Miranda's wedding Chapter 5.
Mel Carroll was pruning the early roses along the front drive of the Windhover Inn. They were her pride and joy and she was determined to get rid of the greenfly which had infested them so early in the year, blowing in on a westward breeze somehow. It was also an exercise to calm her shattered nerves, which had been on a roller-coaster over the last twenty-four hours.
She was normally a very contented woman, happy in her marriage to Frieda, her woman partner of thirty years, and joint owner of their Inn by the sea in gay-friendly Provincetown. It was an establishment which had started being owned by the bank far more than by them, and even getting as far as opening it had been a giant struggle in itself.
Two gay women school teachers were not usually approved as business mortgage holders in the late seventies, even in liberal Cape Cod, but they had persevered through various banks and brokers until they found one who grudgingly agreed to lend them the money, and Frieda's parents in Germany then left them enough inheritance to refurbish and extend the old property.
The Windhover was now one of the smartest Inns on the Cape, with a shining row of stars next to it on TripAdvisor, and they were usually booked up solid from Memorial Day right through to Labor Day in early September. But nothing, nothing, had prepared them for the publicity and glory they knew would come their way when Miranda Priestly of all people had given them her blessing, and actually booked them as the venue for her wedding to her young and glamorous girl-friend. It could be the New England wedding of the year.
Yesterday's realisation however, that Frieda had somehow double-booked another wedding as well for the same day, for Miranda's assistant of all people, had been a thunderbolt from which she was still recovering. Now they had not one, but two Lesbian extravaganzas, each wanting to fill their inn and inhabit the same space, both asking for every bedroom in the place, and planning to have simultaneous dance-bands, receptions and use of the garden. This had turned what had been a joy into a bloody nightmare. Mel hadn't slept a wink all night.
She was so sorry she had shouted at Frieda so horribly though when she confessed the mistake. She remembered her cruel words with great remorse. How could Frieda have been so stupid to realise that the second booking didn't just confirm the first? Why hadn't she bothered to learn English properly after all these years in the States? Wasn't she even capable of understanding a simple phone message?
Frieda had simply dissolved into floods of tears, and was still locked away in her book-room at the top of the house. It was the worst falling out in their entire marriage. Mel felt horrible. She knew it wasn't just Frieda's fault. She should have double-checked the strange second booking at once.
She remembered Miranda's last visit to the Inn, when she had dined with those three beautiful young women, and complimented Mel on the fresh sea-food they'd all had. Andrea, and Emily, and Serena, she remembered their names, all from Runway magazine in New York. She and Frieda had talked about that stunning set of celebrity visitors for ages afterwards.
It was so unlikely that they would want weddings the same weekend. No wonder Frieda had misunderstood. And then there was Frieda's new problem, if she was honest. She was getting increasingly forgetful, and muddled at times. Mel couldn't avoid noticing it, and she knew she had to talk about it, and maybe take her partner for some tests. It hung like a dark cloud over their previously sunny existence.
But then, oh joy! Andrea and Emily had both called back this morning, much calmer and not threatening to sue any more, and had actually suggested they combine the two weddings. She had talked to them herself on speakerphone for an hour, and it looked as though the nightmare was going to be resolved.
They would keep the times of their separate marriage ceremonies, but everything else would flow together all day. The two bands of musicians would share the gig, one for the afternoon, and the other for the evening dancing. She had also been doing some hard thinking, and told them they could take over the Inn next door as well, the owners there would be pleased to have all their rooms booked out for a weekend in mid- May.
Then, just as she was taking off her gardening gloves, Mel saw a zippy little Mercedes with Boston plates turn in her gate and run past her up to the parking area beside their main building. Miranda Priestly, she'd know that profile and distinctive hair anywhere!
She went forward to greet the driver.
"Miranda Priestly! How lovely to see you. I've just been talking to your fiancée this morning."
Miranda jumped out of the car. She had made the trip from the hospital gates in under two hours, so felt very pleased with herself.
"Good afternoon. It's a flying visit I'm afraid, but I've just come to check everything will be in order."
"Oh yes, thankfully. I can't apologise enough for the mix-up before, but I think we've arrived at a satisfactory solution for you all."
Miranda looked puzzled. "I'm sorry. You have me at a disadvantage, I'm afraid. What mix-up?"
Mel began to feel uneasy. Could it be that Miranda hadn't been told of the double booking? She led her inside while she tried to compose her face into something other than naked fear.
"We all found out yesterday morning that your assistant Emily . . . "
"Emily Charlton. She was my assistant until last September certainly. What has that stupid girl done now?"
"Er. Ten days ago Emily and her fiancée booked our Inn as the venue for their wedding as well, probably following your lead, and er, my partner misunderstood their request, and also booked them in for May 15th. We only discovered the error yesterday. We thought it was one large wedding you see."
Miranda tottered a little on her heels. "How inefficient," she said, calmly and coldly. "Of course you have rebooked them for another date later in the year."
Mel felt rather like a small child facing an angry headmistress, even though she was a few years older than Miranda. She tried smiling.
"Please don't worry. Everything has been sorted out now. Andrea and Emily have both been talking to me and we have found a perfect solution."
Miranda said nothing, simply raised an immaculate eyebrow. Mel thought maybe smiling wasn't the most appropriate expression to adopt after all.
"They are . . . joining forces. It will now be a double wedding, two ceremonies but the same reception and wedding meal and evening entertainment. We have taken over rooms at the Inn next door, so we can accommodate everyone."
"But I know nothing of this. And I can say immediately, I absolutely refuse to agree to it. It's a ridiculous idea."
Miranda's mind was running all over the place, but she kept her face completely still and used her best Editor in Chief hauteur. This sudden information had devastated her for several reasons.
One, if not the worst was the knowledge that Andy had blithely gone behind her back and fixed up a three ring circus with Emily of all people, which would include her lying coward of a drug-dealing father invading her and Andy's wedding, along with half her employees from Runway, and goodness knows how many crazy Brazilians. The paparazzi would have a field day, and the most precious time of her life with Andy, sacred moments just with family and their dearest friends would be destroyed by the invading hordes of young New York fashionistas. Serena had been a top cat-walk model who knew the world and his wife.
Mel Carroll swallowed hard, and tried not to look too fazed. "Obviously you will want to talk to your fiancée. Would you like to use the phone in the lounge?"
"No. I have my own phone in the car. Excuse me." And Miranda turned on her heel and walked swiftly out of the door. She looked as though she was holding the Inn keeper in contempt, but she was actually trying to avoid breaking down into tears.
She reached into the Mercedes and pulled out her soft leather purse and extracted the I Phone, but when she tried to turn it on, she realised the battery was completely flat, and she couldn't get a peep from it. She didn't even have a recharging lead to bring it back to life.
Sensibly she should have gone back into the Inn, sat down with the owner, who would probably be able to give her a charging lead and boost her phone up enough to contact Andy, or allow her to use the house phone to call her. At least, along with the twins' cell phone numbers, she knew Andy's cell number off by heart. It was written on her heart in fact.
But Miranda, after her early start, assisting Cindy at the birth, driving like a mad woman for two hours, and then hearing that her wedding plans were turning upside down, was not being sensible. She simply jumped into the driver's seat, savagely turned the car round on the gravel drive so that it left deep grooves in the surface and roared out of the gate.
Mel was left wondering what on earth to do. Part of her was grateful not to have to face anymore of the Runway Editor's fury. But she really feared what would happen next. Maybe both parties would now cancel, and worse, she almost thought Miranda might crash her car. She hurried to her office, and rang the number she had for Andrea Sachs.
"Hello Andrea," she said. "I'm afraid Miranda has just been here, and she has left in a hurry. . . . Yes, I told her . . . Yes, and I am afraid she wasn't at all happy. In fact she refuses to agree to sharing. . . . No, there was no doubt. She said, absolutely not. I just thought you should know."
There was a hurried conversation at the other end of the phone. It seemed Andrea and Emily were still together. Then Andy came back on the line.
"Yes . . . I understand. I will wait to hear from you. If she comes back, I'll make sure she calls you. But she left very abruptly. I am quite concerned for her. Thanks. Yes . . . . Goodbye."
Miranda had driven off, not back up the road towards Boston, but three miles further on, to her own lovely little cottage on the beach. There she pulled up the car, opened the door with the key hidden under the geranium pot, and went into the little house which was just as perfect as the day she and Andy had left it in February.
She remembered the lovely visit they had had over Valentine's weekend, the brilliant sex they'd enjoyed with Andy's evil little present, and how she had taken sweet revenge the next day. Andy did love her, surely. So why had she casually changed all their wedding plans, just to fit in with young Ms Charlton's mistake?
Miranda sat down on the little wooden bench which ran along their veranda and succumbed to tears. She suddenly felt old and sad and unwanted, and a grumpy old woman whom Andy obviously had delayed bringing into the loop, because she guessed she wouldn't easily agree to changing all their plans.
Her mind went back to all those months when Andy and Emily had shared the outer office at Runway, watching her constantly and no doubt talking about her in her frosty isolation in the inner sanctum. Then she remembered Andy kissing Emily at the Christmas party. Was that purely platonic? It certainly hadn't looked like it at the time!
In fact she'd been so fired up, she'd given Andrea a good spanking in bed the following night because of it. (Well, if she was honest, maybe it had just been a good excuse. She often had fantasies about spanking Andy. ) Sex with Andy was always so wonderful, but marrying someone had to be based on a deeper understanding than just how to have fantastic sex together. She almost felt betrayed.
After twenty minutes of her own company, Miranda had quite convinced herself that her own wedding would now be just a little silliness before Emily and Serena's nuptials, and what Andy wanted more than anything was to be their bridesmaid, rather than be her bride.
Lovely as the cottage was, and as soothing as it was to her soul, she just hadn't the time to stay there long enough to regain a sense of proportion and to calm down. She quickly checked the house over to make sure all was secure and tidy, locked it up, and then went back to the car to make the return journey to Boston. She simply could not face returning to the Inn for another embarrassing episode with Mel Carroll.
As she roared back to Boston, she centred on the nub of her pain. She knew Andy loved her, she believed that at least. But as far as she could see, and this double wedding nonsense confirmed it, Andy also loved everyone else as well. She was as happy to defer to Emily Charlton as she was to Miranda. How could she have fixed anything up without consulting her first?
This idea grew inside her, all the time she drove, and then handed back her car, and then boarded the commuter flight to New York. By the time Miranda walked through the door of the town-house, it could be said that she was not as happy as a bird, not at all. Exhaustion and fear of rejection, and horrible memories from her childhood all had combined to tip her emotions quite over the edge, and she was in as foul a mood as she had ever felt.
"Hello darling," said Andy, opening the door with a dreadfully bland smile. "I'm so glad to see you back safely from Boston. The twins have gone to bed, but they talked to their Dad, and saw pictures of the baby. You must be exhausted. Can I pour you a drink?"
Miranda, who couldn't trust herself to speak, flung down her coat and bag, marched straight past her into the study without a word, and shut the door so firmly, that in anyone else's house it would have been called a slam. The whole first floor of the property shook.
"Oh hell," thought Andy. And she reached up to the top shelf in their kitchen for Miranda's secret bottle of Scotch, pulled over a couple of glasses, and began to fill them. She saw a long night ahead.
.