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Wedding Tiers
Trisha Ashley
A heartwarming romantic comedy from Sunday Times bestselling author Trisha Ashley.The path of true love never runs smooth. But for some, it's one seriously bumpy ride…Josie Gray and her childhood sweetheart Ben Richards always dreamt of living a life of rural bliss. And when Josie inherits her beloved Grandmother's cottage in Neatslake, Lancashire, it seems they might have got just that.Josie throws herself into her wedding cake business, whilst Ben gains increasing acclaim as an artist. The tranquil village turns into a hive of activity when Josie's childhood friend Libby Martin returns to the village, planning a lavish wedding to rival any celeb bash.But amidst all this romance, Josie's fairytale relationship with Ben turns into a nightmare, and she quickly becomes Love's number one cynic – until charming wedding photographer Noah Sephton arrives in Neatslake with a very different outlook on love…Praise for Trisha Ashley:‘Trisha Ashley writes with remarkable wit and originality – one of the best writers around!’ Katie Fforde‘Full of down-to-earth humour.’ Sophie Kinsella‘Full of comedy and wit.’ Closer
TRISHA ASHLEY
Wedding Tiers
Copyright (#u7c249ba6-0fc7-5846-b7bc-e6e167e8659d)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
AVON
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge, London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2009
Trisha Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Ebook Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780007329052
Version: 2018-04-23
Jean Ashley, 1927-2009, who took joy in my success
Table of Contents
Copyright (#u61fb6355-8657-50fd-8935-8a4c8b9779bc)
Prologue: Ends and Beginnings, 1983 (#u2c2ba563-afec-5102-aabf-94e5d2723ce9)
Chapter One-Cakes and Ale (#uf73b7695-2d7c-5135-8043-6499f9bcbd58)
Chapter Two-Sweet Music (#u8564c004-3bff-5d1b-9494-4de61f1222f1)
Chapter Three-Blessings (#ufa4084a8-7e98-5975-acda-df3df5db27e3)
Chapter Four-Love, Actually (#ub1c41bba-06a2-583c-b9d3-44bba218a90f)
Chapter Five-All Apple Pie (#u21d6317e-b600-5d7c-8469-34994731429d)
Chapter Six-Hippie Chic (#ue32c398c-a17d-54e3-8b0c-4cb7ac6372ce)
Chapter Seven-Gathering In (#u1a2e6fba-c9c3-5a1b-a5f1-c1425216c04e)
Chapter Eight-Snap Happy (#ud0a72a9c-41df-58b2-b644-06ec1257aaf6)
Chapter Nine-Pisa Cake (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten-Slightly Adulterated (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven-Over and Out (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve-Stitched Up (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen-Altered Image (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen-White Wedding (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen-Undone (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen-Peapodded (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen-Off-Piste (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen-Mixed Pickles (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen-Driven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Faithful Friends (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-one-Visiting Rights (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-two-Unwanted Presence (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-three-The Family Way (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-four-Handsome Cavaliers (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-five-Chicken (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-six-Subtleties (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-seven-Spring Fever (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-eight-Three Tiers for the Bride (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-nine-Good Reception (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Tried and Tested (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-one-May Day (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-two-Raspberries (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-three-Family Matters (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-four-Gestures (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-five-Wedding Belles (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-six-Fruits and Leaves (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Exclusive extract of Good Husband Material (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Trisha Ashley (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue: Ends and Beginnings, 1983 (#u7c249ba6-0fc7-5846-b7bc-e6e167e8659d)
When Josie awoke in hospital, unscathed except for concussion and an impressive array of bruises, she had no recollection of the crash. Granny, red-eyed but stoical, had to break the news to her.
Somehow she managed to blank out most of the weeks immediately following the accident too, so that when she looked back later it seemed to her that one day she was living in St Albans with a full set of parents and several good friends, leavened with the usual teenage-years angst and a heartfelt, if destined to be forever unrequited, passion for Sting, and the next she was being whisked off alone to Granny’s cottage in Lancashire, to start a new life.
‘It’s just thee and me now, flower,’ Granny was all too often to remark, though with the best of intentions. But it wasn’t likely that Josie would forget that fact, even if amnesia and anger were her current first lines of defence. For she was totally and illogically furious, both with her parents for so selfishly getting themselves killed, and with poor, grieving, gentle Granny for being truly ancient, so that Josie was convinced that she would also soon be snatched away, leaving her totally bereft.
It would be better to love no one, to feel nothing at all—much safer.
All that summer, she silently and sullenly followed Granny around the garden while she hoed, dug, planted and harvested, or helped Uncle Harry (who lived next door and was not a real uncle, only having married Granny’s cousin) to tend the poultry. And slowly Josie began to gain some comfort from the cycle of cultivation, the clucking hens and the drowsy, contented humming of bees; while across the Green, the ancient church bells repeatedly rang a joyful wedding peal, a signal that hope and happiness still existed and might one day be hers again.
Only in the evenings, lying in her narrow bed among the transplanted possessions of her former life, the mournful screams of the peacocks next door in the gardens of Blessings would pierce right to her heart with unbearable sadness, and she would put a pillow over her head and weep.
She didn’t take the bus to her new school on the first day. Instead, Uncle Harry drove her there in the yellow Vauxhall Cavalier that was his pride and joy. And then, embarrassingly, he and Granny both stood at the gates like the oldest parents in the world while Josie went on alone. She turned once, and they waved at her, as she had known they would: it was comforting but deeply uncool.
Catching sight of her, a passing youth—tall and broad-shouldered, with floppy, light brown hair—stopped dead and gave her a big, drop-dead-gorgeous smile. Suddenly breathless, she gazed into his warm hazel eyes, and it was as though she already knew she’d found a kindred spirit, a soul mate—recognised that fate, having taken love away with one sweep of the dice, had then, fickle, tossed her a perfect six.
‘Hello!’ he said, his voice deep, friendly and confident. ‘I’m Benjamin Richards—but you can call me Ben…or anything else you like.’
Flustered, she stammered shyly: ‘I’m Josie. Josie Gray.’
‘Nice to meet you, Josie Gray.’ He smiled again before rejoining his waiting friends, who were all nudging each other and laughing.
She was jerked out of her trance by a voice at her elbow saying, ‘You’ve been here five minutes and dishy Ben Richards spoke to you? Wow!’
A small, slender, impishly pretty blonde girl was looking her up and down from under her fringe as if she wasn’t quite sure what the attraction had been. ‘You must be the orphan—only we were told not to mention that.’
‘You just did,’ snapped out Josie, who had become used to people tiptoeing around her as though she were some kind of delicately balanced explosive device.
The girl shrugged. ‘Well, you can’t go pussyfooting around things for ever, can you? I’m Libby Martin, and if it makes you feel any better, my mother’s an alcoholic slut and I have no idea who my father was.’
Strangely, it did make Josie feel better, and she grinned. Then the bell went and everyone started to stream towards the door.
‘Come on—Miss Price told me I had to show you where to go and I’ve got to look after you all week,’ Libby said. ‘God, I’m so glad you don’t look naff—apart from that terrible haircut. If we’re going to be friends, you’ll have to do something about it.’
‘Granny cut it and I think it looks cool,’ Josie said defensively, then added, ‘Are we going to be friends?’
‘Oh, I think so, don’t you? Probably end up BF.’
‘BF?’
‘Best friends.’ Her blue eyes went wide. ‘Where on earth are you from?
‘St Albans.’
‘Huh.’ Libby looked unimpressed—clearly she’d never heard of the place. ‘I’ll tell you about my big plan at break, if you like.’
‘Big plan?’ Josie echoed.
‘Well, I don’t want to be Libby Martin with the slutty mother from up the council estate for ever, do I? So I’m reinventing myself.’
‘Great idea,’ Josie conceded, suddenly dying to know what her new friend was going to reinvent herself as, and how she intended to do it. ‘What—’ she began, but then the bell rang for the second time and Libby grabbed her arm and started towing her along. Practically everyone else had already vanished indoors, including the gorgeous Ben Richards.
‘No time now—I’ll tell you later, so get a move on or we’ll be late. Though come to think of it, I suppose that’s OK today,’ Libby added, again with an impish smile. ‘You’re my “get out of jail free” card.’
At lunchtime Libby outlined her plan, which seemed to be directed at leaving Neatslake as soon as possible and marrying a rich man.
‘Isn’t that a bit…’ Josie searched for the right word, ‘mercenary?. Out for what you can get? What about love?’
‘But I wouldn’t marry a man unless I loved him,’ Libby said, looking shocked. ‘No way would I do that! But I’m only going to let myself fall in love with someone well off, who will look after me.’
‘Right,’ Josie said doubtfully, because this kind of ambition had never cropped up when she’d been discussing future careers with her friends in St Albans.
‘But first, I have to get ready to live that kind of life—you know, like in Pride and Prejudice, when they keep going on about all the accomplishments you need to be the wife of a rich man?’
‘Well, yes, but I think they meant speaking Italian and doing embroidery, that kind of thing, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, but translate that into the twentieth century,’ Libby said impatiently. She dug a notebook out of her bag and flipped it open. ‘I’ve got a list of things I need to learn, like speaking without a broad accent. Mrs Springer, the English teacher, is helping me with that.’
‘I like your accent,’ Josie said.
‘You’re mad!’ Libby said, then moved her finger down the page and continued, ‘Horse riding, tennis, skiing…’ Here she paused, uncertainly. ‘Rich people do a lot of skiing, but that could be difficult round here. We don’t get a lot of snow and the nearest dry ski slope is miles away.’
‘Are you sure you need all of those?’
‘Some of them, anyway—as many as possible. You can help me.’
‘OK, but I’m not mad about horses—they’re so big.’
