The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square: A gorgeously heartwarming romance and one of the top summer holiday reads for women. Michele Gorman

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      Kelly’s always been suspicious of anything that’s outside our postcode. It may as well be France as far as she’s concerned. She’s not interested in going there, either.

      I used to think the same thing till I started taking courses in Central London. It’s no use trying to convince Kelly that there’s a world west of the City, though.

      The bus lurches past grand stone buildings that are tall enough to block the sunshine from the narrow streets weaving between them. It’s easy to imagine men in bowler hats hurrying from their clerking jobs instead of the office workers who’re all walking with their mobile phones out.

      She pushes the button to let us off near a tiny lane. There’s a low arch between buildings leading into a big square. ‘Holy shit, Kell, this isn’t for us. It looks like a church. You know Dad–’

      Her eyes crinkle. ‘Keep your wig on, it’s not a church. It’s for your party. You wanted something to impress Lord and Lady Muck.’

      ‘Mucking.’

      ‘Whatever.’

      Its Portland stone façade and huge arched windows look official, like a town hall.

      ‘It’s Stationer’s Hall,’ she explains as we look around outside. ‘You know, one of the guildhalls, for stationers and newspapers, publishers and the like. It’s as close to books as I could get and still be posh. I figured you wouldn’t want your wedding at the newsagent’s and you’re such a booky swot that I thought you’d like this.’

      I love it. Plus, I know my great grandfather was only a newsvendor, but I like this slight connection to my family. ‘How’d you even know it was possible to have a reception in a place like this? I figured it’d have to be in a hotel.’

      Kelly nods. ‘I know. That’s why you made me your bridesmaid.’ She taps her forehead. ‘Lateral thinking.’

      ‘I thought I made you my bridesmaid because you threatened to kill me otherwise.’

      ‘I only threatened to kill you when you made Cressida bridesmaid.’

      ‘Don’t start on Cressida, please.’ Her feelings about Daniel’s friend are a whole story that’s not worth getting into just now.

      She pretends not to hear me. ‘With me you get your life, and you get your lateral thinking for free.’

      ‘A two-for-one offer.’ Once a market trader, always a market trader.

      She leads us down some steps to a big wooden door that swings open as soon as she presses the bell.

      The man standing in the doorway might be around our age, but he’s got about nine strands of blond hair left on his head, which are swept back with some kind of unfortunate gel that makes it look like the raked sand in a Japanese zen garden.

      We just about keep straight faces when he calls us Miss Liddell and Miss McCarthy and introduces himself as Mr Thompson-Smythe. He’ll make a perfect head teacher if this job doesn’t work out.

      ‘After you, Miss,’ Kell says to me.

      ‘No, after you, Miss,’ I say back.

      Mr Thompson-Smythe smiles blandly.

      He leads us down a corridor lined with oil paintings of old men who all look like Margaret Thatcher, asking about my wedding plans so far. I feel his disappointment when I say there aren’t many. Emma must try harder.

      ‘We’re keeping it small,’ I offer him. ‘Maybe around sixty?’ As long as Philippa doesn’t go overboard with the invitations.

      ‘Terrific,’ he says. Sixty is obviously the perfect number for a wedding in his opinion. ‘Well, this is the Stock Room. It can seat up to sixty guests or have a hundred guests standing. Are you thinking of dinner or just a drinks reception?’

      ‘Erm, I don’t know,’ I say, looking up. Giant brass chandeliers hang from the lofty ceiling, which is painted white, gold and blue. It’s not a huge room, and with the walls all clad in dark wood and covered in livery shields, it feels a little oppressive.

      ‘Terrific,’ says Mr Thompson-Smythe again to reward my indecision. ‘The oak panelling dates from the seventeenth century and we do allow candlelight in this room.’

      Seventeenth-century panelling! I wouldn’t let anyone light a candle near it.

      Mr Thompson-Smythe pushes through the wooden double doors at one end of the room to let us into a huge hall that’s panelled like the one we just came from. It’s a lot brighter, though, thanks to an enormous stained-glass window at one end.

      Henry VIII banqueting tables are pushed up against the walls and a few colourful flags hang high up to round out the medieval feel.

      Mr Thompson-Smythe watches us take it all in. ‘The floors and panelling in this room are oak and date from the sixteenth century. The original liveries are on the carved shields above the panelling and candlelight is allowed in here too. Would you have candles?’

      He’s really pushing the candlelight. Maybe they’re trying to keep the electricity bills down. ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Terrific.’

      I’m starting to suspect he’s not really paying attention to my answers.

      ‘What do you think?’ Kelly whispers as Mr Thompson-Smythe scurries away to pretend not to listen.

      It’s definitely right up my future mother-in-law’s street. ‘I like it, but … it just feels a bit formal. That’s not it, exactly, but do you know what I mean?’

      ‘Too posh for us? It’s like royals would have a party here.’

      ‘Mmm, no, just not our style.’ I smile at Mr Thompson-Smythe, who creeps back to our side.

      ‘Do you have any questions?’ he asks. ‘Miss McCarthy checked and the hall is free on your proposed wedding day.’

      ‘Oh, good,’ I say, not wanting to reject his sixteenth-century décor and hurt his feelings. ‘It’s very beautiful. And there’d be plenty of room for us. What’s the cost to hire it?’

      ‘The hire fee is four thousand and seven hundred pounds, plus VAT. We’d require a small deposit to hold the booking.’

      ‘Terrific,’ I say, casually leaning on one of the banqueting tables to keep my legs from going. ‘And does that include … food?’

      ‘No, it’s the hire fee only. We can supply you with a list of caterers, though.’

      Unless they supply me with a bank account to pay them, this is never going to work.

      ‘The fee does include the whole building,’ he continues, ‘so you’ll have use of all the rooms, and the garden as well. You could have a pre-dinner drinks reception outside, for example, if the weather is nice, then dinner in the Livery Hall and dancing in the Stock Room. We’re very flexible.’

      For nearly five thousand quid they should be more СКАЧАТЬ