Bride-to-be Petal Borroway was originally from Southampton, but had spent the last decade modeling in Milan, New York, and a dozen other places, where she was most famous for appearing in an advertisement for chip-resistant nail varnish — and for getting engaged to Donald Price-Parker, who was something of a heartthrob in Great Britain.
Petal exuded glam — I would have declared her a model, or a wannabe model if I hadn't known already. Flawless skin, perfect makeup, delicate bone structure that seemed almost sculpted. Her clothes were casual, yet screamed expensive. As did those of Donald, whose body was a trifle over-muscular beneath his tight t-shirt and summer jacket, his blond hair cut short against his head. He had the powerful brooding-and-sullen stare that makes many women go weak in the knees, but for me it was a little too much. Tarzan in designer clothes, exerting his animal prowess over women.
They were side by side on the velvet sofa in Cliffs House's main drawing room. Petal's hand rested constantly on some part of Donald's body — hand, shoulder, arm, thigh, shifting gradually and possessively every time he moved — and showing off the spectacular diamond on her finger.
"So why choose Cornwall?" I asked, in my best professional voice. "What makes this part of England so special to both of you?"
At Design a Dream, standard operating procedure had been to ask the bride and groom why they chose their wedding location. It helped determine how central to the wedding's theme the marriage or reception site would be — and how much of it would be brushed over or disguised to avoid clashing with said image. Since my job would primarily be coordinating their reception, I needed to know as much about their choice as I could.
"Weekends and what not," said Donald. He had a rather lazy drawl that surprised me. It made him sound as if he wanted to fall asleep. "I've had a place in Cornwall on and off for the past few years. Surfing in Newquay and so on. Weddings in London feel rather hack these days." He looked away from his mobile for the first time since Lady Amanda had introduced us, finally paying some attention now that the topic of his wedding was at hand.
"But you chose Ceffylgwyn," I said. "It must be special to one of you."
"Donald races in St Austell," answered Petal. "A hobby of sorts, now that he's not surfing in Newquay anymore. He was a big fan of the Trelawny Tigers. That's why we're taking a place along the coast in Truro instead of our old one."
Maybe it was my imagination, but I was picking up on signals that Petal wasn't exactly thrilled by this move. Maybe it was just the tiniest arch of her eyebrows as she said it, or the fact that she inspected her nails for a brief second when mentioning Truro — her presumably chip-resistant nail varnish. Nevertheless, she snuggled closer to Donald's body.
"Anyway — here we are," said Donald. "Doing the whole 'Cornish thing' for the big day and so on."
"A traditional Cornish wedding?" I ventured.
I hadn't been anticipating something like this, not so quickly, and I felt a quick patter of panic in my chest. This couple had no idea, of course, that I had only been in Cornwall for a day. I wondered what sort of traditions a Cornish wedding entailed — especially for two people who weren't natives, as they just explained.
"Just a few touches, here and there," said Petal. "We want something to make us feel at home in Cornwall, since we'll be splitting our time between here and London. At least for awhile." She smiled at Donald with a lingering, lovey-dovey glance passing between them, then looked at me with a smile. "And some of my friends will be coming from America, so we want them to have a taste of Cornwall. It's such a chic place right now. Who wouldn't want to show it off a little?"
At first impression, I didn't like her. Maybe it was the bored look in her eyes when her fiancé talked for more than a few sentences, or the way she looked annoyed during Lady Amanda's guided tour of Cliffs House's large music and dining rooms reserved for the wedding, curling a lock of her long hair around one finger at times, and sighing quietly. But her smile for me, inclusive and almost friendly, made me soften a little bit.
"Let's talk about what you want to show off most, then," I said, switching subjects. "You want touches of Cornwall, so that will obviously be part of your wedding theme. A country wedding — or city sophistication, with touches of the country?"
"A city wedding," said Petal at the same time as Donald said, "Country." They exchanged glances. For a moment, I thought Petal looked tense — or upset — but it cleared from her eyes when Donald spoke.
"Whatever. I'll be off at St Austell most of the time. Not as if I care." He shrugged. "Just something that'll look good in the papers. Champagne, expense. So on."
"I think we can manage that," said Petal, looking at me as she spoke. "Donald just wants something elegant...but simple. My dress is couture fashion, the cake is from an exclusive bakery in Newquay — I'll send you the details on them. The ceremony and reception should be just as exclusive ... if a touch dressed down, of course."
"Simple but expensive," clarified Donald, in case I hadn't understood this.
"Besides, I was thinking it would be nice to return to our roots," said Petal. "I've been away from England for several years, and Donald's been traveling the continent. I suppose it makes sense to have a little nod to tradition for this wedding, don't you agree?"
"Absolutely," I said. Country sophistication, a dash of Cornish culture — surely I could do that, with a little help from Cliffs House's knowledgeable, local staff. "I'm sure we can plan an English wedding you both will be proud of."
"But with a few American touches," piped up Petal. "I don't want to completely forget where I've been the last few years. And Donald loves cultural fusion, don't you, darling?" She was sidling close to him, draped effortlessly against his shoulder. The two of them certainly seemed fused together as he rested his cheek against her hair with a soft grunt of agreement — except his eyes hadn't left the digital screen of his phone.
"Cultural fusion," I repeated. "All right. Let's talk details."
The bridal party, including the chief bridesmaid and best man, was due to arrive in Cornwall in less than a week. The engagement celebration would be in Truro, but there would be a champagne lunch at Cliffs House, open to the press, on Saturday two weeks before the big day. The wedding ceremony would take place in Cliffs House's most beautiful formal garden, and the reception would take place in the largest music and drawing rooms, which opened to each other through a series of sliding double doors.
They were elegant rooms, done in pale pink, seafoam green, and antique gilding, the drawing room mostly cream and gold. The bride and groom had brief romantic bickering — followed by a rather long kiss — over which room would host the reception, with the drawing room's muted elegance winning. The wedding colors were cream and black with touches of burgundy and rose, with a hired classical quintet providing music at the ceremony, and a semi-famous pop artist playing for the reception.
Flowers, food, a few ceremony details — these were places where Cornwall's culture was supposed to shine. It would be my job to find a way to include it as I pulled together all the pieces they had chosen, and the ones yet to come. Trying not to sound ignorant, I pressed them both for details about what they loved most about Cornwall. Anything would help.
"Pasties," answered Donald. Who was still interested in texting someone else.
"The sea," said Petal. "I simply love the shore."
She hadn't mentioned any florists or flower arrangements being chosen yet, I noticed. "What about local flowers?" I asked. "Trees or special places?" I thought with a name like 'Petal,' surely she had someone or something in her past that was tied to the English landscape. It might be something I could weave into the wedding plans.
"I have no interest in flowers," she answered. "Anything will do, so long as it doesn't clash with the room." She wrinkled her nose, then laughed. But it wasn't a good-humored laugh — and Petal's smile was a trifle different — or maybe I was mistaken. Not that it mattered. I made a note no favorite flowers in my digital planner's app.
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Moving on. "What about the cake?" I asked.
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