Page 60 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
“Uh, if you’ve already booked the place, now would be a good time to mention it.” I wasn’t really joking.
“We’re just taking a look, all right? If you hate it, that’s no problem. We’ll find somewhere else.” He said it like he meant it.
Course, in his line of work, being a good liar can come in pretty handy.
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
Inside it was bloody lovely. The reception area was all rich, deep colours and dark wood panelling—actually, to be honest, it reminded me a bit of the White Hart. It was posh, no doubt about it, but it seemed comfortable too.
My mum would love this place, I realised. Cherry would adore it. It was just the sort of venue I reckoned she’d have gone for, if she hadn’t been getting hitched in St. Leonards cathedral.
The young lady at the desk looked up and gave us a smile. Her name tag said Sally. “Welcome to Cottonmill Hall. Can I help you with anything?”
“All right if we take a look around?” Phil asked her. “We’re trying to find a wedding venue.”
“Oh, how lovely. For the two of you? Have you been together long?”
Phil nodded. “Nearly a year now.”
“Fantastic. And did you have a date in mind? I’m afraid summer Saturdays tend to get booked up quite far in advance.”
“We were thinking of a weekday. Maybe July?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be able to accommodate you, then. You’ll find a lot of things much easier if you’re not going for the traditional Saturday.” Her smile turned conspiratorial. “And, of course, it’s much better value for money. How many guests, roughly?”
“Probably no more than fifty.”
Sally beamed. “Smaller weddings are so much nicer, I always think. Much more intimate and friendly.” She was good, this girl. “Just give me one moment to get someone to cover for me, and I’ll take you round.”
She disappeared out back and returned a minute or two later with an equally bright and smiley young man by the name of Tim, unless his name tag was telling porkies. Tim congratulated us on our engagement, told us we wouldn’t regret choosing Cottonmill Hall, and beamed happily as Sally led us away. Maybe they put something in the water round here.
“As you’re having such an intimate celebration, you’ll be able to use the conservatory for dining if you’d like to.” She pushed open a door.
The room beyond was flippin’ gorgeous. I mean, you think conservatory, you picture something small and hexagonal tacked on to the back of someone’s semi, but this place was massive. It was light and airy, with a whole row of French windows that opened onto the gardens. I could just imagine it in summer, with the windows wide open and the curtains blowing in the breeze. At the mo, they had it set up with chintzy bamboo chairs and low tables, and there was a low fire burning in the grate at the end nearest the main building that gave it a cosy feel.
“Like it?” Phil asked, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “Yeah, I do.”
It was a bloody good thing it wasn’t far to drive back to mine from the hotel. We’d left the place with a bundle of brochures, several pages of notes in Phil’s notebook, and a provisional booking for July. I was in a bit of a daze.
I realised as I parked up I hadn’t even asked Phil if he wanted to come back to mine. It was getting on for teatime now, although after our Sunday roast, I didn’t reckon either of us would be hungry anytime soon. “Uh, sorry. Did you want to be dropped off at your flat?”
He laughed, the bastard. “Trust me, I’d have told you. Wasn’t sure it was safe to leave you on your own right now anyhow.” Then his face turned serious. “This is what you want, right?”
I guessed he wasn’t talking about him coming in for a cuppa. “Yeah. Just . . . taking a while to get used it, you know?”
“If you think we’re going too fast—”
“No. No, it’s good. I’m good.” I took a deep breath, wiped my hand on my jeans, and turned to look at him directly. “It’s what I want. You. Me. Getting hitched. And the place is great. It’s perfect. Good choice.”
He looked grumpy. “It’s not supposed to be my choice. It’s supposed to be our choice.”
“And it is.” I forced a smile. “I really liked it. And you didn’t pressure me into it, all right? Okay, yeah, Sally the sales fiend knew all the right buttons to push, but you didn’t make me do anything I didn’t wanna. Now are we gonna sit in my car all night, or are we gonna go inside and have a cup of tea?”
Phil smirked. “I can think of things I’d rather have. And we’d definitely better go inside for that.”
So we did.
