AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her mouth tilted into a smile. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. But you know what I mean? This is the same, only with props. And not a booth, just me with a camera—or in this case you. They put on silly accessories and then stand in front of a frame and try different poses. I print them up as a long strip of four pictures.’
Seb stared at her incredulously. ‘Why on earth do you do that?’
‘Because it’s fun.’ She rolled her eyes at him. ‘I’ll set the tripod up. All you need to do is explain they have three seconds to change pose and press the button. Honestly, Seb, it’s fine. A monkey could do it.’
‘And where will you be?’
‘Portrait time. Followed by more group shots. And then candid evening and reception shots. Having fun yet?’
‘Absolutely. The thought of wandering around these woods for hours carrying your cases is my idea of a perfect day. Sure you know where you’re going?’ They seemed to be going further into the woodland with no building in sight.
‘Yep, I did the engagement shoot here. Ah, here we go.’ She stopped, a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Seb. Look at it. Isn’t it utterly perfect?’
Seb came to a halt and stared. Where was the hotel? Or barn? A barn would be nice and cosy. Cosier than open canvas at least. ‘They must be crazy? An outdoor wedding in April?’
‘It’s not outdoors!’
‘It’s in a tent.’
‘It’s a tepee.’
‘You say tent, I say tepee.’
Daisy ignored him as he hummed the words, a chill running through him as the next line of the song ran through his head.
There was no calling the whole thing off now, not easily. It had escalated far beyond his wildest imaginings: a guest list of over two hundred not including the evening guests, dresses, button holes, hog roasts, centrepieces, cravats—Sherry’s determination and vision taking it to a level neither Seb nor Daisy had wanted or sanctioned.
Did he want to call it off? He still wanted to marry Daisy; it was still the most sensible solution. But this circus his life was becoming was out of control. His peaceful Oxford existence seemed further and further away.
Although that wasn’t Daisy’s fault. Running Hawksley was more than a full-time job and not one he was finding it easy to delegate no matter how much he missed his old life.
‘Oh, that’s perfect.’ Daisy’s voice broke in on his thoughts and he pushed them to one side. He couldn’t change anything—including the wedding. He owed her that much.
Daisy was lost in a world of her own. It was fascinating to watch her pace, focus, move again as she looked at the scene before her, crouching down to check angles and squinting against the light. No insouciance, no hesitation, just quietly in control.
Seb moved with her, trying to see with her, picture what she pictured. The path opened out into a woodland glade, which had been decorated with cheerful bunting and swaying glass lanterns. In the middle of the glade the huge canvas tepee stood opened up on three sides to the elements—although Daisy promised there were covers ready to be fastened on if April proved true to its name and christened the wedding with showers.
A wooden floor had been laid and trestle tables and benches ran down the sides, the middle left bare for dancing. A stage held the tables covered with food for the buffet; later food would be switched for the band. Two smaller tents were pitched to one side, one holding the bar and the other a chill-out area complete with beanbags.
On the other side a gazebo was pitched, the table inside heaped with a variety of wigs, hats, waistcoats and other props. A large frame hung from the tree beside it. This was to be Seb’s workspace for his first—and hopefully last—foray into professional photography.
He had never been to a wedding like this before and something about its raw honesty unsettled him; it was a little Bohemian, a touch homespun with its carefully carefree vibe.
‘Look at these colours. Their friends and family supplied the food in lieu of presents. Don’t you think that’s lovely? Everyone made something.’ Daisy was over at the buffet table, camera out, focusing on a rich-looking salad of vibrant green leaves, red pomegranate seeds and juicy oranges.
‘It depends on their cooking skills.’ If Seb asked his friends and colleagues to bring a dish they would buy something from a local deli, not spend time and love creating it themselves. He looked at a plate of slightly lumpy cakes, the icing uneven, and a hollow feeling opened up in his chest.
Someone had lavished care and attention on those cakes, making up with enthusiasm for what they lacked in skill. That was worth more than clicking on an item on a wedding list or writing a cheque.
