Jane Linfoot - Christmas at the Little Wedding Shop

‘Okay.’ He sticks his hands in his pockets. ‘Help yourself to lunch, help yourself to the bedrooms, and remember…’ He flashes me the ‘hang loose’ hand sign. ‘Stay chilled. Alice is on her way and it’s all going to work out fine.’

With Alice here I’m not sure how much chilling there will be. But I’m giving silent cheers, because I’ve avoided an upstairs tour, complete with all the nudging and squeezing opportunities that offered. ‘And Quinn…’ I know he’s already had at least one parking ticket today. And possibly a whole load more I don’t know about. So I may as well give him the benefit of my local knowledge anyway. ‘If you park on the runway, they’ll tow you away. Every time.’

As he backs out of the kitchen, he drops the ‘hang loose’ sign and flashes the ‘birdie’ at me instead.

When I finally screw up my courage and dare to tiptoe upstairs, I find a dozen lovely bedrooms, all decorated in the same chic yet uncluttered style as down below. There are a couple of gorgeous master suites, with understated four-posters and French-style wardrobes practically the size of my cottage. Between us, if I had one of those at home, I’d put more effort in and the pile of clothes by my bed might be less chaotic. The rest of the bedrooms are still luxurious, in diminishing sizes, all with en suites. And then there are attic rooms too. Lingering by the window, I’m looking out over what could almost be a hidden kingdom nestling in the surrounding hills. Beyond the gardens, there’s parkland and fields, then the lake beyond, which is huge.

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