Page 53 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“Is that what it was like for you?”
“I could have blown up the whole National Grid!”
The hotel was at the far end of the bay, just past the Memorial Gardens, set on a low rocky cliff and surrounded byits own gardens. The original house had been built by a wealthy Victorian factory owner as a summer retreat well away from the smog and chills of the Midlands.
It had undergone many changes in its fortunes since then, with different owners, a jumble of wings and extensions added. It had seen better days, but it still maintained much of its former dignity.
Many of the guests were sentimental visitors who had been coming to Sturcombe for years, or golfers who came to play on the golf course on the rising ground behind it.
The two of them strolled across the gravelled car park and up the steps to the reception hall. Inside it was all bustle and excitement as the staff got the place ready for the wedding. A white pergola had been set up out on the terrace and Eric, the porter, was wheeling a trolley carrying a stack of folding white chairs.
In the conservatory two long trestle tables had been set up — one was displaying the wedding presents, the other would be laid out with a buffet which Chef was preparing in the kitchen. A dozen large crystal vases stood ready for the white roses, gardenias and lily of the valley that were being unloaded from the florist’s van.
Vicky was coming down the stairs holding a clipboard on her arm.
“Hi,” Lisa called to her. “How’s it going?”
Vicky rolled her eyes. “Organised chaos. At least I hope it’s organised. Your help will be much appreciated.”
“Okay. What can we do?”
“Could you see to the flowers? They ought to be in water before they start wilting. If you want to drop your things off upstairs first, I’ve booked out Room 11 for the female guests. The men have Room 12, and the bridal party have Suite 10.”
“That’s great — sounds like you’re really on top of it. Cassie, if you’ll dump our things upstairs in the room, I’ll make a start on sorting out the flowers.”
“Right.”
It was great fun transforming the hotel into a fabulous wedding venue for Debbie and Bill. The rather plain function room was draped in swathes of shimmering white organza hung from hooks high on the walls which had been put there for that purpose years ago. The carpet had been rolled up and the parquet dance floor beneath had had a good polish.
The flowers were arranged on small tables around the room, and the DJ had come in to set up his decks on the stage. On the terrace the pergola was festooned with garlands of white silk flowers, and the white wooden chairs were embellished with sashes of pale-pink organza. And in the conservatory, fairy lights had been twined into the potted fig trees and kentia palms.
The buffet had been brought through from the kitchen — neatly trimmed sandwiches, mini-frittatas, mozzarella sticks, both savoury and sweet kebabs, strawberry pavlova and tiramisu.
At each end of the table was a large punch bowl — one was filled with a delicious non-alcoholic cocktail of elderflower and apple juice in sparkling mineral water, spiced with a sprinkle of mint, the other a very alcoholic mix of vodka and champagne in pineapple and lime juice.
The centrepiece was Chef’s masterstroke — a magnificent wedding cake. Two tiers of smooth white icing with a fall of pink and white sugar flowers cascading down one side.
“Oh, it’s looking fabulous!” Vicky enthused, coming in to check on progress. She glanced at her watch. “It’s probably time for us all to go up and start getting ready. Debbie will be here any minute.”
“She’s here now!” Cassie ran out to the door as Debbie arrived with her mum, Kate, and little Amy. “Don’t peek,” she insisted, putting her hand over her friend’s eyes and taking her arm to lead her into the ballroom as Amy ran ahead.
“Oh, Mummy, it’s so pretty!” Amy was dancing with excitement. “There are so many flowers, it’s just like a garden.”
“I want to see!”
“There you go.”
Cassie took her hand away, and Debbie gasped in delight as she gazed around the room. “Oh, it’s perfect. Thank you so much. Oh . . .” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.
“Mummy, why are you crying?” Amy asked anxiously.
“It’s happy crying,” Debbie assured her. “All this is so wonderful. I can’t believe it. Thank you for everything you’ve done. Oh, look at the pergola. And the cake!” She hurried into the conservatory. “It’s just beautiful. I have to thank your chef for that.”
“He’s in the kitchen,” Vicky said. “Then it’ll be time for you to start getting ready. You’re in Suite 10. Shelley . . .” She turned to one of the housekeeping staff who had been helping with the preparations. “Could you take up a few bites and some coffee, please?”
“Of course.”
“If there’s anything you need,” Vicky added, “just let Shelley know.”
