Maybe she was just too scared to come out from behind her black clothes, her tape measure and her pins? Although she had enjoyed actually wearing the dress, there was no denying that. And it had been good research, knowing what they felt like to wear for a whole evening.

Now she got out her original Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine that dated from Victorian times and had beautifully produced prints. Her mother had tracked down this volume when Elsa first declared she wanted to be a dressmaker and it had been one of her favourite sources of information ever since. So many copies of these books had been broken up for the fashion plates, but hers was complete and she loved it.

She had sheets of grey sugar paper already torn into large rectangles and her old box of pastels near by. She had already studied a pile of magazines so she knew what Carrie looked like and her general style. Picking up a crayon at random, she began to draw.

She discarded the first few drafts without even looking at them, but eventually an idea began to form in her mind. She didn't know if Carrie had artificially enhanced breasts or not, but if she had, it was important, Elsa felt, to avoid any styles that might make this too apparent.

Usually with clients, there'd be a meeting when Elsa would talk about fabrics, details, their favourite flowers, favourite paintings, films, costume dramas – anything that would indicate what dream the bride-to-be had in mind for herself. Every girl wanted to be a princess on her weddingday – or if she didn't, she didn't come to Elsa for her wedding dress.

But with Carrie it was different – a great deal more difficult. There'd be no time for a cosy, girly session in Elsa's workshop, when Elsa turned up the heat, produced tea and chocolate biscuits and the bride could take off her clothes and start dressing up.

Because of Carrie's busy schedule, Elsa would have to have lots of drawings and fabric samples to send her, so her client could at least reject the ones she didn't like. Sarah had hinted that Elsa might have to visit Carrie wherever she happened to be in the world if she wanted to guarantee a decision from her. Sarah was only too aware that time was short, and under two months to make a gown as elaborate as Ashlyn's was putting a lot of pressure on Elsa – she had other projects on, after all. Still, Elsa liked a challenge as much as Sarah did and she felt reasonably confident that she could get it done in the time, provided nothing untoward happened.

She finished her third design – her favourite so far, one that managed to be sexy and yet demure enough for a bride. Elsa felt that no bride should expose too much flesh if she was getting married in a church and was adept at creating dresses with sleeves and backs that detached, so the bride could display all the St Tropez or fake-bake she wanted to at the reception. She was drawing arrows and details of how this happened on the sketch when her mobile rang.

She was startled. She was so involved in her drawing that she could hardly remember what that funny little noise indicated. The phone had stopped tinkling by the time she retrieved it from her bag. She checked to see who had called her and it was a strange number. She frowned. Not Sarah then. She went back to her drawing, noting as she did so that her T-shirt was covered in smudges from her pastels. And it was nearly ten o'clock – far too late to be wandering about without knickers, even for a Sunday. She stretched and filled the kettle again before going into the tiny bathroom.

The phone rang again when she had just poured boiling water on a tea bag, still wearing her towel. She nearly ignored it but in case her parents had fallen down a crevasse and needed her to call the emergency services, she answered it.

‘Is that Elsa?' said a voice she recognised but couldn't put a name to. 'It's Laurence. Remember? From Ashlyn's wedding?’

She jumped. When Mrs Lennox-Featherstone had said he wanted her number she hadn't thought he'd actually ring her.

‘Oh, yes,' she said carefully. If his sister or his niece wanted a wedding dress it would have to be for next year now.

‘I wondered if we could meet for a drink or something sometime.'

‘Oh.' Elsa wasn't used to being asked out – not by men anyway – and she presumed this was a date. The last time she'd gone out with a man he'd been the son of friends of her parents. Both sets of parents were worrying about their single children and tried to match them up. It hadn't been a success. But Laurence had been nice – kind and funny. Perhaps he was just being friendly.

He pressed on. 'So, would that be possible? Do you think?'

‘Er – yes.' A bit late, Elsa remembered her social skills. 'I don't see why not. When did you have in mind?'

‘What about this evening? It is very short notice, I know, but it's Sunday and there's nothing on television.' She could hear the chuckle in his voice. 'The programme about cars is having a break.’

This made her laugh and remember their banter at the wedding. 'You mean if you could watch grown men behaving like teenagers you would?' she asked, feigning indignation. 'As you can't you're asking me for a drink?' He wasn't the only one who liked that programme, although she wasn't going to say so.

He laughed too. 'Exactly. How about it? I have a favour I want to ask and I'd rather do it in person.'

‘When you've dulled my senses with strong drink?’

‘You're reading my mind.’

Elsa giggled. Yes, she had enjoyed the wedding, but mostly because Laurence had been so nice to her and fun to be with. 'Well, if you need a dress for someone, unless it's for next year, there's no chance.'

‘This is nothing to do with dresses,' said Laurence, trying to sound offended and not quite making it, 'or at least, only indirectly.'

‘OK then,' said Elsa, after a moment's teetering indecision. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as her mother would say. 'I'll meet you for a drink. What time?' He was silent for a bit and then said, 'Could it be earlyish?'

‘Yes. Why do you ask?'

‘Because if we meet early, we can make it dinner if we like each other.'

‘I see where you're going with this. But supposing one of us likes the other and the other doesn't.' Elsa didn't often get an opportunity to tease like this and she found she enjoyed it.

‘That doesn't make any sense,' said Laurence firmly.

‘It makes perfect sense,' insisted Elsa. 'Supposing one of us was really bored. How would they get up and say, "So sorry, got to go," if the other person was having a brilliant time and had already decided it might be dinner?'

‘Tell you what,' said Laurence after a moment's unravelling, 'let's be bold and make it dinner. If we're miserable, we can skip pudding and coffee.’

Elsa smiled and shook her head. 'OK. I'll be bold. Where would you like us to meet?'

‘I'll pick you up from your flat then you don't have to worry about your car.' He paused. 'If you don't want to be driven home by me you can always take a taxi.'

‘Now you're reading my mind,' said Elsa, although she was fairly sure that she wouldn't mind Laurence driving her home. After all, he didn't drink and she knew he was a good driver.

‘So what's your address?’

Elsa considered a moment. 'Actually, could you pick me up from my parents' house? I usually go over there on Sundays.' She didn't want him coming to her workroom just yet. She liked to know people quite well before she let them go there.

‘Oh. Is that so they can check me over before I take their daughter away in my antique sports car?’

Why hadn't she anticipated he'd think this? 'No! I'm nearly thirty, you don't have to convince my father of your good intentions.' Elsa laughed, amused by this idea.

‘I wouldn't be worried about that,' said Laurence, 'but I am glad of an opportunity to check out what your mother looks like.'