Page 61 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

Dermot glanced nervously at his new audience.

“Anyway, as I was saying before, I must apologize not only for turning up here today, but also for being so late.”

“Late—by how long? ”

“About sixteen hours, give or take a couple.”

“Sixteen hours! I don’t understand.”

Dermot cleared his throat and looked a bit embarrassed.

“We should have been at your house yesterday evening. I say we…Finlay and his missus should have. You see, it was them that was booked to do the drop.”

“The drop?” I asked, mystified.

“Yeah, that’s what we in the trade call the booking—see?

” He lifted his dark glasses momentarily to wink at me, then saw David scowling at him and he hurriedly continued.

“Finlay and his missus, well, they was booked to turn up dressed as Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler from Gone with the Wind .

Finlay does a stunning Rhett Butler, don’t you, Fin? ”

Finlay blushed under his black hat.

“But due to unforeseen circumstances—namely the lovely Scarlett having to be rushed into hospital yesterday with suspected appendicitis—Rhett and Scarlett were not able to make an appearance at the appropriate time or place yesterday.”

“Oh dear,” I said, addressing my remark to Finlay, although I didn’t for one moment expect him to reply, as Dermot seemed to do all the talking in this relationship. “I do hope your wife is all right.”

Finlay simply nodded while Dermot answered for him. “She’s fine—we just got her to the hospital in time, apparently. But it means we’re a Scarlett O’Hara down for a few weeks now, which is going to mean a lot of canceled bookings…and a lot of lost revenue…”

He looked me up and down for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in joining our books for a while, would you? You’ve quite a look of the Miss Scarlett about you and you do suit a fuller dress.”

I smoothed my tulle skirts down. “That’s very kind of you. But no, I don’t think so. And what books would they be anyway? What is all this?”

“We,” Dermot said proudly, producing a business card from his pocket, “provide the highest quality, top notch, can’t-be-matched message delivery service in London.

We currently have over thirty different options of message delivery service available to our very discerning and dignified clientele.

We never fail to deliver; our messages always get through. ”

“Oh,” I said, looking at the business card Dermot had thrust into my hand. “I get it. You’re like a singing telegram service.”

Dermot and Finlay recoiled in horror.

“Madam,” Dermot said, lifting his hat again and placing it over his heart. “We pride ourselves on being much more than just…”

Finlay patted him encouragingly on the back as he struggled to repeat my damaging words.

“More than just a…a…telegram service!” he almost spat out. “And I can assure you we definitely never sing!”

“Oh my God, you don’t strip, do you?” I asked in dismay, looking from one to the other of them.

Finlay was tall and gangly with black, slightly greasy-looking curly hair, and Dermot was short and fat without enough hair left on his head to tell what it had once been.

Neither of them were exactly oil paintings.

“No, miss, we certainly do not! We,” Dermot said, squaring his shoulders, “are London’s only Moviegrams—we deliver messages dressed as characters from the silver screen.

And as I said before, we have 100 percent success record at getting our messages delivered.

Which is why,” he said, glancing at Cruella, who had now appeared outside the church, “we would not be thwarted by a minor setback such as a Chanel-wearing Rottweiler when it came to delivering this message to you before its deadline expired at midday.”

“Oh, right,” I said, relieved Dermot and Finlay weren’t going to strip down to their boxers, or even further, in front of me in the churchyard. “Now I get it. Oh,” I said again as something else just occurred to me. “You’re dressed as the Blues Brothers today—right?”

“Yes,” Dermot said, looking pleased I’d guessed. “We had to substitute costumes at the last minute because of the circumstances I mentioned before—and since we couldn’t get hold of Mr. Bond, we had to choose something ourselves. The Blues Brothers are one of our favorites, see—”

I cut him off before he went any further. “Wait a moment; you said Mr. Bond—is that Sean Bond you’re talking about? Is he the one who booked you to do this?”

“Er, yes, he is—and actually we’d best continue with the task in hand; we’re starting to drift a bit off course.” He squared his shoulders and adjusted his tie in preparation. Then he gave me a nervous smile.

I simply stared at him. I just wanted them to get on with this, now I knew Sean was at the bottom of it. What did it all mean? I glanced at David; his face was thunderously dark.

I noticed that Oscar, Ursula, and some of the other guests had joined us outside to see what all the fuss was about.

Dermot rummaged in his pocket for a piece of paper, then took a quick look at it before stuffing it back in his pocket again.

“So, now we need to ask you how you feel? ”

“What?”

“How…do…you…feel?” Dermot repeated slowly as if I was hard of hearing.

“At…this…very…moment?” I repeated in the same tone of voice. “Extremely confused.”

“Not angry?”

“No.”

“Not cross.”

“No.”

“Irritated?”

“No—but I’m going to be in a moment if you don’t get on with it!”

“Good, then we can give you this. Finlay?” Dermot held out his hand and Finlay pulled a red envelope from his jacket and passed it to him. With a flourish Dermot passed it to me. “Mr. Bond said if you reacted in the right way to the song then we were to give you this.”

“What is it?” I asked, turning the envelope over in my hands.

“We’re not privy to that sort of information, miss.

We were simply instructed to give you this if you seemed at all moved by the music we played.

Just as well you like Ronan Keating, eh?

Lucky you’re not a full-on thrash metal fan, or we might have had a different result on our hands!

” Dermot and Finlay both laughed at his joke.

“Er…yes.” I looked down at the envelope. “Should I open it now?”

“I guess so. Well, we’re interested to know what’s in it anyway, aren’t we, Finlay?” Dermot turned to his silent partner. “We’ve never had a booking like this before. ”

Finlay nodded.

“I guess I’d better open this.” I turned and looked back at the others. “I’m assuming that’s OK with everyone?”

Everyone nodded with enthusiasm except David, who stood motionless next to the group now crowding around me.

Slowly I opened the envelope.

Inside there was a postcard and, underneath that, a ticket. I didn’t look at the picture on the postcard because handwritten on the other side in black ink were the words—

If you feel the same…

Meet me on top of the London Eye tomorrow.

I’ll wait until midday.

S x

I read the card aloud.

“What does he mean—the top of the London Eye, Scarlett?” my father asked, speaking for the first time. “Why would Sean want to meet you there? And how can he meet you at the top? Isn’t it constantly revolving?”

“It’s like the movie, isn’t it?” my mother said, smiling. “ An Affair to Remember .’”

“I thought that was Sleepless in Seattle ?” Maddie asked, joining in. “Meg Ryan tries to meet Tom Hanks on top of the Empire State Building.”

“It’s both of them, actually,” Dermot piped up. “ Sleepless in Seattle was based on An Affair to Remember .”

Everyone turned and stared at him.

“It’s my girlfriend,” he said, blushing under his hat. “She watches all those kinds of films.” His voice deepened. “I’m more of an Arnie guy myself, obviously.”

We all turned back to the card still held in my hands.

I shook my head. “This is all just madness. I can’t believe I’m standing out here now even looking at this—let’s all go back inside and continue with the service. I…I shouldn’t have dragged you all out here, I’m sorry.”

I looked to where David had been standing a few minutes ago but he’d gone.

“Where’s David?” I asked, looking wildly around me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “He’s gone back inside the church, Scarlett,” my father said gently. “I think he’d heard enough.”

I looked up at the church and felt a wrench in my stomach. Poor David—what was I putting him through on our wedding day?

“Are you absolutely sure about this, Scarlett?” Dad asked in the same gentle voice.

“Are you sure it’s what you want—to go back in there and marry David?

This invite, and the way it was supposed to be delivered,” he said, looking at Dermot and Finlay, “seems just the kind of romantic ending you’d get in one of your movies.

Except this time it’s happening for real.

Are you sure you don’t want it to end a different way? ”

“I…I don’t know.”

“How do you feel about Sean?” my mother asked, appearing on my other side. “Do you love him?”

I hung my head. “Yes, I think I do. But it’s complicated.”

I could feel everyone willing me to tell them why.

“It just is, OK? ”

“He obviously loves you, Scarlett,” my mother said, “to go to all this trouble.”

“I thought you were against him?” I said, turning to her. “I thought you said he was a Daniel Cleaver.”

My mother looked confused.

“I believe he’s a character in Bridget Jones’s Diary ,” Dermot suggested helpfully.

We all stared at him again.

“Yes, I’m aware of that—thank you,” my mother said, slowly turning away from Dermot. “But what’s that got to do with anything, Scarlett?”

Oh, this was just getting far too complicated to explain now. “Look, forget I said that. It just makes more sense to marry Mark…I mean David.”

“Why does it, Scarlett?” Maddie asked now. “If you love Sean more? Yes, I know you’re here at the church about to get married, and it would be easier to just go through with it all now. But this is just one day—we’re talking about the rest of your life.”

“Because…” I stuttered.