by Karen King
‘Wow!’ She gaped at them all, stunned. ‘What did I do?’
Owen came out of the office, beaming. ‘Your wedding column, that’s what. It’s got everyone talking. There’s an inbox full of emails for you to answer and sales on Saturday doubled.’
‘Really?’ She grinned in delight until she remembered that the wrong column had been published. Damn. She hadn’t expected it to be such a success. Now it was going to be even more difficult to talk Owen into letting her change the way she wrote it. She had to do it though. What if someone Sylvia or Amanda knew had read it and told Timothy? ‘That’s great, but I need to talk to you about the column, Owen,’ she said as firmly as she could.
‘Sure. Let’s go into the office, shall we?’ He looked over at Sally. ‘Bring us a coffee, will you, Sal?’
Owen was asking her to sit in his office and drink coffee with him? Her column must have been a success. She couldn’t help feeling proud. Your wedding is at stake, she reproached herself. You can’t let Owen sweet-talk you in to continuing to write such a personal column.
‘Sit down.’ Owen actually pulled out the chair for her. He obviously meant business.
She sat. ‘Owen …’
He beamed at her in delight. ‘Take a look at this.’ He pointed to the computer, which was open on the email inbox. She was astonished to see row upon row of emails addressed to Paige Stevens, with ‘Almost a Bride’ in the subject bar.
‘Wow!’ She couldn’t even begin to count them. ‘How many are there?’
‘A few hundred. And this is only the first week. We’re on to a winner here, Cassie.’
Now she felt really guilty. ‘I’m pleased the column was so successful but the thing is …’ Her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips, swallowed. Spit it out, for goodness’ sake! ‘Gary subbed the wrong column. This is one I was just messing around with, writing for a bit of fun. It wasn’t the one I meant to submit.’
Owen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I was writing the column and I thought it sounded a bit boring; nothing like the sort of stuff that really happens when you’re planning a wedding. So I thought I’d up the drama a bit. I don’t know why I did it. It wasn’t meant to be published. I told Gary I’d finished the column and was just about to send it over when you called me into the office. When I came back out Gary said he’d collected the column and subbed it. He must have collected the wrong one. I never thought to check as I had to go straight back out again.’
Owen looked puzzled. ‘OK, so you never meant to send this one, but so what? It’s a success. Well done! You’ve found a winning format. It’s exactly what we want. Our readers love it. And the title “Almost a Bride” is fab-tastic. Sheer genius.’
‘Owen, I can’t write another column like this. I shouldn’t have written this one and it definitely shouldn’t have been published. We have to change the format!’
Owen gave her a scrutinising look. ‘And the reason why we have to do that is …?’
Cassie stared at him in dismay. What could she say? She was going to have to admit that it was true otherwise he’d be pushing her to continue with the same story.
‘Look,’ she swallowed. ‘Some of it is … er … true.’
‘Well, I guessed that, you’re always going on about what a nightmare your chap’s mother is. Don’t worry, you’ll be using a pseudonym. No one will know it’s you. And we’ll pretend the wedding is six months away instead of two. That should throw them off track.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘The rest of it isn’t true, is it?’
‘What?’
‘The bit about the photographer?’
She wanted to deny it but knew that the sudden hot surge to her cheeks had given her away.
Owen whistled. ‘Fan-bloody-tastic! We really need this, Cassie. This will push our circulation through the roof. It’s reader-grabbing stuff.’
‘It’s my life!’ Cassie retorted. ‘I don’t want it plastered all over the paper.’
‘I see.’ Owen perched on the end of the desk and adopted his best ‘fatherly’ mode. ‘Look, Cassie, I’m going to be straight up with you. The paper’s in trouble.’
Cassie stared at him suspiciously. ‘If this is a sob story to get me to agree you might as well stop now, because I’m not going to.’
‘It’s the truth. It’s the curse of the bloody digital revolution with all the free bloody e-papers. Print sales have gone through the floor. Everyone knows that. And a small paper like this, we just can’t sustain such a loss. I’m going to have to start laying people off if sales don’t pick up soon. Your “Almost a Bride” column could make all the difference to whether we go under or not.’ He sounded genuine.
She fidgeted under the ‘Please agree to this’ look he was giving her. ‘That’s not fair. You’re trying to guilt-trip me. I’m not a big name, I’m not going to draw people in.’
‘No, but this stuff will. It’s got the personal angle that people love. You’re not only giving the other wannabee brides the benefit of your experience, you’re giving them a dilemma. They’ll be wanting to buy the paper every week to find out what happens next: if your fiancé finds out about your ex, what he says, what his stuffy mother does, and how you manage to hold it all together.’
‘I can’t do it.’
‘Why not?’ Owen demanded. ‘What’s the big deal? We’ve all got exes and interfering relatives. No one will know it’s you.’
‘If Timothy gets wind of this we’re through.’
‘I thought he doesn’t read your pieces? Bit beneath him and all that. Hot-shot lawyers like him read the Times, not the local rag. Anyway, it’s not written under your name.’
‘No, but it’s obvious I wrote it to anyone who knows us. What if one of our friends or family read it and told him?’
‘They won’t guess it’s you, why should they? People will think it’s made up, just a filler piece for the paper. Even if they did think it was true, hundreds of people will be getting married in the next few months, this could be about any one of them.’
Unless they knew about Jared. Anyone who knew about Jared would know that Cassie had written this piece.
‘Hundreds of people aren’t having their ex photograph their wedding,’ she pointed out.
Owen met her gaze. ‘Does Timothy know this photographer chap is your ex?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t got around to telling him yet. So, you see, if he reads this we’ll be finished. I need out, Owen. We have to go back to the format we agreed.’
He thrust his hand over his balding head. ‘How can we do that now? Look at the response we’ve had. People will be waiting to read more. They want to know what decision you – Paige – make. They’re voting on it.’ He switched screens to the online version of the newspaper and scrolled to the voting option asking readers what decision they think Paige should make. So far five hundred people had said she should tell Ian about Blake and three hundred said she shouldn’t.
She repeated what she’d told Sam. ‘That’s not a problem. We’ll say that I’ve decided to tell Ian and we’re changing the photographer. Then I’ll write the piece how I was originally going to do it: giving advice about planning a wedding. I was planning to write about choosing the wedding dress this week.’
Owen looked aghast. ‘I’m begging you, Cass. We’re going under, we need your column.’ He leant towards her. ‘This could be big, Cassie. It could save all our jobs.’
Cassie’s mind was racing. She thought of Beth, a single mum to her two kids who definitely needed her job, and Craig, who’d been out of work for eighteen months before he landed a job on the paper six months ago, and of Owen who’d been in charge for twenty years now, and would probably struggle to get another job at his age. And yes, part of her was excited at writing such a popular column. The public response was fantastic.
What if Timothy read it?
He had never read her any of her stuff, why would he start now? And in the unlikely event that any of his friends re
ad it, surely they wouldn’t think it was her? She doubted if any of them knew the name of the paper she worked for and it wasn’t written under her name anyway. Besides, she could exaggerate, embellish, and disguise the characters so that no one recognised it, and keep Jared out of it as much as possible. Dare she risk it?
‘Think about it, Cassie. All our jobs are on the line.’
It was sheer blackmail.
‘OK,’ she nodded. ‘But I get to check the final draft before it goes to print, every week. Deal?’
‘Deal.’ Owen held out his hand, she took it, and shook it. ‘I knew I could rely on you. This is going to be dynamite.’
She still wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision, Cassie thought as she walked back into the news room, but what else could she do? And she had to admit that it did feel good to write such a popular column. The feedback had been amazing.
‘I’m sorry, Cassandra, but I’ve got an urgent meeting tomorrow afternoon. I won’t be able to make the venue appointment after all,’ Timothy informed her as they ate supper together on Tuesday evening.
Cassie stared at him in dismay. That meant she’d be alone with Jared. There’s no way she could deal with that. ‘I can’t cancel it now, it’s all arranged,’ she pointed out. She’d even asked to be on the early shift tomorrow, which meant being in the newspaper office at the crack of dawn, so that she’d be free in the afternoon. Of course if she’d told Owen he’d have let her go anyway, considering it material for her ‘wedding piece’, but she was determined not to write about Jared this week so she didn’t want him to know.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t get out of it. It’s a meeting with a potential client that could put a lot of business our way.’ Timothy took a sip of his wine. ‘Surely there’s no need to cancel? All you have to do is meet the photographer at the venue, let him look around and check out whatever he needs to check.’ He must have seen the look of panic on Cassie’s face because he reached over and placed his hand on hers. ‘You seem a bit worried about it. Would you like me to ask Mother to come with you?’
For a brief moment – a very brief moment – it was tempting. She shook her head; spending another afternoon with Sylvia wasn’t high on her wish list. ‘No, I’ll be fine. I was just disappointed as I was hoping we could go together. It doesn’t matter, of course your meeting must come first.’
‘If you’re sure …’ He looked at her, puzzled, and no wonder. She worked for a newspaper and was used to interviewing lots of different people, so why was she flapping about showing their photographer the wedding venue? She was being stupid. She was an adult, for goodness’ sake. Of course she could handle spending an hour with an ex-boyfriend. She smiled brightly. ‘No problem. Of course, it would have been nice if you could have come too, but I can handle it.’
To be honest, she was dreading being alone with Jared. It would be so awkward. While she was with Sylvia or Timothy, she could avoid talking to him about anything personal, she could pretend that they’d never met. On their own it would be there, hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.
I’ll keep it strictly professional, she decided. I won’t even ask him how he is and definitely won’t discuss our past. If he mentions it I’ll say that I haven’t told Timothy because it isn’t important. We both moved on years ago.
The next morning was hectic. From the minute she got into the office it was all systems go. She’d no sooner set foot through the door when Owen called. ‘Do the police, fire, and hospital checks, will you, Cass? And don’t forget I need your wedding piece this afternoon.’
She picked up the phone and dialled the police PR office to see what had gone on during the night – several fights, a road accident involving three cars, a few burglaries, one at a local jewellery store. A typical night, really. She scribbled down details of them in shorthand, ready to write up a report, repeated the same with the fire brigade and local hospitals. Then she filled Owen in on what had happened.
‘Follow up the burglary at the jewellers, will you?’ h said. ‘You know the drill. Take Craig with you to get some shots, interview the locals, see what info you can get me. We might run with that as the lead.’
She nodded, grabbed her jacket and bag, and went to find Craig.
Jared read the piece for the fourth time. Cassie had written it, he was sure. He remembered her telling him the name of the paper she wrote for, so he’d picked up a copy on Saturday, after their meeting, and shoved it in his bag. He’d forgotten all about it until this morning and then he’d decided to read it before he met her and Timothy at the venue. It would give them a bit of common ground, perhaps, if he could tell her he’d read one of her pieces in the newspaper. He’d read all the way through looking for her name, then he’d found this in the Femail section. ‘Almost a Bride’, it was titled, supposedly written by Paige Stevens. It was quite funny too; he’d smiled as she’d described her snobby interfering soon-to-be mother-in-law, her secret mocha drinking and chocolate nibbling, her fiancé who was too busy to deal with the wedding. As he read through he’d started to wonder if it was written by Cassie, and then he’d come to the bit about the wedding photographer being her ex-boyfriend and he’d known it was. It had to be. She was taking a chance writing personal stuff like this. She was even asking readers to vote whether she told her fiancé about her affair with the photographer or not. He knew this was fairly common stuff for a journalist, they’d sell their granny down the river to get a story, but Timothy Campbell didn’t strike him as the sort of man who’d like his private life lightly mocked in the Saturday supplement pages of the local newspaper. Had he read it? And as she was writing about it did that mean Cassie had told him about them? He had a meeting with them both soon and had no idea how to react.
He tossed the paper onto the coffee table and walked over to the window. He hadn’t been looking forward to meeting Cassie and her fiancé again, and after seeing her wedding diary in the paper he was looking forward to it even less. This was something he could do without. He sighed. The last thing he expected when he took this job was to bump into Cassie, never mind be asked to take the photographs of her wedding. He just had to get through it the best he could and remind himself that it all added to his Arctic fund.
He picked up his Nikon and slipped a couple of spare lenses in the case. He wanted to get a couple of shots of the venue so he could study them and consider the best locations and angles. He was a perfectionist at the best of times, but this was Cassie’s wedding, and he was determined that the photos would be fantastic. His pride wouldn’t allow him to do any less.
Cassie’s wedding. He’d wondered over the years if she’d got married, had a couple of kids, maybe. Sometimes, when he’d been waiting all day for ‘the perfect shot’, his mind had drifted to Cassie and remembered how happy they’d been, how in love. There had been times he’d wondered if he’d done the right thing by walking away. Then the animal he’d been waiting for had appeared, he’d got the shot he wanted, and he knew that he’d made the right decision. They’d been too young. If they’d married back then he’d have never been able to fulfil his dream and would have resented it, he was sure.
They weren’t too young now. He was thirty soon and Cassie just a year younger. Supposedly the right age for settling down; except he’d still got such a lot to do. It’s a good job she is marrying someone else, he decided, as he packed his camera into the small black leather holdall he always took to photo shoots. It would be so easy to fall for her all over again. And that’s the last thing he wanted.
Nine
It was beautiful, Cassie thought, as she pulled up in the car park in the grounds of Hollington Castle. The castle, built on the ruins of a former medieval castle destroyed in the Civil War, was very French in design, thanks to the influence of Lord Hollington’s French wife, Colette. She couldn’t even guess how many rooms it had, but judging by the row of windows across the front it was at least twenty and of course there would be rooms at the back and sides, too. The maj
estic building was surrounded by an immaculate lawn, a spectacular water fountain, orchards, and flower gardens.
It was the middle of May now, so the flowers were blooming, the trees bursting with green leaves. Everywhere looked so fresh. She imagined herself pulling up outside in a horse and carriage – actually, she’d only just thought of the horse and carriage: she had been planning a sleek white limo but looking at the castle now, a horse and carriage was far more suitable. She imagined the guests arriving, parking in the huge grounds, gazing at the picturesque white building with its fairytale towers and balustrades, wandering around the immaculate lawned gardens with the fragrant flower borders. She imagined the photos taken over by the fountain, in the wonderful summerhouse, or standing by the lake. If only Timothy was with her today. It didn’t seem right to be showing Jared around alone. Maybe she should have asked Sylvia to come as Timothy had suggested.
‘It’s beautiful. A perfect place for a wedding.’
She jumped at the sound of Jared’s voice behind her, turned, and almost collided with him. He was so near she could smell his aftershave, the tang of his own male scent. One more step and she would be in his arms. Instinctively, she took a step back.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s your fiancé?’
‘Oh, er, Timothy couldn’t make it.’ Stop stammering and pull yourself together. ‘He’s got an important court case coming up so had to meet a new client. Obviously he’d have come if he could. That’s not a problem, is it? I can show you around. It won’t take long.’ Great, she’d stopped stammering and was now rambling instead. Why did she have to sound – and probably look – so nervous? Whereas Jared looked perfectly relaxed: his hands in the pocket of his beige chinos, his white no-collar shirt unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a smattering of dark curly hair. Still the same Jared, she thought. His clothes might be designer but he wore them with his trademark casualness.
And he still oozed with sex appeal.