‘I've got it written down somewhere. They're not coming all at once, fortunately.'

‘After they've had their fittings and I've done any alterations I can help you. Sarah said she'd been making unreasonable demands and that I must be useful.’

Fenella laughed. 'Sarah's great, isn't she?’

Elsa nodded. 'But she admits she can be quite demanding. She does have very high standards.'

‘Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, will you and Sarah be all right in those little attics?' Fenella went on. 'You have got one each, which is better than having to share, but they are rather tiny. The bathroom works OK if you run the hot tap for ages. Hot water comes through eventually.'

‘They looked sweet; we'll be fine there,' said Elsa. 'I loved the curtains – gorgeous fabric.'

‘Probably genuine antiques,' said Fenella. 'We found them in an old trunk. Well, this isn't going to get the baby bathed. I must find James and get him to hack down some trees. There's a small wood nearby – I'm sure we won't miss it. We can't have Celeb magazine discovering our undecorated passageway!’

Bron was in the kitchen, looking at her real cakes. There were six of them and the top one was already iced. It was a little dome of green-icing flowers with crystal centres. She'd taken so much trouble with it and got it so perfect she hoped she could do the rest of the icing as well. She had several large plastic boxes of icing already made up, enough spare nozzles and icing bags to set up a small shop and was all ready to go, except she was nervous. She'd practised her flowers until she could do them really quickly, but doing something in the safety of Veronica's kitchen, with Veronica on hand for advice, was one thing. Now she had to assemble the layers and actually finish the thing.

Fenella came in. 'How are you getting on? Do you want a hand taking it all upstairs? I'll ask Rupert. I'm still trying to find enough sheets. I know I've got loads, my mother gave me all her old ones, but I can't find them! I've done most of them-' Fenella stopped as she noticed Bron's slightly frazzled look. 'I'll find Rupert. He can help you.’

Bron would have preferred James because he knew what he was doing by now, but he'd been sent into the wood with a pair of loppers, a pruning saw and a ladder. She fully accepted that he was the best man for that particular job, but he was also the best man for transporting her cakes; he was experienced with cakes by now and knew how they should be handled. She wasn't sure she wanted to trust her confectionery to Rupert, who, nice as he was, might drop something vital.

Still, she smiled politely at him when he appeared, wearing paint-spattered jeans and a jumper with the welt hanging off.

‘I gather you need some help?' And he picked up several sections of cake that had been stacked together and disappeared out of the room.

While Bron had some idea where she needed to be, she wasn't exactly sure of the way. Rupert was lovely but she was worried that his busyness might mean he didn't treat her cake with the care and attention it required. She picked up the top she had already iced and followed him, as swiftly as she could with such a delicate burden.

She could hear him talking in a loud voice to someone and she knew he wasn't paying attention. She hurried and found the staircase, currently covered with drugget – a trip hazard if ever she saw one – terrified that any moment she would come across Rupert and a pile of cake crumbs.

Now she was nearer she could hear that Rupert was talking to Hugo. The men were laughing and teasing each other. Just too far away to yell, 'Mind my cake!' she sped along the hallway, which was wide enough for two women to take exercise side by side in hooped skirts. Where was Rupert? She knew he wouldn't have let her get lost on purpose, he was far too kind and gentlemanly, but he had a lot to do and had long legs.

Relief flooded over her as she found the right room. Already someone had placed her fake cakes in two rows leading to the long windows, where the real cake would stand.

‘You thought I was going to drop the cake, didn't you?' said Rupert. 'Go on, admit it.’

Bron sighed deeply. 'Yes I did.'

‘It would have made a wonderful photograph,' said Hugo. 'You wouldn't like to drop it on purpose, would you?’

Bron scowled at him as crossly as she could manage. He laughed.

Elsa was tired of smiling. She loved children and these little girls – daughters of Carrie's far-off cousins – were not naughty. But like anyone else who was five years old, they found it difficult to keep still. They wanted to run around playing fairies, flapping their arms and encouraging each other to louder squeals and more hysterical laughter. They also found the huge bed very tempting.

Their mothers were too busy chatting with each other to do much to rein them in – they were very excited to be involved in a celebrity wedding.

‘Now, Isolde,' said Elsa firmly. 'Can you just let me check if this fits? It won't take long.' She should probably be firmer with them, she realised, but it was too late now.

‘So what's Carrie's dress like?' asked one of the mothers, having realised that Elsa needed help.

‘Fabulous,' said Elsa, her mouth full of pins.

‘Can we have a peek?' asked the other mother.

‘Not a chance,' said Elsa. She took out the last pin. 'You haven't got long to wait and she'd kill me if I let anyone see it before she has. There, that wasn't too bad, was it? Now, Imogen, your turn.’

It was time for Sarah to go. There was nothing much she could do now. She'd said goodbye to Elsa and Bron. She hadn't seen Hugo since this morning. He was probably off somewhere with his camera. For one brief moment she wondered if Electra would turn up to the wedding but then dismissed the thought. She had the guest and staff list and Electra's name wasn't on it – there wasn't even a plus one against Hugo's name. Bron had iced the last but one section and was now icing the entire thing into a ball. Elsa was ^hand-sewing the bridesmaids' dresses so that they fitted properly. And James had created a very mysterious wood in front of the blocked-off corridor. All was as well as it could be. Later everyone was going to sit in the kitchen and eat cottage pie and drink red wine. Sarah wished she could be with them.

‘The florist will arrive very early tomorrow,' she said to Fenella, who had a clipboard. She felt Fenella would be the perfect custodian of it in her absence. And she did have a copy of her various lists in her handbag. She was running through everything in her mind. 'Let me know if there are any problems. I'll be at the end of my mobile – mostly. Right, the orchestra – I suppose I mean band, don't I? Whatever, they should turn up a couple of hours before they're needed. They like to eat something and then have a bit of a practice.' She frowned suddenly. 'Are they staying here? I can't remember.'

‘B. and b. in the village,' said Fenella. 'I can't fit in another soul. We will be able to soon, but not now. Thank God Carrie and her entourage are staying at the hotel.'

‘I know. The caterers will be early too. I've used them lots of times; they're very reliable.'

‘Right,' said Fenella, writing on her clipboard. 'Horse and carriage?'

‘Carrie's coming from the hotel in a car, she'll be put into the horse and carriage – we've found the perfect spot – and will be driven up the road and then up the drive to the chapel entrance. You don't need to worry about the horse and carriage because they'll just go back when they're finished. They've got a huge great lorry they can put it all on. Anything else you're not sure of?'