Christmas at the Little Wedding Shop

I don’t reply, because right now I’m remembering that somewhere upstairs there are bedrooms for the entire bridal party, and more, plus all the ground-floor rooms, where the wedding celebrations will take place on Christmas Eve and roll straight on into Christmas next day. With everything still to do, I can’t believe we’re hanging around in the hall. ‘Maybe we’d better hurry up.’ My voice rises as my chest tightens with the stress. That’s possibly the understatement of the year. ‘We haven’t got time to stand around chatting.’

‘Chill, Sera, you’ve done the most important thing for the morning. At least you’re dressed now.’ That same old smile is lilting around his lips. And no surprise he’s making a dig about the pyjama blunder. ‘As for the wedding, it’s all in the manual…’ He leans over and taps the file I’m clutching, then glances at his watch. ‘There’s time to whizz you round the rest of the ground floor before I leave for the airport.’

‘About that…’ I say, as we push through a door and I take in a series of simply furnished interconnecting rooms, which might have come straight out of an Elle Deco magazine. ‘How did you know I hated driving?’

‘The ceremony will be in what we call the winter garden, by the way.’ He pauses and points to a room with doors looking out onto the garden, then carries on where he left off. What begins as an elbow nudge, somehow ends up with his arm closing around my rib cage. ‘As for the driving, you’re neurotic about parking and a terrified passenger. I joined up the dots.’ The squeeze he gives me forces every bit of oxygen out of my lungs. ‘At a guess you’d rather fly to the moon than drive to Exeter? Which is why I’m going instead.’

Given I haven’t any air to form words, I nod and offer up a silent ‘thank you’ for what he’s saved me from.

‘You could always come too?’ he says, with a wistful look I can’t quite judge.

For a second the idea of racing across into the next county, even with Quinn driving like a crazy person, is quite appealing. Then reality hits. ‘Someone’s got to stay to let the ceiling guys in.’ How can he have forgotten that? Then another thought. ‘Plus, you’re driving a two-seater, and picking up Alice.’ Not to mention all the work there is to do.

‘Shit, so I am.’ He smacks himself on the forehead. ‘Maybe another time then.’

‘Great,’ I smile. Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about going out in my pjs.

He moves on through the house, talking as he goes. ‘My uncle calls this his “cottage by the sea”. He had it redone to look like a beach house a few years back.’ Quinn’s propelling me through the winter garden into an enormous room with sloping ceilings. ‘This was originally built as a ballroom. It’s perfect for the wedding breakfast and the party afterwards. This is where you’ll bring the guys to install the ceiling, okay?’

I screw up my face as I take in more white criss-crossing beams in the roof space.

Again Quinn reads my mind. ‘I don’t understand why Alice would want to hide this either.’ He gives a bemused shrug. ‘But she insists she wants a ceiling with stars that twinkle. They’re the current must-have. Can’t get married without one. It’s the same with the disco floor’.

‘What?’

‘Tut, tut, you really are behind on your wedding reading.’ His lips twitch into that grin again. ‘It’s a kind of electronic light-show dance floor that changes colour with the music. They’re very cool. It’s coming later in the week, once the sky is up.’

‘I suppose she’s only getting married once…’ I muse, wondering why the perfect uncluttered backdrops aren’t enough.

‘We are definitely doing this for one time only,’ Quinn echoes my thoughts as he whisks me through more rooms. As the white painted walls and floors give way to the polished stone and stainless steel of several interlinked kitchens, we come face to face with a wall of cardboard boxes.

The packaging is familiar. ‘Bedroom supplies, for here?’ I’m pointedly ignoring the tray of mistletoe.

‘I brought them in earlier. I thought you could put them out while you were waiting for the ceiling to arrive?’

‘Sure.’

Quinn must have had a very early start, then.

‘And not being sexist…’

I frown at him, because I’ve spotted an ironing board across the room, already erected. ‘But…?’

He nods at the boxes. ‘Somewhere in that lot there are a few hundred seat covers and bows that all need pressing. Don’t worry, the hire chairs have arrived, and they’re in the coach house.’

As it happened, I wasn’t worrying about chairs, because I don’t even know about them yet. I can’t believe he’s a) got so far ahead of me in the instructions, and b) is dishing out the jobs. Which actually is what I intended to do, but whatever.

‘Before you shoot me down, I can iron…’ he says. ‘I would iron… but I’m off to get Alice.’

Even though this arrangement couldn’t suit me better, I can’t resist staring at the creases on his shirt. ‘Yeah, I can really see how much you like ironing.’

‘Designer wrinkles.’ He laughs as he smoothes his hand over the cotton. ‘I prefer my clothes this way. Just like you obviously do with yours.’

Damn. Just my luck that the flowery silk cami I grabbed from the bedroom floor looks like the original crumple zone. Sometimes it’s best to back down gracefully.

‘Don’t worry, you get off, I’ll look after the ironing.’ I’m not going to tell him that I iron anything I can get my hands on. Apart from the clothes on my bedroom floor, obviously.

‘Okay.’ He sticks his hands in his pockets. ‘Help yourself to lunch, help yourself to the bedrooms, and remember…’ He flashes me the ‘hang loose’ hand sign. ‘Stay chilled. Alice is on her way and it’s all going to work out fine.’

With Alice here I’m not sure how much chilling there will be. But I’m giving silent cheers, because I’ve avoided an upstairs tour, complete with all the nudging and squeezing opportunities that offered. ‘And Quinn…’ I know he’s already had at least one parking ticket today. And possibly a whole load more I don’t know about. So I may as well give him the benefit of my local knowledge anyway. ‘If you park on the runway, they’ll tow you away. Every time.’

As he backs out of the kitchen, he drops the ‘hang loose’ sign and flashes the ‘birdie’ at me instead.

11 (#ulink_e845cf87-1c7e-5447-88e5-a01a2a1258c0)

Sunday, 18th December

At Rose Hill Manor: Home alone

When I finally screw up my courage and dare to tiptoe upstairs, I find a dozen lovely bedrooms, all decorated in the same chic yet uncluttered style as down below. There are a couple of gorgeous master suites, with understated four-posters and French-style wardrobes practically the size of my cottage. Between us, if I had one of those at home, I’d put more effort in and the pile of clothes by my bed might be less chaotic. The rest of the bedrooms are still luxurious, in diminishing sizes, all with en suites. And then there are attic rooms too. Lingering by the window, I’m looking out over what could almost be a hidden kingdom nestling in the surrounding hills. Beyond the gardens, there’s parkland and fields, then the lake beyond, which is huge.