by Sophie Hart
‘Katherine, good to see you again,’ he said, as she stood up and the two of them shook hands. Katherine was a slim, blonde woman in her early forties, smartly dressed in black trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. She’d won the prestigious Wedding Photographer of the Year title at the recent Wedding Industry Awards, and Valerie was adamant that no one else would do for her only son’s wedding. ‘And you remember my fiancée, Aimee.’
He stood aside to let Aimee through, and she registered the look on Katherine’s face as she took in Aimee’s pink, swollen eyes.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked in concern.
‘Oh, fine,’ Aimee laughed a little too loudly. ‘I just… I had something in my eye. Both eyes. My, um… contact lens slipped,’ she lied.
Katherine nodded slowly. ‘Right. Do you have any eye drops or solution with you? It’s just, it’s not going to look great on camera.’
Aimee’s cheeks flushed. ‘Oh, I see. Well I’m fine now. I’m sure that by the time we’re set up, it’ll all be okay.’
‘Great,’ Katherine smiled brightly, happy to change the subject. ‘I’ve already spoken to the concierge to let them know we’re here, and I thought we might start with some exterior shots. It’s such a nice day outside, and the grounds here are beautiful, so we might as well make the most of them.’
‘Fine with us,’ Jon chuckled. ‘You’re the professional.’
Katherine picked up her camera bag, hitching it onto her shoulder and making her way to the rear of the house. Jon threw his arm around Aimee’s shoulder, guiding her in the same direction. His touch felt heavy and smothering, and Aimee wanted to shrug it off, but she didn't dare. Instead she walked silently by her fiancé’s side, wiping her eyes and hoping that the puffiness would begin to subside.
Jon leant across to murmur in her ear. Aimee expected an apology and was stunned by the words that came out: ‘Sort yourself out, darling, you look a mess.’
‘Everything okay?’ Katherine asked, turning to look at them over her shoulder as they emerged into the formal gardens at the back of the castle, the sunshine beaming down.
‘Fine,’ Jon called out.
‘Great. Now I did a little recce of the place earlier, and I’ve found a couple of really nice locations to shoot in. Here, for example,’ Katherine smiled, as they rounded a corner and she waved her hand with a flourish, indicating a pretty little kitchen garden. It was laid out in a traditional style, neatly divided by low walls into separate areas for basil, parsley, borage, mint and lavender, and the smell was pungent and delicious. In the centre was a small stone temple, comprising four ornately carved pillars and a domed roof. The folly was just wide enough to fit a bench inside, and from there, the view over the well-kept grounds was exquisite.
‘I thought we’d start with some pictures of you two sitting on the bench first,’ Katherine suggested, motioning that they should go ahead. ‘These are just test shots to get you feeling comfortable, and I’m looking for something very casual and relaxed.’
Jon led Aimee up the steps and over to the bench. The two of them sat down side by side, Aimee leaving a small space between them and instinctively crossing her legs and arms. Jon put his arm around her shoulder and moved closer, attempting to close the gap, as Aimee smoothed down the strappy floral summer dress she was wearing.
Katherine quickly fired off a couple of shots then checked the screen on her camera. She frowned and changed position, squinting up at the sunlight.
‘Aimee, could you try and look a little more relaxed? Just let your arms sit naturally, and lean in to Jon maybe.’
Aimee swallowed. Her throat felt dry, and she wished she’d remembered to bring her bottle of water from the car. Dutifully, she did as Katherine had suggested, leaning awkwardly towards her fiancé. She uncrossed her hands and, unsure what to do with them, rested them in her lap like a school photo.
Katherine continued to snap away, calling out directions as she went. ‘How about you put your hand on Jon’s knee, Aimee? And cuddle into him a little? Anyone would think you didn’t want to marry him!’ Katherine tried to joke, but the comment fell flat, the atmosphere becoming more awkward than ever.
Aimee winced as she felt Jon’s hand grip tighter on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. ‘Ouch! You’re hurting me,’ she squealed, jumping away from him.
‘Sorry, darling,’ Jon replied smoothly. ‘I didn’t realise.’
Aimee stared back at him, her brow furrowed, trying to work out whether he’d done it on purpose. She stroked the tender spot at the top of her arm where a red mark was already beginning to appear and shivered, noticing her skin was covered in goosebumps. Although the day was warm, they were shaded beneath the roof of the temple, and the air was much chillier.
Katherine was scrolling through the pictures on her camera, biting her lip anxiously. ‘I’m just wondering whether we should try a different location. The photos aren’t coming out too great here and… I think it’s the light,’ she finished tactfully. ‘There’s a beautiful area down by the river, in the Great Meadow. Why don’t we head there?’
‘Sure,’ Jon agreed easily.
They stepped down from the temple, Aimee’s wedge heels clacking on the stone.
‘Why don’t you two go ahead?’ Katherine suggested. ‘I’ll hang back, and if you two hold hands I’ll get some great shots from behind as you walk through the long grass.’
It was the last thing that Aimee felt like doing, but it was as though she was strapped in on a rollercoaster that was about to plummet, and there was no way she could back out now. At least if the photographs were from behind, they wouldn’t show her puffy eyes or unhappy expression; she half-suspected that was why Katherine had suggested it.
Aimee took the hand Jon was offering, noticing how cold his skin felt, how his large hand seemed to dwarf her tiny one, swallowing it up and devouring it. Neither of them spoke, taking long strides across the meadow until they were well ahead of Katherine. Jon glanced back over his shoulder, making sure she was out of earshot.
‘What the hell’s going on with you today, Aimee?’
‘I don’t know! I’m just upset, that’s all.’
‘You’re not still going on about that bloody seating plan are you? For Christ’s sake, get over it. You’re like a child, sulking when you can’t get your own way.’
Aimee laughed in disbelief. In her opinion, her fiancé was the one behaving like a child. He’d been so spoilt and coddled by his mother that he wasn’t used to anyone saying no to him – and he didn’t like it when anyone did, Aimee was beginning to realise.
‘You seem to be going out of your way to ruin this shoot today. Do you have any idea how much it cost? No, you don’t, because you’re not the one paying for it, are you? Maybe you’d make a bit more of an effort if it was coming out of your pocket, but as usual you’re just content to live off me and do exactly as you please.’
‘That’s not true,’ Aimee protested, but she felt a wave of guilt wash over her nonetheless. She hadn’t thought about how much this was costing. She knew a session like this wouldn’t come cheap, especially with one of the leading photographers in the industry, and it was true that she’d been wallowing in her own unhappiness, refusing to make an effort. Perhaps Jon was right. Perhaps it was all her fault.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, her cheeks growing hot. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Jon cut her off sharply. ‘You never do. You’re just a selfish little bitch.’
Fresh tears sprang into Aimee’s eyes, and she gasped in shock. It was at that moment that she heard a voice behind her, calling, ‘Mr Cunningham, Miss Nicholls.’
Aimee half-turned, trying to keep her face hidden behind her hair, and saw a pretty young waitress dressed in a black skirt and white blouse approaching them, carrying two glasses of champagne on a silver tray.
Katherine was walking up behind the waitress, still clicking away with the camera.
To Aimee, the
whole situation felt unreal. She forced herself to plaster a bright smile onto her face, even though inside she wanted to crumble.
‘Compliments of the management,’ smiled the woman, whose name tag read ‘Marta’. ‘We want to say thank you so much for holding your wedding here at Southwark Castle, and please let us know if we can be of any assistance to you.’
‘What a lovely gesture, thank you, Marta,’ Jon smiled, taking a flute of champagne. Aimee reached for the other and noticed her hands were shaking.
‘How about a photo of the two of you celebrating?’ smiled Katherine. ‘If you could gaze into each other’s eyes and clink glasses…’ She held up her camera expectantly.
Aimee swallowed. As Jon raised his glass, she brought hers up to meet it, but somehow mistimed it, smashing the flutes together in an explosion of bubbles and broken glass.
‘I’m sorry,’ Aimee gasped. ‘I’m not feeling well, and—’
‘Look at the bloody state of me,’ Jon roared. His shirt and trousers were soaked through, his shoes covered in shards of glass. ‘This is my best suit and it cost me an absolute fortune! Not to mention the dry cleaning it’ll need.’
‘I’ll pay for the dry cleaning!’ Aimee yelled back, wondering why once again everything came down to money. She looked down to see her finger was bleeding, red drops staining her dress. Jon didn’t appear to notice.
‘I’ll clean everything up,’ Marta said anxiously, bending down and carefully piling the remains of the flutes onto her tray. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Aimee apologised once again. ‘I just—’ she broke off as she saw Jon staring at her accusingly, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to escape. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, before taking off across the meadow and back towards the main house.
‘Aimee, where are you going? Get back here this instant, you little idiot. Aimee!’
As Jon sprinted after her, Katherine and Marta looked at one another in astonishment.
‘This behaviour is normal?’ Marta tried to joke, as Katherine raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ve seen a lot of nervous brides-to-be, but never one quite like that.’
‘Miss Nicholls, she did not seem very happy,’ Marta remarked astutely.
‘No,’ Katherine replied, shading her eyes from the sun as she watched Aimee reach the castle and bolt inside, as though she’d found sanctuary. ‘No, she really didn’t.’
30
‘An archaeologist is the best husband a woman can have. The older she gets, the more interested he is in her’ – Agatha Christie
Debbie stared at her reflection in the mirror and wondered what on earth she was doing. Her heart was pounding, her chest rapidly rising and falling like a bird, and she could see the look of terror in her eyes. Now that the big day was finally here, she didn’t know whether or not she could go through with it. It had taken months of hard work, not to mention all the support she’d had from Julia and Angela, and now Debbie was this close to chickening out.
‘Everything okay?’ smiled Sasha, the make-up artist, as she swirled a subtle peach blusher over Debbie’s newly prominent cheekbones.
Debbie swallowed. ‘Fine.’ Her mouth felt dry, and she coughed to clear her throat.
‘Don’t worry, it’s natural to be nervous,’ Sasha assured her. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many women I’ve seen sat in this chair, racked with doubt about whether or not they’ve made the right decision. But by the end of the day you’ll be floating on air, I promise you.’
Debbie didn’t reply. She continued to stare straight ahead, barely recognising the woman looking back at her. It wasn’t just the weight loss, although that was substantial; she was literally half the woman she used to be. She’d had her hair professionally styled so that it hung in soft, tumbling waves, zhooshed up with volume at the crown in true glamour-girl style. Her make-up, too, had been expertly applied by Sasha, who’d given her smoky, kohl-lined, come-to-bed eyes and a glossy, rosebud pout.
One final dusting with powder, and Sasha declared, ‘Okay, that’s it, we’re all finished here. You look gorgeous, Debbie. Now go and knock ’em dead!’
Debbie stood up, wobbling precariously on her high heels. Her thin silk robe was wrapped around her, belted tightly to emphasise her slender waist, and beneath it she wore nothing but a black lacy bra and matching panties, sheer stockings and a suspender belt. The look was classic, glamorous and – Debbie hoped – incredibly sexy.
Tentatively, she made her way through the open doorway to the next room, carefully stepping over a bunch of cables stuck to the floor with gaffer tape. One side of the studio looked like an ordinary bedroom, with exposed red-brick walls and a beautiful four-poster bed covered with a mink-coloured faux-fur throw, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The other side was full of photographic equipment: a camera mounted on a tripod, dazzling studio lights and a giant silver reflector.
Debbie heard a low wolf-whistle, and felt the colour rise in her cheeks.
‘Debbie, my love, you’re a vision,’ Marcus, the photographer told her, as Debbie batted away his compliments. ‘That fiancé of yours isn’t going to be able to believe his eyes.’
‘I’m really nervous,’ she confessed, as she took a deep breath then exhaled slowly, trying to slow her racing pulse.
‘Don’t be,’ Marcus insisted. ‘You and me are the dream team, I can just feel it.’
Marcus Henry was a short, slim man in his early fifties, with the beginnings of a pot belly, and a thick shock of grey-blond hair. He was dressed in black trousers and a close-fitting black T-shirt, paired with circular black-rimmed glasses. Debbie had liked him immediately when she’d spoken to him on the phone a few weeks ago, and was pleased to find that he was just as warm and witty in person.
Marcus’ studio was out near Dereham, and Debbie had taken the day off work to drive over there especially for her long-awaited boudoir shoot. This was the promise she’d made to herself all those months ago, when Stevie had tried to take a naughty snap of her on his phone and she’d been too self-conscious to let him. Well now she was going to more than make amends for that, with a gorgeous, glamorous keepsake for her and her husband-to-be.
‘Right, my love, we’ll just do a few warm-up piccies while we get the lighting and the settings right, so if you wouldn’t mind stepping this way.’ Marcus offered his arm which Debbie clung onto gratefully, as he guided her across the set to where a white voile curtain was hanging from a high rail.
‘That’s perfect, right there,’ he assured her, as he moved back to the camera.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Debbie asked, feeling silly.
‘Don’t you worry about a thing, just concentrate on looking gorgeous. Turn so that your back’s facing the camera, and look at me over your left shoulder.’
‘Like this?’
‘Exactly like that. Turn your shoulder out a little bit, so we can see that fabulous neckline… Perfect.’ Marcus ran through a series of test shots, checking the results as they popped up on the large computer screen sat on his desk, and making little adjustments to the strength of the lights, or the angle of the reflectors.
‘Are they okay?’ Debbie fretted. When she’d first booked the shoot, she’d been convinced that by now she’d be a skinny size ten, but as she hadn’t quite hit her target weight, she was concerned about what the pictures might look like.
‘Absolutely gorgeous. Trust me. Right, we’re going to do this bit by bit so that you feel comfortable,’ Marcus began. He’d been a photographer for many years now, starting off with weddings and moving into portraiture when he had enough money to buy his own studio. He’d purchased the run-down old farm building over a decade ago, transforming it into a bright, welcoming work space, and he found he was increasingly specialising in boudoir shoots as the concept became more fashionable.
Marcus’ easygoing, no-nonsense manner – not to mention the fact that he had absolutely zero sexual interest in the women he was photographing
– meant he’d acquired an excellent word-of-mouth reputation, and it was important to him that his customers thoroughly enjoyed the experience of being photographed, without feeling pressured in any way.
‘Just loosen your robe ever so slightly and give your shoulders a little wiggle.’
Debbie did as she was told, giggling nervously as the robe slid down to reveal the bare skin beneath.
‘Exactly like that. Now look straight down the lens at me…’ Click. ‘Close your eyes for a second. Now open and…’ Click. ‘Drop your chin a little. Relax your mouth…’ Click, click, click.
Debbie followed Marcus’ directions, laughing at the jokes he made and gradually becoming more relaxed, the robe slipping further as her confidence grew.
‘Imagine your man – what’s his name? Stevie, yes, that’s it. Imagine Stevie watching you and you’re trying to seduce him. Give me those sexy eyes… Yes! That’s it, that naughty little twinkle right there, you saucy minx.’
Debbie burst out laughing, and Marcus quickly snapped away, getting glorious shots of Debbie looking happy and carefree, her head thrown back as her hair tumbled over her naked shoulders.
‘You take direction perfectly, you should have been an actress,’ he flattered her, as Debbie grinned.
She was hugely enjoying herself, her self-assurance blossoming with every click of the camera. When Marcus finally announced that it was time to take a break whilst they set up for the next set of pictures, Debbie was surprised to find how disappointed she felt.
Sasha dashed in to retouch Debbie’s make-up, applying a slightly darker lip colour, and adding a deep chocolate brown to her eyelids. ‘You’re doing brilliantly,’ she insisted. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’
‘It’s fantastic,’ Debbie replied truthfully, her eyes sparkling as the adrenaline raced through her body, giving her a natural high. ‘Everyone should do it. It’s such an incredible feeling.’
‘It’s empowering, isn’t it?’ Sasha agreed. ‘To stand in front of the camera and feel gorgeous and say to everyone, “This is my body and I am proud of it!”’