Before I Do(29)
Audrey wished she could airbrush herself out of this conversation.
“We saved you a place,” Hillary called across the room. He was staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes, presumably trying to convey how unsatisfactory he felt his current breakfast companions, Miranda and Fred, to be. There were two free seats at his table, one opposite Fred, the other beside him. Audrey really should have thought through this “coming down for breakfast” plan.
“How did you sleep?” Fred asked as she took the seat beside him.
“Fine,” she said, her eyes firmly on the table in front of her. “The rain kept me awake for a while.”
“Rain sometimes clears the air,” Fred said.
“Fred went out in it!” Miranda said, laughing, reaching for the pot of tea in the middle of the table. “I woke in the night and nearly screamed when I saw this sodden figure at the end of my bed.” Miranda sniffed the air. “Who’s wearing Purple Haze?”
“I am,” said Clara. “Incredible.”
Miranda was a professional perfumer. She could identify almost any perfume or scent in a room, including the washing detergent people had used on their clothes.
Vivien approached their table and handed Audrey a mug of steaming liquid. She was dressed immaculately in a lemon twinset, with her hair pinned back and a simple powdered face. Unlike Audrey, her mother would never be seen in public without some form of hair and makeup in place.
“Vivien is wearing Chanel No. 5,” said Miranda, closing her eyes, “and a bergamot and mint hand cream.”
“I am,” Vivien said, looking impressed, then turned to Audrey. “Hot lemon, it’s what my voice coach always recommends before curtain. You shouldn’t have coffee, it will make you jumpy. Now, I know you said you were going to do your own hair, but you know Debbie and I both have appointments at the salon in the village this morning and I penciled you a slot, just in case you changed your mind.” Vivien reached out to touch her daughter’s hair. “This is a little wild.”
“She’s channeling Russell Brand,” Hillary said, giving Audrey a wink.
“The salon’s called Curl Up and Dye,” Debbie called from across the room. “Isn’t that so amusing?”
Audrey pulled her hair back into a ponytail with an elastic from her wrist. She could not think of anything more stress inducing than having her hair done by someone she didn’t know, while sitting between Debbie and her mother.
“I haven’t washed it yet, that’s why it’s a mess. Clara’s going to do it, she’s great at hair.”
“I thought you styled bands, not brides?” said Vivien.
“I was thinking we’d dye it green and then do a sort of punk updo,” Clara said seriously, coming back from the buffet bar with two coffees and putting one down in front of Audrey.
Vivien’s face fell for a moment, until she realized Clara was joking. She intercepted the coffee in front of Audrey.
“I don’t have the constitution for jokes this morning, Clara. You know how my nerves are before an opening night, you mustn’t test me.” Her eyes darted back to the large windows and the gray rain, which was showing no sign of stopping. “Will it ever end? We don’t have enough pink and lilac umbrellas to go around—the guests will be soaked. Nothing worse than a damp audience. Hopefully, some people will have the good sense to bring their own.”
Watching Vivien talk about umbrellas, Audrey had a sudden flash of memory, of meeting her mother after a show at a stage door behind Shaftesbury Avenue. It had been pouring, and Audrey had brought a flimsy umbrella not up to the task. Vivien had scanned the crowd of well-wishers and autograph hunters, and when she’d seen Audrey, she’d walked straight through the crowd, pushed her broken umbrella aside, and enveloped her in a huge hug. They’d run off into Soho, giggling like children, their heels getting soaked in the puddles. There was a lighter side to Vivien, which sat alongside her more austere, diva-ish fa?ade. Only those closest to her were ever allowed to see it, and in the last few years it had been ever more closely guarded. Had it gone, or was it just that Audrey was no longer allowed to see?
“Were the ushers briefed about escorting people between the church and the house?” Vivien asked, pulling Audrey back to the present. “You know, when Lawrence and I got married, we hired professional ushers from the theater. They were so efficient.”
Clara caught Audrey’s eye as she mimed doing a shot.
“I can make sure the ushers know,” Fred said, and Vivien pressed a hand on his shoulder in gratitude.
“That’s very helpful of you, Frederick.” She had a habit of lengthening people’s names, whether that was what they were called or not.
“Don’t let the weather rain on your parade,” called Brian cheerfully from the table by the door. “Remember our wedding, Viv? Rained cats and dogs the whole afternoon, but we still had a ball, didn’t we?”
Vivien looked flushed by Brian’s words and muttered, “Well,” before walking toward the window to more closely inspect the sky.
“Audrey, I’d better get a chance to talk to you today,” said Hillary, gently kicking her beneath the table. “You’re not going to be all boring and bridal and too busy to speak to me, are you? I mean, yes, I can carry on being completely adorable to all your friends, but really I am only here to see you.”