‘Is she now? We’ll soon see about that.’ Sometimes her sister’s selfishness took Steph’s breath away.

‘No, please, Auntie Steph, we’re fine,’ Nicky insisted. ‘Especially now we’ve got you. You know Mum – she’ll probably only say something critical anyway. She won’t mean to, but somehow it’ll come out. Have a glass of this delicious fizz and tell me I look more gorgeous than Princess Diana when I put on the dress.’

Lara and Nicky disappeared behind the painted screen and when they came out, Steph didn’t have to make any comparisons with Princess Di; Nicky looked quite beautiful enough in her own right. The ivory-toned dress, made of some magical material that managed to float and cling at the same time, with a little train and a matching shoulder shrug, was simply beautiful.

‘Darling Nicky.’ Steph felt a lump in her throat that made it hard to speak. ‘You look perfect!’

It was at that moment that Sophie arrived with the giant cardboard box.

‘Oh, brilliant!’ giggled Nicky. ‘Could you get it out and plug it in, Soph?’

‘Close your eyes, everyone.’

Moments later, the room was illuminated by a giant sign made of light bulbs blazing out the words MR & MRS.

‘Isn’t it a hoot?’ Nicky grinned at the others.

None of them noticed the door opening again. ‘What on earth is that vulgar contraption?’ demanded an incandescent Ronnie. She was still wearing the pink MOB wrap, now with the interesting addition of a feather fascinator. ‘You can’t put that horrible thing anywhere near my flowers!’

‘Shut the fuck up, Ronnie,’ commanded Steph in steelier tones than her nieces had ever heard from her, ‘and come in and admire your beautiful daughter!’

Meredith, as usual, had managed to look both chic and businesslike and even – a new thing for her – ever so slightly sexy. The table plans were now sorted, and she consulted Sophie’s lists to see what job next fell to her. It turned out to be Keeping an Eye on the Kitchen.

One glance told her that Jean-Christophe was very much in charge. Everything seemed to be running smoothly. In fact, unusually for him, he was actually singing as he chopped and sliced. Meredith found herself smiling as she wondered why.

‘Can I help you?’ enquired a voice that, while on the surface of it perfectly polite, seemed to imply that she was an unwelcome trespasser.

Meredith was staggered to find that it was Lucille, wearing a tight black t-shirt and fashionably narrow black slacks. What the hell was she doing here?

Lucille clearly read her mind. ‘A staff member called in sick, so I’m helping my son out for the day. He wanted someone with experience.’

‘You certainly have that,’ Meredith replied ambiguously. ‘If there are no problems I can help with, I’ll leave you to it.’