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a smile.
    “Do I?” I do a little twirl. “It’s a lovely dress, isn’t it? And it fits so well—”
    “I wasn’t looking at the dress,” says Luke. His eyes meet mine with a wicked glint and I feel a flicker of pleasure. “Is Suze decent?” he adds. “I just wanted to wish her well.”
    “Oh yes,” I say. “Go on in. Hey, Luke, you’ll never guess!”
    I’ve been absolutely dying to tell Luke about Suze’s baby for the last two days, and now the words slip out before I can stop them.
    “What?”
    “She’s . . .” I can’t tell him, I just can’t. Suze would kill me. “She’s . . . got a really nice wedding dress,” I finish lamely.
    “Good!” says Luke, giving me a curious look. “There’s a surprise. Well, I’ll just pop in and have a quick word. See you later.”
    I cautiously make my way to Suze’s mother’s bedroom and give a gentle knock.
    “Hellooo?” thunders a voice in return, and the door is flung open by Suze’s mother, Caroline. She’s about six feet tall with long rangy legs, gray hair in a knot, and a weatherbeaten face that creases into a smile when she sees me.
    “Rebecca!” she booms, and looks at her watch. “Not time yet, is it?”
    “Not quite!” I smile gingerly and run my eyes over her outfit of ancient navy blue sweatshirt, jodhpurs, and riding boots. She’s got an amazing figure for a woman her age. No wonder Suze is so skinny. I glance around the room, but I can’t see any telltale suit-carriers or hatboxes.
    “So, um, Caroline . . . I was just wondering what you were planning to wear today. As mother of the bride!”
    “Mother of the bride?” She stares at me. “Good God, I suppose I am. Hadn’t thought of it like that.”
    “Right! So, you . . . haven’t got a special outfit ready?”
    “Bit early to be dressing up, isn’t it?” says Caroline. “I’ll just fling something on before we go.”
    “Well, why don’t I help you choose?” I say firmly, and head toward the wardrobe. I throw open the doors, preparing myself for a shock—and gape in astonishment.
    This has got to be the most extraordinary collection of clothes I’ve ever seen. Riding habits, ball dresses, and thirties suits are jostling for space with Indian saris, Mexican ponchos . . . and an extraordinary array of tribal jewelry.
    “These clothes!” I breathe.
    “I know.” Caroline looks at them dismissively. “A load of old rubbish, really.”
    “Old
rubbish
? My God, if you found any of these in a vintage shop in New York . . .” I pull out a pale blue satin coat edged with ribbon. “This is fantastic.”
    “D’you like it?” says Caroline in surprise. “Have it.”
    “I couldn’t!”
    “Dear girl, I don’t want it.”
    “But surely the sentimental value . . . I mean, your memories—”
    “My memories are in here.” She taps her head. “Not in there.” She surveys the melee of clothes, then picks up a small piece of bone on a leather cord. “Now,
this
I’m rather fond of.”
    “That?” I say, trying to summon some enthusiasm. “Well, it’s—”
    “It was given to me by a Masai chief, many years ago now. We were driving at dawn to find a pride of elephants, when a chieftain flagged us down. A tribeswoman was in a fever after giving birth. We helped bring down her temperature and the tribe honored us with gifts. Have you been to the Masai Mara, Rebecca?”
    “Er . . . no. I’ve never actually been to—”
    “And this little lovely.” She picks up an embroidered purse. “I bought this at a street market in Konya. Bartered for it with my last packet of cigarettes before we trekked up the Nemrut Dagi. Have you been to Turkey?”
    “No, not there, either,” I say, feeling rather inadequate. God, I feel undertraveled. I scrabble around in my mind, trying to think of somewhere I’ve been that will impress her—but it’s a pretty paltry lineup, now that I think about it. France a few times, Spain, Crete . . . and that’s about it. Why haven’t I