Nelly reached out a paw in female solidarity, as if to say that she knew exactly what Meredith meant.

‘I’ve been doing quite a lot of research into buying flowers,’ Sophie announced.

They had taken Ronnie into the new eau de nil dining room so that Meredith would have the peace of the salon to get on with her own work. ‘Flowers will be part of our wedding package, so I need to know about them anyway. There are four main suppliers. If you want it simple, there’s a very good florist here in Bratenac.’ She produced a printed leaflet and handed it to Ronnie. ‘A lot of the weddings round here use a van from Bordeaux, which has a wider choice. Then if you want flowers on a really big scale, there’s a wholesaler in Bordeaux. Or, obviously there’s the internet. Do you have any kind of theme in mind?’

‘Absolutely. I want the flowers to look like those Dutch Old Master paintings, you know – huge displays of really bright flowers, blowsy roses, delphiniums, dahlias. Often with witty touches like birds or butterflies and branches of out-of-season blackberries!’ Ronnie got so carried away that she knocked over the glass of rosé Jo had poured for her.

Sophie could picture these creations all too well. Beautiful, but more suited to a Paris fashion show than the relaxed festival feel Nicky seemed to want. ‘And is Nicky on board too? I mean, they sound quite . . . eye-catching.’ What she really meant, of course, was over the top, but the nuance was lost on Ronnie.

‘They’ll be the talk of the wedding,’ enthused Ronnie. ‘Nicola’ll be fine. She’s not really interested in flowers anyway.’

‘But you have discussed the bride’s bouquet, at least?’ Jo asked her nervously. She couldn’t quite imagine Nicky going down the aisle with a bunch of flowers tastefully adorned with blackbirds and Red Admirals.

‘I’ll send her some samples when it’s all ordered,’ was the tart response.

‘If I were you,’ Sophie suggested hopefully, ‘I’d run it by her before you make the order definite.’

‘You don’t know Nicola,’ Ronnie dismissed. ‘She can never make up her mind about anything. I’m doing her a favour.’

‘Excuse me, ladies.’ Steve the builder appeared, looking red-faced and sweaty; the heat had increased noticeably over the previous few days. ‘Only there’s someone here to see you.’

‘Hi girls,’ Steph burst in, her attention on the cake box she was carrying so that she didn’t at first notice who was there. ‘I’ve got us some religieuses from the bakery as a little treat. You know, those eclairs with topknots stuffed with café crème, the ones that look like nuns. They’re terribly bad for you and absolutely delicious. Ronnie!’ She almost dropped the box in her amazement. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’