1. One

One

" Y ou may now kiss the bride," Francois, the slender middle-aged registrar announces with pride from the front of the sun-soaked Summer Room.

I stand discreetly by the double doors at the very back of the room and watch as the bride and groom enjoy their first kiss as husband and wife. Sniffs of emotion erupt from their nearest and dearest sat on rows of mock bamboo chairs, straining their necks to get a better look at the blissfully happy couple.

I love this moment. I love my job, helping couples enjoy the best day of their lives. I tick off another box on my mental list—the main event of the day has gone without a hitch, and I've seen another bride and groom begin the next chapter of their lives.

I twist the brass knobs on the double doors pushing them open, and hurry into the light-filled Orangery, sweeping a scrutinising gaze around the room to ensure everything is perfectly laid out for the champagne reception. A long rectangular table dressed in a pristine white tablecloth is covered with glasses of champagne and orange juice for the non-drinkers. Sweet perfume fills the room from the calla lily garland I painstakingly spent most of my morning pinning to the tablecloth, as the late May bank holiday sunshine beats down on the glass-roofed atrium.

The familiar sound of the Wedding March starts up behind me and the scraping of chairs against the parquet floor of the Summer Room signals the ceremony is over and the bride and groom are headed this way. My cue to leave.

Once the final preparations on the day of the wedding are complete, my job is nearly done. I spend the remainder of the day hovering close by, ready to jump in just in case there's a last-minute mess-up, but mainly dissolving into the background. Just how I like it. I back out into the bar as the Orangery fills with the hum of chatter.

"I opened the doors to the gardens to let the breeze in, it was like an oven in there." Olly, the head barman, runs a hand through his mop of chestnut brown hair, flashing a self-satisfied grin, evidently pleased with himself for doing me a favour.

"Thanks, Olly," I smile appreciatively. "It's hotter than the forecast suggested." I pinch my dress at the front and pull it from my body in a desperate bid to circulate some air between the material and my clammy flesh. My navy boat neck pencil dress is smart but not exactly light-weight and summery. I awkwardly shift from foot to foot, the soles of my feet burning in the blush heels I've been in since eight this morning.

Why didn't I wear sandals?

"I've only just poured the drinks." He folds his arms, oblivious to my shuffling feet. "No one likes warm champagne."

That's true.

"How's it going?" Lucy asks, popping up to my right.

"Great." I reach a hand behind my head and smooth down my hair which is swept up into a high ponytail. At least I had the forethought to wear my hair up today. "I could do with it being a bit cooler though. The flowers will start to droop."

"It's lovely and cool by reception." Lucy straightens her light-blue blouse. "I've got both front doors open so there's a lovely breeze. "

I puff out my cheeks and flap a hand in front my face. "Lucky you. Is it still busy?"

She wrinkles her nose. "No, since the morning's rush it's been dead. You okay, Ol?" She peers around me at a preoccupied Olly staring into the Orangery.

"I'd better go and open another bottle; it looks like they're running low. Can't have that can we?" He gives me a wink and heads off to sort out the drinks.

Technically, the bride and groom have paid for drinks for fifty and that's what they've been provided with, but I can't fault Olly's helpfulness, so instead I offer another polite smile of thanks.

"He's trying to impress you," Lucy says once he's disappeared from earshot.

I know he is.

"I can't understand why you've turned him down," she carries on, tilting her head to the side, her eyes following Olly's pert backside.

Not this again.

"He's nice, but I'm not really looking to start anything, Luce."

She gives a melodramatic sigh that tells me she doesn't understand my thought process. "You've been single for three years, Sophie. Three years. He's cute, and he's got a nice arse."

"And you're getting married in just under two months so less talk like that, young lady," I scold playfully, giving her a sideways glance.

She twirls a blonde curl around her index finger and twists her red lips in thought. "So? There's nothing stopping me from having a look. I think you should give him a chance."

She's not letting this go.

"I'm fine on my own." There's an edge of defiance to my voice, but I can't help it. I'm surrounded by enough love and romance in my day job to last me a lifetime. Happily-ever-afters are something that happen to other people. Not me. It's easier to fly solo.

Lucy's expression softens as she gives me a look that tells me I'm not going to like what she's about to say. "I think it's time you let your guard down and gave a guy a chance." She rubs my shoulder supportively and I wish she wouldn't because it's making my stomach churn with trepidation. I know she's right. "They won't all be like Theo."

Saliva fills my mouth and my gut twists with nausea at the mention of his name. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to think about him because whenever I do, it brings all the dark memories from our time together rushing to the surface.

I force myself to focus on the bride and groom in the Orangery in a bid to distract myself from the unwelcome memories pricking at my mind. Her arms are draped around his neck, and they're gazing lovingly into each other's eyes as the flash of a camera from across the room captures them in their loved-up state. Happiness and envy prickle at my skin competing for first place, and envy, I'm ashamed to say, is winning.

"Ahhh, Lucy, there you are."

I'm snapped out of my self-indulgent trance as George, the assistant manager comes bustling up to us. He swipes a hand across his shiny bald head, looking harassed. "Can we have you back on reception, please? It doesn't look professional."

"It's been dead for an hour," Lucy replies bluntly. "I'm bored stiff."

"Yes, well even so." He smooths a hand down his green and white striped tie and laughs nervously. Even though George has basically run the place these past three years, confrontation isn't one of his strong points. "There really should be someone on reception at all times."

Lucy heaves a weary sigh, as if to signal she knows he's right. "Are you okay, George? You seem a little… on edge."

"Nothing to report here," he laughs a little too loudly. "I'm tickety-boo. I'm fine, I'm fine." His voice falters slightly as he forces a weak smile. His bushy grey eyebrows draw together as he turns towards the Orangery as if he's looking for a distraction, and his eyes light up when he spots the wedding guests. "Ah yes, the wedding." There's a surprised note to his voice as if he'd forgotten there was a wedding booked today. "Is everything okay, Sophie?"

"Absolutely perfect." I give him a reassuring smile and can't help but feel a little sorry for him. George has always been a fussy, anxious manager, but since we learnt of the elderly hotel owner's death six weeks ago, the future of the place has been uncertain, and he's worse than usual.

"Wonderful, wonderful." He clasps his hands together. "It's nice to see we've so many bookings for the summer."

"Yes," I agree. "We're certainly going to be busy."

It's not difficult to understand why Gladstone Country Manor is a popular wedding venue. The three-hundred-year old Georgian manor house in the heart of the Surrey countryside provides a scenic setting for weddings with its beautiful period features and manicured, "Capability Brown" designed grounds.

I can only pray that whoever takes over the hotel is able to honour the bookings. Weddings are, after all, the primary source of income.

George's brows furrow. "Pity we don't know who's going to be running the place." He rubs his hands together. "Anyway," he exclaims with far too much enthusiasm, "I doubt the whole thing's been sorted out yet. Wills and things all take time and I've not heard a peep about it, so I'll just keep turning up until I'm told not to bother." His laugh sounds forced and does nothing to ease my nerves about the situation. It would be awful to have to cancel on all those couples I've worked with to plan their happy day. Including Lucy.

George catches my worried look. "I think I'll go and take a look at the grounds and make sure they're all shipshape. We've not had our usual grounds maintenance team the last few weeks, and I don't think the new ones are deadheading the roses in the courtyard garden."

"Bloody hell," says Lucy as we watch him scuttle off. "He's a nonstop joy at the moment. Aren't we all worried about what's going to happen to the hotel? Aren't we all worried about our jobs?" Her brows arch. "Not to mention the fact I'm due to get married here very soon. If it wasn't for the fact we'd lose out on our deposit and I don't trust anyone else to plan the wedding apart from you, we'd have tried to find another venue. "

I'd be buggered if I got made redundant. My wage only just covers the bills, food, and rent. Okay, so my rent's not that high, but then I've got a matchstick box-size apartment in a cruddy part of Fulham to level it out.

"Anyway," Lucy breezes. "I'd better get back to my post before Mr Pedantic comes back."

"I'll come with you." I glance at my wristwatch. Three thirty. The photographs will be coming to a close soon and I've left the timetable for this evening with reception.

"Ahh yes." Lucy slaps the palm of her hand on her forehead remembering. "I knew I'd forgotten to tell you something."

I roll my eyes. In the sixteen years I've known her she's always had a brain like a sieve. "Your phone's been ringing loads. Magda's been trying to get hold of you."

My rent's paid up to date. What could my landlord possibly need to get hold of me for?