Sarah gave in. 'OK.' She put the phone down and realised she probably should have sounded more enthusiastic. She was enthusiastic, sort of, but guilt was having its effect – she should really have continued to work. But supposing this was the perfect venue? She couldn't not check it out – that would be completely unprofessional.

She stood in front of her wardrobe, scanning it as if for something more than just a clean pair of trousers and a top that didn't need ironing. The trouble was, most of her clothes were smart little suits or tracksuit bottoms so worn they would hardly stay up. There was very little casual but-respectable in between. A suit didn't morph into casual wear once it was a bit tatty, it just remained a tatty suit.

Like every other woman she knew, she did have the ubiquitous black trousers – if only she could find something to put with them she'd be fine. The jacket from one of her more frivolous jacket-and-skirt combinations – in tan rather than black or navy – would go OK with the trousers. Now it just needed a little top for underneath. She rummaged in her underwear drawer and found a black vest. If she added some exciting jewellery it would look OK. She didn't want to look as if she'd made much effort, after all, even if it was a semi-official trip. She would prefer it if Hugo just thought she'd been wearing that when he rang.

There was a snakes' nest of beads in a drawer and she disentangled a few. Unable to decide she put on a selection, mixing coral with some fake jet and a couple of strings of seed pearls.

Now make-up. As this went on more or less automatically she had time to examine her soul on the subject of Hugo Marsters. Despite being absolutely sure she should avoid getting too close to him, and that he could only ever be a friend at most, why did she feel fluttery when she spoke to him? And why did counteracting this make her abrasive and churlish instead of just calm? Why couldn't she behave like everyone else?

In an effort to stop looking like a wedding planner on a recce she tousled her hair a bit and wore a redder lipstick than usual. Then she wiped it off and replaced it with lip-gloss. She was still changing her mind and her make-up in rapid succession when she heard a car hoot. Typical Hugo – expecting her to rush out the moment he summoned her.

But she absolved him of any rudeness when she met him on the doorstep. He had planned to ring the doorbell.

‘Hello, you,' he said, kissing her cheek in a practised manner. 'You look a bit flushed. Are you OK?’

The flush was the result of her scrubbing off the bronzer which had made her look like she'd spent a misspent youth in a tanning salon but she wasn't going to tell Hugo this. 'I'm fine!'

‘Just checking. Now hop in.’

He opened the car door for her in a way that counteracted his casual demand. He really was a bit of an enigma, she decided as she did up her seatbelt.

‘Right, we're off to the country,' he said, and started the car.

‘I hope it's not too far out for Carrie,' said Sarah.

‘I thought anywhere in the country was fine as long as it was typically English.'

‘In theory, yes, but as my darling sister is getting married the same day, I have to find somewhere reasonably near to where she's arranged to be.'

‘Which is?’

She told him. 'And she's getting married early, so if I can persuade Carrie to have a later time, to segue into cocktails, possibly, I'll be able to manage both events.'

‘Sounds as if it'll be a bit tight to me. And cocktails isn't exactly typically English, is it?'

‘Royalty has done it,' said Sarah, meaning to sound firm but with desperation edging into her voice.

‘Well, you should see this venue anyway. It could be fabulous but, to be honest, it's in need of a bit of titivation. If you booked it for Carrie, you can have input into that.'

‘How come?'

‘It belongs to some old friends of mine. As I said, it's where I had in mind but needed to check they'd actually moved in. It's a wonderful old building that's going to cost them millions to restore. They need it to earn them money ASAP. If you could tell them how it could be more user-friendly, they'd be grateful, and you could have a really fabulous venue you can use at any time, more or less.'

‘Hm. I suppose you're right. It's just..

‘It's not that far away.' He drove in silence for a bit. 'No chance your sister would change her day – or even her venue?'

‘She's not getting married in a venue – it's her parents-in-law's church.'

‘Oh.'

‘And she can't change the date because she's booked it already.’

There was a moment's silence. 'Double oh.’

Sarah found herself laughing.

‘Now, lunch,' Hugo went on smoothly. 'Would you like to have it in a pub first, or shall I ring Fen and ask her to give us bread and cheese?'

‘Definitely a pub. You can't just ring people up and demand lunch, even if it's bread and cheese. They might not have enough of either!'

‘Good point. We don't want to be squabbling over a stale crust and a heel of mousetrap.'

‘We don't want to be taking the food from their mouths!' Sarah could imagine the horror of being told that two -well, one really – completely strange people were turning up for lunch with no time to shop or prepare, but smiled at his rejoinder anyway.

‘I don't think it would cause a major panic, they're very laid-back. Besides, I warned them we might turn up for lunch, but I do know a nice little gastropub that's very near them.'

‘You would,' said Sarah, almost indignant. He would have a sort of internal map with nice little eateries, boutique hotels and places for tea dotted all over it. She'd heard the odd rumour and it was a symptom of his raffish lifestyle. Restaurants with rooms would be his speciality. But then she chided herself: why must she always challenge him? He was being perfectly nice to her.

‘Be grateful,' said Hugo. 'Everyone needs to be fed and watered, although in your case I think you need a large Pimm's or a champagne cocktail – something to make you relax.'

‘I'm perfectly relaxed!'

‘Liar,' he said smoothly.

Sarah exhaled. He was right: she was extremely tense. She did a few deep-breathing exercises, hoping he wouldn't notice. She glanced down at her chest to see if what she was doing was obvious and realised she was showing a lot more cleavage than usual and hitched up her top, hoping her beads had covered the worst of it.

She saw Hugo glance down and knew her action had been spotted. She looked out of the window, determined not to say anything until Hugo did. She was his guest, it was up to him to make her feel comfortable. Then the voice of her mother, long dead, came to her. As his guest, it was up to her to enjoy herself.

‘It's a lovely day,' she squeaked.

Hugo laughed and Sarah wished he hadn't. It was a very sexy laugh, and she didn't need any added complications. It was proving harder to resist his charms each time she saw him, and that seemed to be much more than usual these days. 'Shall I put the radio on?' he suggested. 'It would save us having to make conversation.'

‘What a good idea,' she said, trying not to sound too relieved.

The pub was in a charming place that couldn't decide if it was a large village or a small town. Either way it was idyllic, with lots of buildings with either black beams against whitewashed walls, or silver-brown beams against ancient brick. Sarah's optimism awakened. If Hugo's friends had 'the big house' near here, it was likely to be wonderful, however dilapidated.

Hugo parked his car round the back of the pub. 'Inside or out?' he asked Sarah as he locked the doors.

Sarah looked at the pub, low, beamed, surrounded by climbing roses, and made a snap decision. 'Inside, please.’

Inside it would be dark; if she blushed he might not notice. Outside it would be a dreamy summer day; she might not be able to concentrate on being a businesslike wedding planner. Besides, she'd forgotten her sunglasses and she'd have to spend a lot of time with her eyes screwed up or shut – neither conducive to efficiency.