Wedding Tiers. Trisha Ashley

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      ‘How are the wedding plans coming on?’

      Libby pulled a large, folded list out of the pocket of her all-enveloping blue striped cotton apron, which looked like something a Victorian maid might wear. ‘Special licence—check. Church, vicar, church bells, organist and photographer—all sorted. Cake—you’re doing that. Invitations—already done by those strange friends of yours, though I don’t see why the cards and envelopes have to have bits of grass and petals in them.’

      ‘It’s because they make the paper themselves, using natural sources and inks,’ I explained. ‘All recycled and biodegradable.’

      ‘And why does it say on the invitations that confetti will be provided at the church door?’ she queried. ‘Guests usually bring their own!’

      ‘We don’t want paper confetti everywhere. We need to supply a natural alternative, Libby! Perhaps something like millet, which would give the birds a feast afterwards? Yes—a golden shower of millet would be lovely…’

      ‘I am not emerging from the church to be pelted with handfuls of budgie food,’ Libby said coldly.

      ‘No?’

      ‘No!’

      ‘Oh…then how about dried rose petals?’ I suggested. ‘I’ve heard of those being used.’

      ‘Now, that’s more like it!’

      ‘Hebe Winter uses a lot of roses in the products she makes to sell in the Winter’s End shop—perhaps she could supply us with rose petals. Shall I ask?’

      ‘Yes, do. If you could sort that out for me, it would be a great help,’ Libby agreed. ‘Actually, the Winters are on the guest list, since they’re friends of both Dorrie and Tim. And I’ve invited a second photographer, but not an official one—Noah Sephton. He was some kind of cousin of Joe’s and a great friend. He’ll be staying overnight, but I think I’ll have to put him in the gatehouse. I’ve asked Dolly Mops to come and clean it out and I thought they might as well do the flat over the garage too, though, knowing Gina, she’ll scrub it from floor to ceiling as soon as she gets here, anyway.’

      ‘It’ll be nice to see Gina again. And I think I’ve heard of Noah Sephton,’ I said doubtfully. ‘Didn’t he take those lovely photographs of you with Pia as an infant, which are in your apartment in Pisa?’

      ‘Yes, but you should have heard of him anyway, because he’s quite famous for his portraits. He has an annual exhibition of his more oddball, black-and-white photos every year too, and they’re a sell-out. His last one was called Fate’

      ‘I know all about fate’, I said, and, as if on cue, one of the two peacocks wailed. It always gave me the cold shivers. ‘Couldn’t you try eating the peacocks?’ I pleaded. ‘I hate the noise they make.’

      ‘Don’t be silly, they give the place class. Get over it,’ she said absently, looking down at the back of the list where she’d jotted the names of the invited guests. ‘There are quite a few celebs on here as well as Noah, because Tim knows Rob Rafferty, the star of that Cotton Common TV soap and one or two of the other actors, though I don’t think Hello! magazine will be jostling for my wedding photos any time soon.’

      ‘So you’ve got it all pretty well arranged?’

      ‘Yes, apart from the reception venue. At this rate, we’ll be handing out directions in the church!’

      ‘Still no luck finding somewhere nearby?’

      ‘No, they’re all either booked up, can’t handle the numbers, or they don’t do them at this time of year—or something’

      ‘Oh dear, and it’s hardly marquee weather, is it?’

      ‘I expect I’ll think of something. I’ll have to. I only hope the guests who are coming from a distance can find somewhere to stay on the night of the wedding!’

      ‘Any word from Pia yet?’

      ‘No, still not a dicky-bird since I told her I was marrying again and she put the phone down on me. She’s not answering my emails either.’

      ‘She hasn’t contacted me for ages,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t usually leave it this long.’

      ‘She’s sulking, but I’d like to know if she intends turning up for the wedding. It would have been lovely if she’d been happy about my getting married again and agreed to be a bridesmaid, but it doesn’t look likely to happen.’

      ‘Once she gets over the shock she’ll probably get back in touch again,’ I said optimistically.

      ‘I’d just settle for the sound of her voice telling me she was all right, at the moment,’ Libby admitted.

      ‘I’ll try emailing her again when I get home, Libs. Perhaps she’s still speaking to me.’

      ‘Oh, thanks, Josie—and I must take your measurements before you go, because I still have to dash down to London in search of my wedding dress and shoes, and get a bridesmaid’s dress for you. I should have gone before, but there’s been so much to do.’ My practical, hard-headed friend gave a dreamy sigh. ‘I hate the thought of being apart from Tim, even for one night. Isn’t it strange?’

      ‘No. And now you know how I feel when Ben goes off to London without me.’

      ‘It’s not the same. You’ve never been in love with Ben, just loved him with blind, dogged devotion.’

      ‘Not blind. You can’t live with someone for that many years and not be aware of their failings. But he’s such a brilliant artist, a genius, that I’ve had to be the one to make allowances.’

      ‘I don’t see why having any kind of talent should entitle you to get away with behaving badly,’ she said, ‘or selfishly. Though, actually, it usually does seem to have that effect. Noah—Noah Sephton, the photographer I was telling you about—goes through girlfriends faster than a hot knife through butter. He says he’s a romantic and believes in true love, but he never puts his money where his mouth is.’

      ‘Has he never been married?’

      ‘Joe said he was, briefly, when he was very young, but she died of leukaemia, so I expect it was all a bit Love Story and put him off marrying again.’

      ‘That’s terribly sad!’ Tears came to my eyes as they usually did when I heard something touching. ‘It’s probably blighted the poor man’s life.’

      ‘No, I don’t think so. The loveliest girls seem to fall for him and it all looks really promising, but by the time they start to hint that they’re getting serious ideas he’s ready to move on.’

      I thought about that. ‘Perhaps it’s because no one is going to measure up to his dead wife? I mean, if they were really young and not married long, the rosy glow wouldn’t have worn off and, looking back, she will always seem perfect, won’t she?’

      ‘Or perhaps whatever he says about love, he just prefers casual sex with no commitment?’ Libby suggested.

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