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the only time Jane was going to get considering they were already running at least fifty minutes late; even the most high-maintenance of brides couldn’t expect to keep her groom and congregation waiting any longer.
    There had originally been a huge, open inner courtyard between the farm buildings but as the centre grew unstoppably, as well-managed enterprises will, and its catchment area had expanded, this had been roofed over to make an enormous general purpose workshop. It had now been cleared of benches, machinery and ongoing projects and then decorated tastefully but frivolously with garlands of coloured wrapping paper from the printworks, whose manager had been at school with Jane. It was into this building that Jane made her entrance, with Deborah behind her, holding a delightful bouquet of flowers that the local florist had donated, of which there were plenty more in strategic places around the venue.
    On making her belated entry to the sound of a great cheer, Jane was stunned by the number present. Somehow news of the event had got a mention on the Internet, probably on Facebook, and in the local media, with a hint that the event was open to any friend of a friend of the bride or her family; and it seemed that this definition might have become stretched almost to snapping point. Champagne had been mentioned without the proviso that it had been made on the spot and from elderflowers rather than grapes, and of course everyone expected a great feast as well.
    Looking around, Jane could see officials, volunteer leaders and benefactors of Kempfield; former schoolfellows, fellow students from college; many of GG’s old friends, clients and colleagues; her own clients and most of the denizens of Newton Lauder. It had been made clear that morning suits were not expected; the groom and the best man wore kilts and tweed jackets and at that point formality ended. So the guests were a multicoloured, melting pot of all styles, fashions, uniforms and hairdos; everyone having their own opinion of what constitutes an acceptable dress code at a wedding on a gorgeous summer’s day.
    While the bride was awaited the festivities had begun anyway and luckily the supplies of food and elderflower champagne seemed to be holding up. It seemed that volunteers had managed to clear up most of the mess of the earlier explosion, but the smell of wine was all-pervading, although considering everyone was drinking the stuff, and would be consuming plenty of it as the day wore on, they would become immune to the smell fairly quickly.
    As Jane entered further into the room, she noticed the expressions on various faces – the men entranced, the younger women envious and the older ladies outraged – and was reminded that the nightdress that was now substituting for the bloodied wedding dress was daring in the extreme, being made of a very thin and clinging material with inserts and panels of lace that was so transparent as to be barely visible. Oh well! She would soon be a respectable married woman. And she had been too busy to have the traditional hen night. Surely some allowance could be made. She avoided eye contact with any of the throng as she held her head up and walked calmly forward towards the rear of the room, which was to act as the wedding ceremony area.
    Manfred, Jane’s soon-to-be brother-in-law, was to be best man. Roland and Manfred were first to reach Jane. Roland in particular was almost gagging with questions and he rushed up to her, clasping her hand in both of his. His expression was a mixture of relief and concern; relief that Jane had turned up (as part of him had begun to worry that she was having second thoughts about their future), and concern at what exactly had delayed her. Manfred too was spouting questions, but Jane hushed them both. She was living in hyperdrive.
    â€˜It’s not the bride’s place to make speeches,’ she said. ‘Manfred, your job. Please apologize to everybody.