Nicky had guessed right. Steph, it turned out, had a whole armoire filled with Bonne Maman jars, not to mention jars from Dijon mustard since she particularly liked their shape.

Half an hour later a huge cardboard box of jam jars had arrived and they were happily filling them with pink garden roses, lacy gypsophila and some early Michaelmas daisies.

Suddenly a furious voice cut through their girlish giggles. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Nicky swivelled round to face her mother. ‘Arranging the flowers you forgot to order,’ she replied with quiet dignity.

‘But you can’t have that tat anywhere near my arrangements!’ Ronnie flashed. ‘I got the inspiration from the Paris fashion shows! They’re the height of chic.’

Reminding herself that it was her wedding day and she refused to lose her temper and spoil it, Nicky exercised supreme self-control. ‘I’m sure your arrangements will be fabulous,’ she announced calmly. ‘Put one in the orangery for the reception and the other in the salon. They’ll look wonderful there.’

‘There are three,’ Ronnie insisted, with a face like a spoiled child.

‘The third can go in the entrance hall. Everyone will see them as they come in. Oh, and Mum –’ to Sophie’s delight, Nicky suddenly seemed to be the one in charge – ‘I’m doing my own wedding bouquet. OK?’

Thanking their lucky stars that Margot had planted a whole bed of white flowers in homage to Vita Sackville-West’s famous garden at Sissinghurst, Nicky strode out to the garden to make her selection while her mother seethed alone in the dungeon.

Nicky stood in the middle of the flower bed and consulted her watch. By now, the hair and make-up artists would be busy upstairs with the bridesmaids and Lara. She looked round the flower bed, trying to decide between the dramatic heads of white hydrangea, the pretty white ranunculus, star jasmine, cosmos and white roses, when a clump of plain and elegant calla lilies caught her eye. They would be perfect!

She was just picking a generous bunch when she heard an unfamiliar female voice speaking in an intense, almost desperate tone from just the other side of the wall. Nicky glanced round and realized the flower bed she was standing in must be right up against the car park.

‘You’re making such a mistake, marrying Nicky,’ insisted the voice. ‘We were really happy together till I stupidly spent the night with Max. I knew it was a mistake the very next morning. Everyone thinks we should get back together, even your mother.’

It was Emma, Martin’s ex-girlfriend! What the hell was she even doing here? Surely Martin wouldn’t have been crass enough to invite her? He was usually quite sensitive.

She waited for Martin’s response. She knew the way he thought so well. He wouldn’t scream or shout, just feel faintly uncomfortable at being the focus of Emma’s attention.