Luckily the millions of followers on social media didn’t have to hear the irritatingly loud sound of the drone capturing the image of the couple walking hand in hand through a small field of lavender in full bloom – Zara’s chandelier veil catching on the tips of the purple flowers just enough to make it look as if it was floating behind them. The angry buzz of the aerial camera was a sound Sophie hated, but everybody wanted the shot that included the magnificence of the whole castle in the background.
The formal photos including the bridesmaids and groomsmen had been completed some time ago and the rest of the wedding party were now mingling with the guests on the terraces and in the foyer of the castle, enjoying champagne and a selection of hors d’oeuvres that featured local specialities like miniature pissaladières – traditional onion tarts with olives and anchovies – the oven-baked chickpea flatbread socca that was served piping hot with a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper, and the usual French delicacies like caviar, foie gras and escargots.
This was the time for the more intimate pictures of the bride and groom and, at first, it seemed like Luc was following a list that Greg might have given him of what he would have done. He had Zara and Joseph kissing beneath the stone arch that framed the rustic wooden doors of the chapel and in front of the smallest tower, with Zara’s veil carefully arranged to drape over the edge of the steps, catching a sunbeam, so that the beautiful floral embroidery could be highlighted. It was white on white but still easy to recognise the hand-embroidered lavender sprigs and garlands of forget-me-nots.
Zara had insisted that Sophie accompany them to help with precisely the kind of attention that her veil needed and, while there was no way she could have refused, she was quite okay to assist. The initial shock of seeing Luc again had largely worn off and Sophie had used her time after fleeing Zara’s room to regain her equilibrium. It had been easier than she’d expected, probably due to the skills she had honed so many years ago in either quelling or hiding disruptive emotions. Skills that Luc had made it possible to learn, in fact.
Everything had been going smoothly for several hours now and she’d just rung the hospital in Nice again to find that Greg was through the procedure to stent his blocked coronary arteries and he was doing very well. He’d probably be released from hospital within a day or two.
Sophie hadn’t expected to have to hold a box of white doves and encourage them to fly back to thepigeonnierby boosting them in that direction when she let them go, but she was fine with that too. Every passing minute was bringing her time in Luc’s company closer to an end and she knew that this photograph, with the birds flapping past the bride and groom close enough to almost touch them with their wings, and the genuine amazement and laughter that had been provoked, was going to be a winner.
Even better, Raven Vale seemed to have forgotten that she’d never answered his question about losing her fiancé on the eve of her own wedding, because he hadn’t asked any more searching questions. She didn’t think it was due to respecting her privacy after seeing how unwelcome his personal question was. Sophie was quite sure that the stand-in wedding photographer was now more interesting to him than either herself or the wedding couple. The look on Raven’s face, when Luc announced it was time that everyone in the visual content team, other than Sophie, went back to join the guests so he could take his last shots, was all the confirmation she needed.
Luc must have seen Raven’s expression, too. Or felt it.
‘I need to work alone for this part,’ he said. ‘No distractions.’
‘But you want Sophie to stay?’
‘Imight need her,’ Zara said. ‘Of course she stays.’
Luc met Raven’s stare. ‘I work alone,’ he repeated.
His words were almost an apology but there was an undercurrent that sent a tiny chill shivering down Sophie’s spine. Could Raven hear that note of warning? Was he making it clear that any attraction was not mutual?
She felt that chill again when Luc led them into the cemetery at the back of the chapel. He got Zara and Joseph to stand, unsmiling, but holding eye contact over the top of a tombstone.
His demeanour had subtly changed from the moment he’d set foot on this sacred patch of land. He was detached, captured by something only he could see, and the people around him were simply the tools and materials he was working with to reveal that to the world. Even his voice had an intensity that brought goosebumps to Sophie’s skin. Especially when she heard her name on his lips.
‘Could you lift the veil as high as you can, please, Sophie,’ he said. ‘When I tell you, I want you to throw it up in the air and step back as fast as you can.’
The sound of the camera’s shutter whirring could be heard, loud in the silence of the cemetery, despite the faint drifts of laughter in the distance. As Sophie stepped back she could see how effective the action had been to create the impression of movement in the soft silk tulle fabric as it rippled and then fell – as if a sudden puff of wind had come through this small graveyard.
Or perhaps the passing of a ghost.
Luc led them around the back of the castle, then, into a walled garden. They followed a small cobbled path through raised garden bed arranged in an intricate geometric pattern. There were fruit trees in many of the beds, laden with fuzzy peaches, dark plums and old-fashioned apples. A huge array of vegetables, fragrant herbs and edible flowers were growing around and beneath them. Sophie had her arms full of Zara’s train and veil and had to stop suddenly as her bride pulled her new husband to a halt.
‘I have to come out here tomorrow,’ she announced. ‘Thank goodness we’re starting our honeymoon with another day here. Can you imagine? I can walk through here with one of those flat baskets – the English ones. What are they called?’
‘Trugs,’ Sophie supplied.
‘Yeah… It’s so perfect for my blog. I’ll fill the basket with these gorgeous fresh fruit and veggies and herbs and then take them into the castle kitchens. I might even cook something. Joe, you can take the photos.’
‘Anything for you, babe.’ Joseph smiled down at her. ‘Maybe I’ll start a new career and end up as famous as that phoenix guy.’
That phoenix guy was at the far end of the kitchen gardens now and wasn’t even looking back at them. Dark and brooding, he was standing very still, staring through an archway. Then he opened one of the camera cases he was carrying and, even from this far away, when he lifted the device to capture whatever it was he was focussed on, Sophie could see the way his long fingers were adjusting controls on a small, old-fashioned-looking camera and how the muscles moved under the olive skin of his arms as he lifted it to his face.
The camera and the action were achingly familiar. How many hundreds of times had she seen him lift a camera like that and grab at an image he wanted to keep for what might seem an inexplicable reason? Maybe it was actually thesamecamera that he had always, always carried with him. Was he looking through the viewfinder with that same, soul-searching intensity he could unleash that had the power to make you feel as if there was nowhere at all to hide?
And there it was. That sensation she’d never expected to feel again. Neverwantedto feel again because it came with shades of emotion that nobody would ever seek – like guilt and disappointment. Fear, even…
‘I could wear dungarees.’ Zara’s dreamy tone had the welcome effect of pouring oil on the disturbingly choppy thoughts threatening to derail Sophie. ‘And a big straw sunhat. Or maybe a dress and one of those frilly aprons that maids used to wear. Yeah, that would be better.’ She glanced at Sophie. ‘Can you help me find what I’ll need?Please? I know it’s nothing to do with our wedding but I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Sophie promised. Of course she would. She’d be back here tomorrow, anyway, supervising the cleaning and making sure that any loose ends were being tied up. She understood exactly how well this garden and itsraison d’êtrewould resonate with the followers of an aspirational lifestyle platform and she could imagine photos of Zara, looking impossibly gorgeous for any real-life gardener or cook, reaching to pick some of those ripe tomatoes or scrambles of runner beans on the willow branch teepees. Or cutting the huge shiny green leaves of the chard with bright red and yellow stalks and making pretty bunches of herbs like basil and rosemary.
Having those images in her head made it even more of a shock to get to where Luc was still standing and see the alleyway that was full of overflowing rubbish bins and smell the decomposing vegetation and stale wine bottles.
He and Zara shared a look. One of his eyebrows quirked.
