Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

It had been a mistake to head to Harrods on the Saturday before Christmas. The crowds were ridiculous. They were being pushed from pillar to post. At this rate they would have to drop an anchor just to browse one shelf.

Neither Aron nor Paul had mentioned Aron’s liaison with Jolyon all those years ago again. Aron found he quite enjoyed it being a sore point for Paul. Not that Paul had any right to one. He’d made his intentions perfectly clear.

Still, Aron had no time for fun. Now they’d entered the hallowed hall of consumption, they had a mission to fulfil. On the shopping list was gifts for everyone playing a role in the production, bow ties for the Professor and Paul and a guest book as well as ornate boxes to put on every table. Granny and the Professor had forgone a wedding list anywhere. They had more possessions than they knew what to do with. Instead, they were encouraging donations to a homeless charity.

“We should have done this on Monday,” Paul grumbled after being shoved out of the way for the umpteenth time.

“You’ve braved most war zones this century,” Aron replied. “Surely a department store is child’s play.”

Paul dodged a particularly enthusiastic male shopper who swiped a pair of cufflinks straight out from under his nose.

“I’d take my chances on the front line.”

Aron chuckled. Shopping wasn’t his thing either. Living in New York, he was in one of the best cities in the world for such expeditions. He preferred doing it online whilst lying on the couch in his pants.

“So you don’t fancy coming next week when the sale is on?”

Paul shuddered. “Absolutely not. Tell me at what point we’ve earnt a drink.”

“That’s a long way away, my friend.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Friend?”

“Don’t read anything into it,” Aron replied. “It’s a catch-all word.”

“I don’t remember you being so snippity.”

“Things change.” Aron glanced at his watch. “We’ve got an hour before our meeting. Will you please choose a bow tie? Come on.”

They swerved out of the main flow of shoppers and took solace behind a display of ties. Aron had accompanied Granny on enough trips to have the floorplan indelibly imprinted on his brain. He hoped they never had a restructure.

“Okay. Let me see,” Paul said.

There were rows and rows of the damned things. From boring shades of blue to ones festooned with dogs or footballs or even Christmas puddings. Paul selected two matching ones with floral designs. Red roses on a cream background.

“What do you think?”

“I like. Plus, they’re the right colours. See, I knew you could do this if you put your mind to it.”

Paul threw them into the Harrods bag they’d selected when they first came in. Aron had the idea that they would fill a plethora of such bags. Granny would get a kick out seeing them all lined up.

“What’s next?”

“Gifts for everyone.”

“Oh fucking hell,” Paul groaned. “How about vouchers?”

“I’m sure Christmas is exciting when you’re around.”

Paul shoved past a family who were trying on gloves. “I think I’ve proven today that I’m a very good gift buyer.”

“You have me there. It’s easy to get something for your father. How about everyone involved in making this day special? Now that’s a challenge and a half.”

Paul narrowed his eyes. “A challenge? Now that is irresistible. Come with me, Wimpole.”

Aron was led through the iconic store. There was no time for chatter. The din made it impossible.

He watched Paul weave through the people like an expert. Aron’s gaze fell to that perfect ass of his. He’d remembered how that had felt to the touch. As well as the rest of Paul’s body. Yes, Aron had slept with a few people since Paul. They’d all failed to match up.

Maybe Alexander and Mercury were right. What if he did want more than to prove to Paul what a mistake he’d made?

Down that road madness lies.

He tried to force the impure thoughts from his brain and turn his focus on his grandmother. He had to get this right for her. Soon they were in the food halls. Paul marched proudly up to the hamper section.

He pointed to one that had champagne, chocolates, a scented candle and an array of creams and potions.

“There. How many do we need?”

“Twenty.”

“Then they’re getting delivered. I’m not carrying twenty Harrods hampers home.”

It was a great idea. Who didn’t love receiving a wicker basket full of treats?

“Okay. I concede. You are quite good at this.”

Paul rubbed his hands together. “Let’s find a sales assistant. I’m getting into my stride now.”

Aron giggled. Paul’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Don’t peak too soon,” he warned.

“You know that isn’t a problem for me.”

Heat flashed Aron’s face.

“You can stop that kind of talk.”

“Stick-in-the-mud.”

Edwin and Anais Franklin were wedding planners to the stars. They operated out of their home a few streets away from Queens Crescent.

When Aron walked in, he almost flinched. Evidently the Franklins’ favourite colour was peach. As they sat on the couch, Aron took in the décor. They had peach curtains and a peach suite. The pictures on the walls were prints of Monet and Van Gogh. On a sideboard were pictures of Edwin and Anais with various famous figures. They’d worked with many over the years. Granny had regaled him with the celebrity stories they’d already shared.

She’d also warned him that they went on for hours, so to avoid the subject entirely.

The house was tiny in comparison to the Queens Crescent mansions. It had an overwhelming smell of vanilla. Aron spotted electric oil burners. At least four of them pumping out the cloying scent into the air.

He also spotted a huge Maine coon cat lying on a silk pillow. He was glad that he hadn’t brought Parkin. That creature would make mincemeat of him.

“What a lovely place you have,” Paul said, glancing at Aron.

“Why thank you,” Anais said. “We find it very soothing.”

Aron stifled a snigger. The single colour tone was giving him a headache. Or maybe it was the overwhelming scent. Either way, he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“My grandmother and his father are wanting a cream and gold wedding,” he said.

“A classic choice,” Edwin replied. “Although we’re concerned about the timeframe. It really is most unusual, you know. Normally, we have months to get something like this off the ground.”

Aron frowned. “It’s not a huge wedding.”

Edwin and Anais shared a pained look.

“They are expecting a wedding for two hundred in Christmas week. I can’t believe most of the people invited are actually coming.”

Aron wasn’t. Between them, Granny and the Professor were very popular people. They sat on countless committees as well as having rich social groups.

“Then there are all the suppliers to get into order,” Edwin continued. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that Anais and I have barely slept since Mrs Wimpole got in touch.”

They were highly strung, that much was evident. Granny had been right in her method of dealing with them. Aron wondered if they were like this with all the high-profile customers they had served.

Do they ever get repeat business?

“My grandmother is a popular woman.”

“And formidable,” Edwin added with a shudder.

He was starting to grate on Aron’s nerves. These two were probably getting paid to organise a whole wedding. Yet, here were Aron and Paul, working as unpaid lackeys for them.

“Perhaps we should start with what has already been done,” Anais added.

She produced a peach clipboard from the side of the chair she perched on. Aron was surprised the bloody paper wasn’t the same colour.

“It appears that Mrs Wimpole is dealing with the florist, the wine and the outfits.”

“It sounds like everything is in order then,” Paul said. “No need for panic just yet.”

Both Edwin and Anais frowned at him.

“I take it you’ve never organised a wedding before,” Edwin said.

“Thankfully not.”

If looks could kill, poor Paul wouldn’t see the ceremony at this rate.

“We have to deal with food, venue, table decorations, photographer, cars…”

“Oh wait,” Aron said. “I think Granny has booked the Nickleby Hotel for the afterparty.”

Anais cleared her throat. “The reception.”

“That’s right.”

Edwin sighed. “I do wish she would tell us these things. It’s not a problem. We’ve worked with the Nickleby many times. Delightful venue.”

“It was my father’s idea,” Paul said. “He’s a bit of a Dickens boffin.”

Edwin sat up straight. “Is that right? Why don’t we name the tables after a character?”

Aron clapped his hands together. “I like that idea. Paul, can you get a list of all his favourites? How many tables?”

Anais checked her list. “I think twenty.”

“It is very unusual to only have a week to prepare everything,” Edwin said. “Very unusual indeed.”

Aron nodded. “They aren’t your run-of-the-mill couple. Can it be done?”

Anais placed the clipboard down on her lap. “This will be the wedding everyone in this postcode area talks about for years to come,” she said seriously. “Your grandmother deserves nothing less than perfection. We will work tirelessly to achieve that.”

To his surprise, Aron found himself deeply touched by her words. In the few days he’d been home, he had realised how many people in the area loved Granny.

Edwin reached forward and took his wife’s hand.

“You’re right as ever, my love,” he said before turning to Aron. “When Anais and I launched this business, Mrs Wimpole was most supportive. I think our first seven clients came from her recommendation. No matter what she needs, we will prevail. She is a remarkable woman.”

“That she is.”

“Will you be requiring stag and hen parties?” Anais asked.

Aron sat up. “I’m sorry. I’d like to arrange the hen.”

Once again Anais and Edwin appeared frustrated.

“I suppose you’ll be doing the stag as well,” Edwin said to Paul.

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” Paul replied. “I can’t quite see my dad in a lap dancing club. Thank goodness for that. Nah, we’ll have a few people round. Maybe get some food in.”

“Drinks in the lounge? How exciting,” Aron said drolly before turning to Anais. “Anyone would think he’s fearful of any competition.”

“Fearful?” Paul replied. “As if. I simply don’t want to go overboard.”

Aron had every intention of throwing the lot at Granny’s hen do. This was his chance to show her how much he loved her.

“I suppose as a photographer, you don’t actually need your own imagination,” Aron said. “It’s more just point and click. Not like an artist or someone like that.”

He saw Paul’s neck redden.

A direct hit.

“In answer to your question, Edwin,” Paul said, evidently ignoring Aron’s victory smirk. “I will be organising the stag do.”

“It sounds like a competition to me,” Edwin replied. “If you need any ideas to make it unforgettable, give me a call. We took some guys paintballing the other week. It was a roaring success.”

“The bruise on your bottom is nearly gone,” Anais added.

Edwin shook his head. “Those things can hurt.”

The cat stretched and wandered over to Paul for some fussing. Aron was transfixed as he watched him stroke the huge beast.

Paul’s hands were massive. Aron had often wondered how he managed to operate a delicate contraption like a camera.

He also remembered how they felt roaming over his naked body.

Focus, Wimpole. Fucking focus.