Now, thanks to Lorna’s indiscretion, the Carver name would be used before he could leave his imprint.
He had to get rid of the fluff, and fast. Instead of sitting down, calmly planning for the future, he was trying to figure how he could get this place clear so if the media arrived to see the latest Carver Salon they’d see something worthy of the name. How to transform fluff to elegance in a week?
And how to ignore Jenny, sitting silently at her desk? She sat with her hands folded in front of her, a good little employee, waiting for instructions.
What was it about this woman that unnerved him?
Why was she so different?
He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t…
‘Phone Kylie,’ he said at last, goaded. ‘Tell her she’s having a Carver Wedding.’
‘I already have,’ she said meekly.
He was out of his depth. He needed help here.
‘I need your assistance,’ he snapped, and she nodded, ready to be helpful.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Jenny…’
‘Sir?’
‘Will you cut it out?’
‘Cut what out?’
‘I don’t know where the hell to start,’ he confessed, and watched as she struggled to keep the expression on her face subservient.
‘You’re asking for my input?’
‘I want some solid help here,’ he told her. ‘I assume you’re not just the girl who mans the desk? You’ve been running this place on your own since Lorna’s stroke.’
‘But you’re in charge. I’m waiting for orders.’
‘We need to get a dumpster,’ he said in exasperation. ‘Something to get rid of this lot.’
‘You have two weddings to organise before Christmas and you’re planning to redecorate the salon?’ she said cautiously. ‘Right.’ She lifted the phone. ‘I’ll order a dumpster.’
‘Dresses,’ he said, in increasing frustration. ‘We need to organise a wedding dress and attendants’ outfits.’
‘They might take some time,’ Jenny said, and started dialling.
He lifted the phone from her hand and crashed it down onto the cradle.
‘If I don’t get some solid help here I’ll-’
‘Sack me?’ she said, and smiled.
Damn the woman. He knew she was competent. He wanted to take her shoulders and shake her.
He wanted to kiss her.
That thought wasn’t helping things at all. His normally cool, calculating mind was clouded, and it was clouded because this woman was looking up at him with a strange, enigmatic smile.
This woman who was as far from his life as any woman he’d ever met. This woman who was up to her neck in emotional entanglements.
His employee.
He took a deep breath, turned, and paced the salon a couple of times, trying to clear his head. He knocked one of the bridal mannequins and spent a couple of minutes righting it.
He turned to Jenny and she was watching him, her eyes interested, her head to one side like an inquisitive sparrow.
Forget she’s a woman, he told himself. And forget she’s an employee. Let’s get this onto some sort of even keel.
‘Jenny, I’m out of my depth here,’ he told her. ‘I don’t know where to start.’
She stilled. The faint smile on her face faded. He’d shocked her, he thought. Whatever she’d been expecting it hadn’t been that.
There was a long silence.
She could keep up the play-acting, he thought. And she was definitely considering it. The role of subservient employee was a defence. He watched as indecision played on her face. Finally she broke. Her face was incredibly expressive, he thought. He saw the exact moment she put away the play-acting and decided to be up-front.
‘Two weddings,’ she said. ‘The biggest problem is the dresses. We need to get things moving. There are three local women with the capacity to sew fast and well.’
‘Contact them.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘They’re all up to their ears in Christmas preparations.’
‘Then what-?’
‘There are a couple of oldies I know who love baby-sitting,’ she said. ‘They have very quiet Christmases, so they may be prepared to help. Jonas Bucket had an accident at work some years ago and is confined to a wheelchair. He loves Christmas cooking. So if I…’
‘What are you talking about?’ He was lost.
‘Mary, Sarah and Leanne are my seamstresses,’ she said patiently. ‘Mary and Sarah have small kids, and Leanne’s having eighteen people for Christmas dinner. If I ask them to sew for me they’ll say no. But if I say I’ve already organised childminding and cooking and house-cleaning-and someone to set Leanne’s table-then they’ll jump at the chance to escape by sewing. Now…’
‘Now what?’ he said, stunned.
‘You’re the boss,’ she said, ‘but if I were you I’d sit down and write the menu for the Barret and Anna wedding. We need to get the food ordered right away. They’ve elected to do a Christmas theme, so we’ll keep it like that. Roast turkey and all the trimmings.’
‘For a sophisticated-?’
‘She did say pink tulle,’ Jenny said, though she sounded a bit less certain of her ground.
‘So she did,’ Guy said, thinking fast, and then looked up as the doorbell tinkled.
It was Kylie. She was dressed in pregnancy overalls with a white T-shirt underneath. With her face flushed with either nerves or excitement, and her blonde curls tied up in two pigtails, Guy decided she looked like one of those Russian Mazurka dolls. If you pushed her she’d topple over and then spring right up.
‘Hi, Kylie,’ Jenny said, and Guy winced. This woman was a client. His first Australian Carver Wedding…
‘Mum just rang me,’ Kylie said, with a nervous look aside at Guy. ‘She says Mr Carver’s agreed to do my wedding.’
‘He has,’ Jenny said. ‘But there’s no need to change your plans. We’ll do your wedding exactly as we’ve planned it.’
‘No,’ said Kylie.
There was a moment’s silence. ‘No?’ Jenny said at last, cautiously, and received a furious shake of her head in reply. ‘You don’t want a wedding?’
‘Of course I want a wedding,’ Kylie said. ‘Me and Daryl are really excited. But…’
‘But what?’ Jenny asked.
‘It’s Mum’s wedding,’ she burst out. ‘And Daryl’s mum’s. They’ve been at us for ever to get married, and of course we want to, but we didn’t want this. We thought maybe we’d just have the baby and then go somewhere afterwards and get married quietly. But from the minute we told them we were expecting they’ve been at us and at us, until finally we cracked. And that dress…Mum had you make it for me when I was sixteen. She chose it. Not me. Every week since then Mum gets it out and pats it. Do you know how much I hate it?’
‘No,’ Jenny said, stunned.
‘I can’t tell you,’ Kylie declared. ‘But I loathe it. I would have gone along with it. Fine, I said to Daryl, whatever makes them happy. But when Mum rang and said I could have a Carver Wedding I thought suddenly, A Carver Wedding! I could maybe have it like I want. Elegant. Sleek. Sophisticated. Something so when our kids grow up they’ll look at our wedding photos and think, Wow, just for a bit our parents weren’t assistants in a butcher’s shop. If you knew how much I hate pink tulle…’
‘Your six bridesmaids are in pink tulle,’ Jenny murmured.
‘Exactly.’ Kylie’s colour was almost beetroot as she desperately tried to explain herself. ‘It was bad enough when I was skinny, but now I’ll look like a wall of cupids coming down the aisle, with a sea of pink tulle coming after.’ She turned to Guy. ‘They say in the fashion magazines that you can perform miracles. Get me out of cupids and pink tulle. Please.’