All three women were a little bit giggly – from nerves and the one glass of wine Sarah allowed them for lunch. They walked into the foyer of the hotel, which was constructed from shiny marble and glass. Glamour pinged from the walls as sunlight does from frost. Classical music, potted palms and beautiful young men in tail coats and fitted waistcoats added to the atmosphere of calm yet animated luxury.

Elsa and Bron exchanged glances while Sarah went to reception to announce their presence. Bron felt she was there under false pretences, although she had brought some photographs of styles she'd done, and some magazines for ideas. Elsa felt her normal black V-neck and trousers, the scarf notwithstanding, weren't nearly smart enough. As Sarah waited for the girl at the desk, so lovely she could moonlight as a model, to phone up, she offered a little prayer that Hugo's venue was a real possibility. Then another that he wouldn't announce it in front of Carrie and Mandy when he joined them later. If the news was bad she wanted it in private. She'd just have to trust him.

Miss Condy had, apparently, taken over an entire floor. Bron's confidence dipped lower. You don't hire that many bedrooms and not put a hairdresser in one of them, not if you're a Hollywood A-lister.

No one spoke in the mirror-lined lift. Apart from anything else, they didn't want the beautiful young man accompanying them to know how nervous they were. They all wanted to pretend they visited superstars all the time. No one was fooled.

Mandy Joseph let them in, obviously expecting them and not, as Elsa secretly feared, turning them away from the door when she saw them. She ushered them through a massive sitting room to an almost-as-massive bedroom. Carrie herself, looking tiny in real life and wearing sweat pants and a strappy top, was sitting on the bed painting her toenails. She leapt up when the girls came into the bedroom.

‘Oh hi! I'm making such a mess here! Now you've come we can have champagne. Mandy and I don't let ourselves have it unless someone else is here. We'll need two bottles. Are they in the fridge?' Her expression as she looked at her PA made it clear that while she was lovely and had very good manners, she was used to having her needs supplied more or less instantly.

As Mandy, equally accustomed to supplying those needs, moved away to fetch the champagne, Sarah smiled and held out her hand. 'I'm Sarah Stratford, your wedding planner. This is Elsa Ashcombe, who'll make your dress if you want her to. And this is Bron, who is my favourite hairstylist. She's mainly here-’

Bron interrupted. She didn't want Sarah to have to tell a whole lot of lies on her behalf. 'I could also paint your toenails if you wanted me to.' She smiled a girl-to-girl smile. 'It's really hard to do your own, isn't it?’

She so wanted to be part of the team and to make herself useful, if possible.

Carrie smiled back at her, accepting the offer. 'That would be fantastic – I'm making such a mess – but later! Now let's have a drink.'

‘Mandy?' asked Sarah as they went through to the sitting room where the champagne was being opened. 'Did Hugo call you? About coming this evening with his portfolio?'

‘Oh, Hugo!' said Carrie, rolling her eyes in ecstasy. 'The perfect romantic Englishman. He's so… ooh, sexy. That voice!' She wriggled deliciously and Sarah felt depressed. How could any man resist if Carrie decided she fancied them? Not Hugo, she was fairly sure of that.

Carrie was smaller, prettier and nicer than anyone had expected her to be. She was not a tyrant-princess. She just wanted her dream wedding and had people around her to make sure that what she wanted was what she got.

‘So, who's in all the other bedrooms on this floor?' asked Bron, relaxed by a couple of gulps of champagne.

‘Security, mostly.' Mandy's cool expression was kind but very professional. 'And we're expecting some of Carrie's family to visit. It makes it easier if everyone is on the same level.’

Bron felt a little better. Mandy hadn't mentioned stylists, or hairdressers, or even, rather surprisingly, a personal trainer.

Sarah's experience told her that while Carrie couldn't be sweeter, it didn't mean she wouldn't be demanding. And Mandy Joseph would ensure her every whim was catered for.

Sarah topped up everyone's glass.

‘Cheers!' said Carrie, raising her glass high. 'I know we're going to have a brilliant time and you guys are going to get me the wedding of my dreams!’

'And here's the cake I want,' said Carrie, seemingly hours and several glasses of champagne later. 'Look, I took a picture of it on my phone.’

Everyone crowded round the phone except Mandy, who was gathering glasses and tidying the room. The picture was of what appeared to be a spherical tree, like a lollipop of cake on a stem. Half way down the stem was a smaller sphere which disappeared off the end of the picture.

‘I saw it in the window of this dreamy cake shop in Vienna,' said Carrie. 'And it's just what I want! So original! I don't want those tacky statuettes of the bride and groom on my cake. I want this!’

Silence settled over the room as they contemplated the tiny image.

‘I'm not sure that's a real cake,' said Sarah, reluctant to rain on this lucrative bride's parade. 'I think it's just a fake.'

‘It had real icing on it,' said Carrie. 'You could see the little flowers.'

‘I think it might be a ball of oasis, you know, that foam stuff that florists use – iced, to look as if it was made of cake,' went on Sarah.

‘I don't think a real cake would stay up there unless it was glued on,' said Elsa. She had retaken all Carrie's measurements, just to make sure, and they had spent some time going through her sketches, so she felt she knew Carrie pretty well by now. 'It would need some sort of armature.'

‘I really want that cake,' said Carrie definitely.

A tense few seconds ticked by. 'If it's physically impossible to make that cake, it might not be possible to have it,' said Mandy firmly.

No one moved or spoke. Sarah found herself staring at the pattern on the carpet, not daring to look at her client, whom she felt she'd let down. Elsa put herself in her happy place, which was among fabric swatches, hoping Carrie wouldn't cry. Carrie sighed deeply.

‘Hang on,' said Bron suddenly. 'I've worked out how to make it.’

Everyone looked at her. 'How?' said Sarah.

‘Well, we'd need to get a pole we could fix a series of discs on to, to make the spherical shape. We'd make the cake in large round tins – or square ones – it wouldn't matter. Then we'd just cut them to shape. Or we could use one of those spherical tins people use for Christmas puddings, if we could get one large enough.'

‘But how would you get it round the pole?' asked Elsa. 'You'd fit it from the sides, in two halves,' said Bron. 'Then ice it so it's completely spherical.'

‘Well, that's amazing!' said Sarah. 'Thank you so much, Bron. I'll get you to do some sketches I can give to whoever I get to make Carrie's cake.'

‘I want Bron to do it,' said Carrie.

‘What? But Bron doesn't do cake. She's a hairdresser and make-up artist.' Sarah felt a bit thrown by this suggestion.

‘She worked out how to make the cake – I think she should do it,' said Carrie.

Sarah looked at Bron, trying to work out if she desperately wanted to be rescued or could rescue herself.

‘I do do cakes, actually,' Bron said. 'I've done some quite elaborate ones.'

‘What sort of cakes?' asked Sarah.

‘Well,' Bron began. 'It started when I was at college. Someone's little brother was having a birthday and wanted a train cake – there was a series on television and he was desperate to have it exactly the same. They couldn't get one made so I said I'd do it.'