‘Oh, well, if that's what people are doing these days…?' Mrs Boscastle looked at Sarah questioningly.

‘I helped at a very smart wedding the other day and they were very pleased with the way everything worked.' This wasn't actually a lie, it was a fact – it just didn't relate to the receiving line.

‘Very well then. Now, let's get on with the seating plan. My husband was as upset as I was at the thought of a free-for-all. You seem moderately efficient. We should have it done in a jiffy.’

Mrs Boscastle was efficient too – almost as efficient as she was snobbish – and they made good progress. But the snobbishness did begin to rankle. Something disparaging was said about almost everyone. Lily's relations' names were all scrutinised as if Mrs Boscastle were trying to detect something about them to indicate class.

Mrs Boscastle had obviously forgotten that Sarah was Lily's sister, and all the relations she was being so snooty about were hers too. Hugo, never far from her mind, came into it again, this time in a really useful way.

Sarah started dropping names in the casual way Hugo had made Rupert do it when they were trying to persuade Carrie to have her wedding at Somerby. Without actually saying so, she managed to imply that these names were relations of hers and Lily. Mrs Boscastle became a lot more friendly after that. Sarah's piece de resistance was actually true – Aunt Margaret, who was so wonderfully tactless, bound to reveal Lily's secret to the world, really was a Lady. Mrs Boscastle loved it.

Sarah drove back to Lily's very late. She let herself in and saw her sister fast asleep on the sofa, the television flickering to itself. Although she felt a bit guilty about it, Sarah decided not to move the bride-to-be. Having made sure Lily wouldn't get cold in the night, she sloped off to bed. Lily and Dirk would have a lovely double bed to sleep in the next night, after all.

Everyone was up early at Somerby. Bron tiptoed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea before she carried on with her icing, only to find Fenella and Elsa already there. Fenella was anxious.

‘I'm sure it's fine, but Sarah did tell me that the florists would be here by seven at the latest – there's loads to do. The chapel, the drawing room, the dining room, they're all having big displays.'

‘What about the bridal flowers?' asked Bron.

‘Thank God Carrie's bringing those with her. Can't remember why, but they're being done separately. Mandy said she'd make sure they got done and everything.’

‘It's only half past seven now,' said Elsa, checking the big kitchen clock. 'They've probably got lost.'

‘Have you much to do on your dresses, Elsa?' asked Bron, pouring water on to a tea bag.

‘No, they're mostly done. I just hope Carrie's not too late though. I still need to do a final fitting and there are some crystals I can't sew on until I've finished the main sewing. Can you remember what time she's supposed to get here?’

‘I think Sarah said about four,' replied Fenella. 'She can't make it before.'

‘Oh God, that doesn't give me much time for her hair and make-up,' said Bron. 'You'll probably need half an hour with her, won't you, Elsa? At least the cake will be ^finished and I can focus utterly on the bride.'

‘Most brides do need more than two hours to get ready,' Elsa agreed, beginning to get edgy herself, although she calmed down a little when Fenella said she was sorry, she'd misread Sarah's instructions and Carrie was due to arrive at around three.

Then the phone rang and all three women jumped. Fenella flew to it and the others listened anxiously from the moment they heard Fenella say, 'Are you sure you're all right?’

It could have been Sarah saying something bad had happened to her.

Fenella's side of the conversation was tantalisingly brief and it was only after a tense few minutes that Bron and Elsa discovered what the disaster was.

‘I knew it!' said Fenella, her hands on her temples, her eyes shut. 'That was the florist. She's had an accident. She can't come. She's OK but the van's undrivable and the flowers are all mashed to pieces.’

There was a moment's horrified silence. Then Elsa said, 'Phone Sarah. She'll know of someone else. Don't worry. We can sort this out.'

‘Yes,' agreed Bron. 'We're a team. We can fix anything.’

They realised this was more of a disaster for Fenella than for them. Flowers were vital if Somerby was to really shine. If Celeb magazine took photos of it looking less than its glorious best, the wonderful publicity of a celebrity wedding would be completely wasted. Not to mention the fact that Carrie would be upset with Sarah.

‘OK,' Elsa went on, taking control. `I'm calling Sarah. Shall. I tell her or shall you?' she asked Fenella as she waited for it to connect.

‘I will,' said Fenella and took the proffered phone. 'Come on, Sarah! Answer! Damn, it's gone to voicemail.'

‘Leave a message. Let her know how urgent it is!' said Bron.

When Fenella handed Elsa back her phone Bron got up to make more tea.

‘OK,' said Elsa, 'worst case scenario, we have no florist, so we have to do it. What are the most important areas?'

‘The chapel,' said Fenella. 'Bron, your fake-cake trees mean we don't need too much in the dining room. At least, we can get away with less there. Have either of you done any flower-arranging?’

They shook their heads. 'But we're both artistic and practical, we can do stuff if we have to,' said Bron. 'We can't let Sarah down. Or Carrie. We'll make it work somehow.’

Fenella's phone started playing 'Für Elise'. 'Sarah? Thank God!' She explained the problem, murmured uhhuh a few times and scribbled down a number.

‘She's given me the name of another florist. She did a wedding you guys were at in June? Sukie someone?'

‘I don't think we met ever, but the flowers at Ashlyn's wedding were fantastic,' said Elsa, a little disappointed at not having to create floral extravaganzas – she liked a challenge.

‘I hope she can do it,' said Bron. 'She's probably at some other wedding or other, even as we speak.'

‘We'll find out in a minute,' said Fenella. 'It's ringing. Sukie? You're not in the middle of anything, are you? We've got a major emergency!’

As most of Fenella's conversation seemed to be ^directions with the occasional floral reference, Bron and Elsa gathered that Sukie was on her way. 'We could have done it,' said Elsa. 'Between us.'

‘Not without flowers,' said Bron. 'I don't know if you've ⁿoticed but there isn't much growing currently. The garden obviously hasn't reached the top of the to-do list yet.'

‘OK,' said Fenella, slamming her phone down on the table. 'She's on her way – sounds terribly nice, by the way – but she says she probably won't be able to buy enough flowers without driving for miles. She'll get what she can but we've got to get as much ivy as possible, to stretch them. We have got plenty. Thank goodness Carrie wanted traditional country arrangements and nothing that needed strelitzias or anything. Bird of Paradise flowers,' she explained to her confused audience.

At this moment James appeared, looking for tea and toast. 'Oh, James, the florist has had an accident,' said Bron.

‘Yes.' Fenella turned to him. 'You were so brilliant with the fake trees, do you think you could gather ivy for us? The florist needs it to bulk up the flowers. We haven't got much else.'

‘I wouldn't say that,' said James taking in the situation. 'Obviously the garden has been neglected for quite some time, but if you're looking for big, showy things, there are some wonderful acanthus – bear's breeches…' Sensing that his audience was still in the dark, he went on, 'They've got huge pinky-mauve flower spikes and they work brilliantly in arrangements.'