She turned away, aware of his sleepy gaze on her back. She hoped he wouldn't get the bridesmaids to lean against lichen-covered gravestones and thus ruin their dresses for ever, but accepted that for him getting the right shot was vital and nothing much else came into consideration. She was good at managing people and she usually got what she wanted out of them, but she was never convinced that Hugo took any notice of her at all.

As she walked back to her car she wondered if Ashlyn was the sort of bride who would encourage people to open the champagne before the wedding and turn what should be a morning of solid preparation into an extension of the hen party. But her mother would probably put a stop to anything like that. A glass for everyone during the final hair and make-up session was fine, but only one!

She arrived at the hotel to a diorama of potential tragedy. Everyone was more or less static when they should have been calmly getting on with dressing the bride.

Instead, Ashlyn was sitting at the dressing table in a chemise, stockings and French knickers, with her mobile phone in her hand, tears of rage adding the wrong sort of sparkle to her eyes. Elsa, the dressmaker, waiting to help her into the dress now hanging on the back of the door, stood awkwardly inspecting her nails and picking bits of fluff off her black trousers.

Bron, in charge of hair and make-up, had also stepped back. Ashlyn's long and slippery tresses were half up, half down, and her frantic texting had threatened her French manicure. The perfect make-up already needed reapplying.

‘What's happened?' demanded Sarah, instantly aware she was witnessing an unfolding calamity.

There was a moment's tense silence and then the bride answered: 'My fucking bridesmaid has decided not to come!’

Shock settled round the room like dust after an explosion. Sarah had never heard Ashlyn use language likethat before. A moment's reflection made her feel it was justified.

‘Oh no,' said Sarah, her eyes shut, wondering how on earth two enchanting three-year-olds could possibly manage without an accompanying adult bridesmaid.

‘Oh yes.' Ashlyn bit out the words between her newly whitened teeth. 'She's decided that a weekend away with her new boyfriend would be more fun than attending her best friend's wedding!'

‘That's so out of order,' murmured Bron, wondering when she could carry on doing the bride's hair.

‘And to think I paid for that bitch's weekend at Barnstable Spa, which is not exactly cheap!' Ashlyn went on. 'And Mummy paid for her dress – another small fortune.' Elsa, who'd also made the bridesmaid's outfit, winced. 'Well, at least I can change her disgusting wedding present for something decent!’

Sensing that the bride was beginning to move on from this disaster, Bron stepped forward with her comb and pins, preparing to carry on defying gravity with Ashlyn's water-smooth hair. Elsa's shoulders relaxed and Sarah said, 'We can manage perfectly well without her. Poppy should be able to take your bouquet from you and we can ask your sister-in-law to take it from her. Don't worry.’

Ashlyn gave a huge sigh. 'I should have known not to trust her. She sat on my guinea pig when we were little and I've never forgiven her.’

There was a tiny pause, showing respect for the dead guinea pig, and then Bron said bravely, 'OK, if I can just get back to doing your hair. We haven't got all day.’

As Bron laughed, a little awkwardly, Sarah wondered if there was a bit of puffiness around her eyes this morning, or if she'd imagined it. She didn't know Bron very well, perhaps she always looked like that.

Elsa stopped picking at her trousers and seemed calm, waiting for the moment when her dressmaking skills might be needed. Ashlyn's mother had insisted that she attended, principally so she could make final adjustments to the chief bridesmaid's dress, as she'd missed her final fitting. Most probably she would only be required to hook up Ashlyn's dress at the back and break it to the bride that the dress would look better if it wasn't worn over the French knickers she'd had such fun buying, but over nothing at all. She had a thong in her bag if Ashlyn preferred that option.

Then the door opened and the bride's mother walked in. 'Everything all right, darling?’

There was a moment's silence. No one wanted to be the messenger that turned the bride's mother's big day into a disaster. Then Ashlyn bit the bullet. 'Fulvia's backed out. She's going to Paris with her boyfriend instead.’

Mrs Lennox-Featherstone screamed, not loudly, but loud enough to alarm her husband who called anxiously through the door.

‘Is everything all right in there?'

‘No it is not!' hissed his wife. 'That – trollop – whom we've taken with us skiing, for God's sake, has backed out!’

Sarah realised this was probably the moment when she really earned her money as a wedding planner and coordinator. 'It's all right, Mrs Lennox -Featherstone, we can manage perfectly well without her.'

‘I've paid for that dress,' said her client's mother. 'Over two thousand pounds – and it's not spending the wedding in a plastic bag!’

Elsa jumped. It was not her fault the dress was not going to be worn or that the enormous amount of hand-beading had taken her so long to do – it was time-consuming. But she couldn't throw off her feelings of guilt.

‘That's all right,' said Ashlyn, calm now her mother was having conniptions, 'Elsa can wear it. She and Fulvia are the same size and, unlike Fulvia, she's been a real friend.’

Elsa gasped loudly. 'Ashlyn, I-'

‘Yes you have,' persisted Ashlyn, as if it was their friendship that Elsa had been about to deny. 'You sorted me out when Bobby and I had that huge row and we've had such fun together! That lovely day looking at fabric. And you haven't forgotten that time at-'

‘Stand up and let me look at you,' snapped Mrs Lennox-Featherstone, obviously feeling there wasn't time for reminiscing just now. 'Why do you persist in wearing black? It's absolutely the wrong colour for you. Drains you. Well, put on the dress and let's see what you look like. It's all right, Donald,' she called through the door. 'You can go away now. It's all going to be fine.'

‘Um, I can't wear the dress,' said Elsa.

‘Why not? We know it fits,' said Ashlyn's mother.

‘Because I'd feel a fraud, not being Ashlyn's real bridesmaid,' said Elsa, sending Sarah a look that told her she needed help.

‘It might be a bit awkward with – er – Fulvia's parents coming to the wedding.' Sarah had already wondered if she could leave them seated so near the top table and decided that she had to.

‘I don't suppose they know about their little tart's defection,' snapped Mrs Lennox-Featherstone. 'Although they should have guessed, sending her to that awful school. None of the pupils leaves without an A level in bitchiness.'

‘OK,' said Sarah, taking charge. 'It is a shame that Fulvia has backed out but, as I say, we don't really need her.'

‘Oh yes we do,' said Ashlyn and her mother simultaneously.

'Not only did the dress cost a fortune,' went on Mrs Lennox-Featherstone, 'but the photographs will be unbalanced without a big bridesmaid.'

‘Hugo is an excellent photographer,' said Sarah. 'I can assure you that-'

‘I want Elsa,' said Ashlyn, like a child on the verge of a tantrum. 'I like her a lot more than fu-' She glanced at her mother and went on to use her ex-best-friend's name without the alliterative expletive. 'Fulvia.'

‘So you simply must be her bridesmaid, dear,' said Mrs Lennox-Featherstone. 'What the bride wants, she must have.' She gave a tight smile and glanced at her daughter.

‘I can't!' persisted Elsa, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

‘You don't want to spoil Ashlyn's big day by being selfish, do you?'