Better still, his list of published works included one on medieval marriage laws. Yes!
Her phone rang, and she stepped out to take the call. It was Nicole.
“Where are you?”
Standing in the village square like Superwoman looking for people to rescue. “At the library.”
“Well, can you come back, hon?” Nicole loved using the word ‘honey’ or ‘hon,’ and she always made it sound American as if they were roommates at an all-girls college. “I need a favour if you don’t mind.”
Pierre didn’t mind normally, but today she had a difficult job to worry about. “I can’t. I have work to do here.”
“I need you to take our new photographer and show him the church where the wedding will be held.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Nicole why she hadn’t taken him earlier when they went for a walk hand-in-hand in the gardens. It was one thing to give Nicole all the help she needed because they all wanted the wedding to be a success. But that didn’t mean she had to babysit some random guy.
“Lord M asked me to do something for him, so I can’t come back until I’ve finished it. But Emmet can find me here if he likes and I’ll take him afterwards.”
He didn’t show up. And by early afternoon, the sun had come out. Since her research had now moved on to Professor Goodson’s online channel, she could just as well do it on her phone while sitting in the garden.
Back at Du Montfort Hall, she found her paints and a new pair of Wellingtons and went out to the white rose garden. Selecting a bench in a sunny spot, she inserted her earphones, found one of Professor Goodson’s podcasts on Anglo-Saxon marriages, and set about painting her Wellies.
To go with her new forest theme, she painted the feet brown with patches of dark moss, as if the boots had been part of the forest floor. Around the ankles, she painted grass and a few wildflowers.
She was starting on the nymph hiding behind a toadstool when a voice said, “Don’t move. Stay just like that.”
The instruction was followed by theclick-clickof a camera.
She didn’t move, didn’t even look up, just went on painting the mushroom half-hidden by grass. It was only her mind that moved. It travelled 300 miles northwest to the Welsh coastline, and three years back in time to the day that same voice had asked her not to move.
Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of him moving around her, taking pictures from different angles. He had changed; for a start, he had beard. But there was no mistaking his voice. She knew colours, and his voice was deep golden brown like autumn leaves, like the rich earth she’d been painting, like roasted hazelnuts.
Did he always have that hair, shiny, thick, and slightly curly? The kind girls loved to push their fingers through to tidy up. Was he always this tall, even down in a half squat as he snapped pictures? He was …
He was Gabriel, the nice guy she’d wished she’d exchanged numbers with and—
He lowered his camera and their eye met. “Is it you?”
“You know, for a photographer, you’re not very good at remembering faces.”
He smiled, and this smile she definitely remembered, affectionate, happy, a little mischievous; it warmed his entire face. He was still smiling as he stood up and brushed his trouser knee absentmindedly. “You’ve changed your hair.” His eyes roamed over her moss, forest, and emerald locks.
“You’ve changed your name.” She gave him a cheeky smirk.
His gaze settled on her face. “I only recognised you when I looked through this.” He held up his camera. “You see things differently through the lens. Otherwise…” He looked around at the grass, the climbing roses on the trellis, the trees in the distance, and Du Montfort Hall behind them. “Otherwise, you could have been anyone, any girl in a pretty skirt, sitting in the sunshine.”
“Iama girl in the sunshine.”
“But through this” — He held up the camera — “I see someone else.”
“Who?” She put down her paintbrush, intrigued.
“Well, for a start, a profile I’d seen before, the tiny diamond in the left side of an upturned nose, the dusting of pale freckles, and…” He studied her face like it was an artwork.
“And?” she tried not to blush.
“Shiny, light blue eyes. You have an indentation in your cheek where a dimple would be when you smile. And a hint of worry between your eyebrows.”
She could feel the blush heating her face right up to the roots of her hair.
