and pulls the garment gently from its cocoon of tissue.
"It's really heavy!" she grunts as she struggles to hold up the dress.
She glances around the material, looking at Louisa and Morwenna.
"Well, what do you think? Does it look okay?"
Silence.
"Louisa? Morwenna?"
Stirling hauls the heavy gown to the doorway of the guest bedroom. Grunting with the effort, she lifts the hanger above her head and hooks it over the inside of the door. She gently lets go and closes the door.
She walks back to where Morwenna and Louisa stand, open-mouthed. She looks back at the dress and smiles.
"It looks just like the photos," she says.
"Your mother wore that dress at her wedding?" asks Morwenna, mesmerized. "And she lived in a town in Yorkshire? What did her father do?"
"My Poppa? He was a banker," says Stirling.
Morwenna and Louisa look at one another. "That explains everything," says the headmistress.
Stirling's eyes open wide as Louisa turns the Lexus off Delabole Road onto an overgrown lane.
"He obviously doesn't get many visitors," she says.
"I told you, he's a bit eccentric," says Louisa.
The path winds back and forth a few times before the underbrush falls away and a large manor house appears.
"Wow," says Stirling. "I wasn't expecting that."
"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again," she quotes from the famous Daphne DuMaurier book. "It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me."
Louisa laughs.
She parks the Lexus near the front walk and they both climb out.
"We'll leave the dress here for now," says Louisa, walking toward the front entrance of the grand house.
Before she has an opportunity to knock, the door is thrown open by a petite man with skin as dark as unadulterated coffee.
"Louisa!" he cries in a beautiful sing-song voice.
He hugs her and kisses both her cheeks.
"I haven't seen you in months. I see married life is still treating you well," he says, looking down at her pregnant belly.
Louisa reaches behind her and pulls Stirling forward. "I have brought a friend to meet you."
The man turns his bright brown eyes toward Stirling, his expression full of curiosity.
"This is Dr. Stirling Aylesworth and she has a very interesting challenge for you."
"A challenge?" the man says, looking Stirling up and down. "Hmmmm."
She obviously meets with his approval because he opens the door wide and welcomes them in.
He leads them into a formal lounge filled with beautiful antique furniture and stunning artwork. Stirling is momentarily mesmerized by the decor, spinning around in a small circle to see everything. "Have a seat," says Pablo.
Stirling eyes the priceless furniture and wonders for a brief moment if she should actually mar one of these chairs with her bum. Comfort comes first, she thinks, settling into a comfy-looking arm chair.
"Can I get you some refreshment?"
Five minutes later, drinks properly nestled on coasters to avoid water rings, they sit in a small, informal circle, Pablo waiting patiently.
"What is this challenge you speak of?" he asks.
Louisa gives Stirling a nod.
"I have a vintage wedding dress I'm hoping you can fit and alter for me."
Pablo lets out a loud sigh, his face falling in disappointment. "A wedding dress? Yawn, darling. If I was interested in working on wedding dresses, I would set up a shoppe in town catering to giggling, starry-eyed girls."
He turns to Louisa. "This is not a challenge! I'm disappointed, sweetie!"
Stirling feels a flare of annoyance. "You haven't let me finish," she says, an edge to her voice. "It's a very special dress. It used to be my mother's and it was fitted special to her measurements by a French designer, Hubert de Givenchy."
Stirling watches Pablo's facial expression change from one of bored indifference to something closely resembling that of a small child on Christmas morning. It's a fascinating transformation.
Louisa smiles. "Are you still disappointed in me, Pablo?" she asks mischievously.
He rises from his chair and grasps Louisa's left hand, raising it tenderly to his lips. "I apologize, darling. This is sounding intriguing but I still cannot see where in the challenge lies."
Stirling decides she might as well stick with her regular way of doing things – be direct.
"I'm currently 15 weeks pregnant," she says, noting that Pablo instantly looks down at her belly. "My wedding is set for January 5, three weeks from today. By then, I will be just over 18 weeks along. I really don't want to appear 18 weeks pregnant on my wedding day. That is the challenge and I heard you were a miracle worker."
Pablo is silent for several very long seconds. "Show me the dress," he says suddenly.
Louisa and Stirling both go out to the car to fetch it and as they struggle through the parlour doorway with the heavy garment, Pablo rises and rushes to their aid. He lovingly cradles the dress in his arms and carries it to a large library table situated in front of one of the parlour windows for maximum lighting.
He pulls out the edges of the plastic-encased fabric, laying it as flat as he can. He looks over at Stirling, his eyes shiny with excitement. "Can I remove the covering?" he asks. She nods.
He takes a pair of fabric shears from a nearby drawer and gently cuts the plastic covering along the top. He carefully peels back the protective sheet until the dress is uncovered. He touches the fabric like it's a lover, running his fingers sensuously over the black embroidered pattern.
He looks over at Stirling. She's surprised to see his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his face glowing like he's just experienced a religious epiphany. "I can't believe I'm actually touching a de Givenchy Sabrina-style wedding dress," he whispers reverently. "Are you sure it's not a copy or a counterfeit?"
Stirling shrugs. "I only know the story I was told. My mother saw the film in the cinema as a young woman and fell in love with the dress. A few years later, she met and fell in love with my father. She was the youngest – the only daughter – and horribly spoiled by her father – my Poppa – who was a banker in York. He was very good friends with one of his clients, who sold fabric to the big design houses in France, including de Givenchy. My mother travelled to Paris to be professionally measured and that dress was made bespoke for her. She wore it on her wedding day, had it cleaned and professionally preserved. This is the first time it's been out of its box in more than 40 years."
Pablo examines the inner seams, the labels, the clasps and closures, the zipper, belt and detachable train. He takes so long, Stirling begins to wonder if they will make it back to Portwenn by dinner. He stands staring at the dress for about five minutes – what feels like the longest five minutes of Stirling's life – and then claps his hands together, making the two women jump.
"Clothes off," he barks at Stirling. "I need to measure you."
She looks around the room. "Here?"
"Of course here," he says, digging a fabric measuring tape out of another drawer. He hands a clipboard and biro to Louisa.
"Hurry, hurry," he says to Stirling, making swooshing gestures with his arms.
She slowly begins to remove her clothing, feeling slightly self conscious as she bares her small baby bump and larger than normal breasts.
Louisa keeps her eyes down on the clipboard, the biro poised to be used.
Tired of waiting for Stirling, Pablo goes to the dress and begins measuring different areas of it, yelling the location and numbers at Louisa to record.
Then he turns to Stirling, examining her body like he would a fish fillet. "Big, yes?" he asks, grabbing the edges of her maternity bra and stretching the fabric back to tighten it more around her breasts.
"Louisa, darling? Are these as gigantic as they are going to get in the next three-four weeks?" he asks.
Louisa hesitates to move.
"Look, darling! Look!"
She slowly looks up at Stirling, who stands feeling foolish in her underwear with her tightened bra pushing her breasts up and out.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Stirling thinks.
Louisa examines her chest for a moment and looks down again. "There's some size increase in the beginning and the rest happens toward the end of the pregnancy. They shouldn't get much bigger until eight months."
Pablo nods his head, letting go of Stirling's bra and moving lower.
"Not that big," he mutters, touching her stomach and making her shiver. "Louisa? How much bigger is she going to get here in three or four weeks?"
Louisa looks at her small bump and smiles slightly. "It's going to likely double in size in that amount of time," she says.
"Twice what it is now?" Pablo asks.
"Just the bump part," Louisa clarifies.
He nods, taking his measuring tape and running it over Stirling's body. He continues to shout numbers back to Louisa.
"Now," he says, folding up his tape and shoving it in his pocket, "you try on."
Stirling hesitates. "You want me to try on the dress?"
Pablo nods his head emphatically as he carries the garment over to her. He carefully unzips the back and undoes all of the clasps, eventually holding the dress down for her to step into. He pulls the dress up her body, holding it below her arms as he circles around the back to zip it up and close the top clasp. In the front, he buckles and tightens the thin belt.
He walks in front of her and backs away about 10 feet, tilting his head left and right. "Turn sideways," he orders, which she does. He stares some more.
Louisa stands beside him, smiling widely.
"Okay, I'm done," he says.
Stirling stands there, slightly puzzled. "Can I look?" she asks.
He looks up from where he's examining the measurements Louisa has recorded on the clipboard, distracted. "Yes, yes," he says, pointing vaguely to a full length looking glass in the corner near the front windows.
She slowly walks toward it, familiarizing herself with the feel and weight of the dress, the rhythmic swishing noise it makes with every step. She stops in front of the looking glass and stares. My breasts look amazing in this dress, she thinks, impressd by the way the material clings to them while pushing them up and supporting them. The cleavage is sexy but not scandalous.
The dress comes in at her waist and then out again at her hips in a flattering hourglass shape. The train bustles out behind her, enhancing the hourglass appearance even more. She turns sideways. This could be a problem, she admits. While the belt enhances her small waist, it also makes the material above her stomach bunch, exaggerating her pot belly. She turns left and right, holding down the material and letting it puff back up.
She turns toward Pablo and realizes he and Louisa have been watching her as she examines her reflection.
"What do you think?" she asks uncertainly.
"You look beautiful," says Louisa, smiling.
"When I am done, you will look even more stunning," says Pablo.
"You'll help me?" Stirling asks hopefully.
"I will love this challenge," he says.
Stirling smiles widely. "Aces!"
Ten minutes later, she and Louisa are on their way back to Portwenn.
"Thank you so much," Stirling says. "I feel so much better now. This dress thing just might work out."
Louisa smiles. "I told you Pablo can be a bit difficult. But he is madly in love with that dress. I have no doubt you will look stunning on January 5."
Stirling blushes, looking out the window.
"Morwenna tells me you and Joe went for your first ultrasound last Monday. How did it go?"
"It was amazing," says Stirling, her eyes shining. "I'll have to show you the photos. It seems real now, not part of some dream or fantasy. I'm actually looking forward to when I can feel it move. I know what the medical books say but when does that actually happen?"
Louisa thinks for a moment. "With your first, it's harder to tell because you're not sure what the movement is supposed to feel like. With James Henry, I think I was about four or five months before I could feel movement inside and six months before I could feel it on the outside. This one, I noticed the movement a lot sooner."
They drive along in companionable silence for a while.
"When are you due?" Louisa asks.
"May 25, which has Joe all excited. It seems Bert has some betting pool going on various aspects of our lives, including the date of birth for our first child."
Louisa laughs. "I'm very familiar with Bert's betting schemes."
"Anyway, Joe has £50 on May 28 and he's convinced he's going to win the pot, which I guess has grown to about £2000."
Louisa looks at her in surprise. "That's a lot of money. Quite a few people must have put down a wager for that pool."
"What about the baby's sex?" she asks.
"I don't know whether Bert has a pool going for that or not."
"No, I mean do you know what you're having?" Louisa asks, laughing.
Stirling blushes with embarrassment. "Yes, but we're not telling. It's a surprise."
Louisa laughs. "And you think Joe is going to be able to keep that secret?"
"On pain of death."
As Joe lies on the stairs, trapped under the hefty wardrobe, he tries to remember exactly how he ended up in this predicament. The move had been progressing so well – most of Stirling's furniture and belongings had been removed from the surgery and were waiting to be carried into the police station. He and Al decided to deal with the heavy items first and were hauling the wardrobe up the stairs – Al going first, Joe at the bottom – when the piece of furniture slipped and Joe felt himself being pushed down and backwards. Somehow, he managed to stop the wardrobe before it ran him completely over but now he's stuck, head facing down the stairs, his arms and the stair bannister keeping the piece of furniture in place.
Trapped upstairs by the wardrobe, Al is currently yelling for help out one of the bedroom windows.
Great, thinks Joe as he lies there. Someone yelling for help from the local police station. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Aren't people supposed to go to police station for help rather than to provide it? I'm never going to live this down.
Almost as if following a divine signal from the humiliation gods, the front door of Joe's house opens and he looks at an upside down Doc standing in the doorway. "What the hell is going on here?" he asks, staring wide-eyed at Joe.
"Hi Doc," Joe says. "Just having a bit of a problem shifting furniture is all."
Suddenly, the Doc disappears out the door, returning quickly with three burly surfer-types who each grab a corner of the wardrobe and lift it off Joe. Unable to sit up due to the awkward position he is in, the Doc is forced to grab him under the arms and drag him into the kitchen. He lies on the floor for a moment, watching the burly guys carry the wardrobe up the stairs with ease.
"Where to?" one guy asks and Al leads them down the hall to the main bedroom.
"Are you alright, Penhale?" the Doc asks, bending over him. "Did you hit your head? Break any bones?"
"I don't think so," says Joe, slowly sitting up. He feels a bit woozy still but he thinks that may be due to all the blood pooling in his head as he lay upside down.
The Doc helps him to his feet and on to one of the kitchen chairs. "Why are you and Al shifting all this furniture by yourselves? Where's Dr. Aylesworth?"
"You think Stirling would have been able to push that wardrobe up the stairs?" Joe asks incredulously.
"No, but I do think she would have had the good sense to inform you that what you were about to attempt was idiotic and required more than two men to accomplish."
Actually, that sounds exactly like something Stirling would say to me but without the idiotic part, thinks Joe.
As he slowly recovers from his mishap, Joe watches in amazement as the three surfer-types bring in the rest of Stirling's furniture and boxes, placing them neatly in the rooms they belong in as Al directs them.
"Thank you so much, fellas," Joe says as the Doc takes his blood pressure for the second time.
"No problem, Sergeant," the tallest one says as his buddies walk out the door. "Just keep this in mind the next time you're thinking about ticketing one of our vehicles."
The Doc rips off the blood pressure cuff with a satisfying tearing noise. "Blood pressure is back to normal," he says, packing up his bag. "Now try not to get yourself into any more trouble today."
As he walks out the front door, he is surprised to see Louisa drive into the station car park with the Lexus.
Stirling gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Louisa. I really appreciate all your help. Have a good evening."
She jumps out of the car, takes one look at the Doc and his bag before rushing through the house doorway.
"What happened?" she asks, relieved to see Joe at least sitting upright. "Why was the Chief here with his doctor's bag?"
"We had a little bit of a problem getting the wardrobe up the stairs," explains Al. "Joe got a little banged up but the Doc says he'll be as good as new in a few days."
"Oh my god!" says Stirling, about to undo Joe's shirt so she can examine him. He grabs her fingers before she can undo any buttons. "I'm perfectly fine," he says. "And as you can see, we have everything moved into its proper room. Now it just needs to be organized."
Stirling looks around and is amazed to see the furniture and boxes neatly placed in the lounge and kitchen, just waiting for her to organize and place them in their new home.
Al looks at his watch and announces he has to get home to dinner.
"Thanks for your help, mate," Joe says, shaking Al's hand.
"No problem, Joe," he says before walking out the door.
Stirling closes it behind him and turns to find Joe standing and reaching out for her hand. "Come with me," he says, pulling her toward the stairs. "I want to show you something."
She notes he is favouring his back as she follows him up the stairs and down the hall to the main bedroom. She smiles when she sees her bed has been set up in place of Joe's. "My bed!" she says happily, falling backwards on to the comfortable mattress. "Welcome to our new home!"
Joe gingerly lies down next to her and they both stare up at the ceiling.
"How did it turn out with the dress bloke?" he asks.
"Perfect!" Stirling says with a smile, rolling toward him onto her side. "I feel so much better now. I think it's actually going to work. He's a bit different but I like him. Louisa definitely saved the day with Pablo."
"Is it going to be finished in time?"
Stirling nods her head optimistically. Joe's not sure he's convinced.
"So, on a scale of one to 10 with one being 'Not at all' and 10 being 'Oh my god, I think I'm going to die,' how badly does your back hurt?" she asks.
He looks over at her, surprised. "My back doesn't hurt."
She gives him a look of impatience. "Don't play games with the doctor, Sergeant. I bloody well know you're back is in pain. And Al mentioned something about you being banged up by the wardrobe. Undo your shirt and roll onto your stomach so I can take a look."
"Do you think this is a good spot for the bed? Or should we move it in front of the window there? I think it would be better in front of the window because in the morning the light ..."
"Nice try," she says, unamused. "Undo your shirt or I'll do it for you."
"Promise?" he asks with a smile.
Stirling crawls closer to him and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He reaches up and tries to unbutton hers but she slaps his hand away with a laugh. "Distraction will not work, officer."
When she finally gets his shirt open, she gasps in horror. "I don't think you have had that reaction before when you've taken off my shirt," Joe says nervously, trying to look down to see what has upset her.
"Does this hurt?" she asks, pressing across his mid-chest every inch or so.
"Yes," he says flinching, trying to bat her hand away.
"You have a subcutaneous hematoma, about two inches in height, completely bisecting your chest horizontally," Stirling says, emotion in her voice.
"Is that bad?" he asks.
"How did it happen?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at her wardrobe and then back at Joe's chest. "It fell on you, the wardrobe, didn't it?"
Before he can register what's happening, she grabs his left arm and yanks it toward her, effortlessly flipping him over on his stomach. She pulls up the back of his open shirt and is greeted by more contusions, each in a neat line across his back about one foot apart starting just below his neck and going all the way down.
"I think you dislocated my arm," Joe says, his voice muffled by the sheets and blankets on the bed.
"I didn't dislocate your bloody arm,' Stirling says in disgust, standing up. "If I had, you'd be running around the room screaming right now."
She starts walking toward the bedroom door. Joe flips back over on his back and sits up on his elbows. "Where are you going? You practically rip off my shirt, flip me around on the bed and now you're leaving?"
"I'm going to get some ice," she says.
"Sounds kinky."
"Funny," she says, turning around to give Joe an exasperated look. "I'm actually seriously thinking about buying an ice cubing machine so that I always have ready access to ice for the injuries you seem to acquire."
"It would probably also be handy for parties."
Stirling tries very hard not to smile or laugh at his quip but it is very difficult. "I got you!" he says, laughing. "I made you smile! I saw it!"
"I'm glad you think this is hilarious. I, on the other hand, do not. It's quite apparent that as you and Al were hauling the wardrobe up the stairs, it slipped, putting all of its weight on the person at the bottom, which was you. Unable to hold it, you were pushed backwards down the stairs, eventually falling and almost being run over by the piece of furniture. It came to a stop on your mid-chest," she adds, using her own as an example to show where the wardrobe landed, "trapping you underneath it for about 10 to 15 minutes. Eventually it was lifted off you."
Joe looks at her in open-mouthed astonishment. "That's exactly what happened! You're amazing! You're like the Sherlock Holmes of medicine. You could tell all that just by looking at the bruises on my body?"
She looks back at him completely straight-faced as she pulls her mobile from her trouser pocket. "Actually no. When I flipped you on your stomach, I read Morwenna's text, which she sent to me right after weaselling the whole story out of Al."
They stare at one another for several seconds. "You cheeky tart," Joe says menacingly as he climbs off the bed. Stirling's eyes go wide as he advances on her. She sprints down the hall away from him, laughing as he races after her.