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1
Elizabeth Bennet trotted down the steps of the beachfront inn and onto the cool sands of Popponesset Beach. It was a picture-perfect day on Cape Cod, and she’d just finished photographing an afternoon wedding. The brides were stunning, and the guests were an entertaining ensemble of family and friends who knew how to have a good time and loved to ham it up for the camera.
The sun had dropped lower and the breeze had picked up, but it was still warm enough to be outside without a jacket. She kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the sand, watching the seagulls as they dipped and floated on the wind.
She still had some time before she was expected to meet Jane at Charles’s house, and she glanced around, observing the beachgoers who’d come to enjoy the warm May afternoon. An older couple walked arm in arm along the water’s edge, and a group of teenaged boys played football, showing off for some girls seated nearby on a blanket. Elizabeth took out her 35mm Nikon—an antique by today’s standards—and took note of how many pictures were left on the roll of film.
A couple sat at the end of the jetty, and she aimed the lens toward them. The woman rested her head on the man’s shoulder, and he had his arm loosely wrapped around her. She zoomed out a little and snapped a few shots, keeping them at the center, but wanting to include the beautiful scenery surrounding them.
She tucked her Nikon into her bag, then pulled out her brand-new Canon digital. She took a few pictures of the gulls and the ocean but found herself drawn back to the couple on the jetty. When she aimed the camera in their direction, she was shocked to see the man’s gaze focused on her. He rose and began hopping from rock to rock until he reached the sand.
A moment later he was in front of her, his hands on his hips and his expression thunderous.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm–I'm sorry. I was just taking pictures, and I thought–I didn't mean to upset you or invade your privacy."
"Yet you've managed to do both. Who do you work for?"
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You know damn well what I mean. Who wants those pictures? Who sent you here?"
"I don't work for anyone."
“Then you won't mind deleting the pictures while I watch." He glanced down at the camera in her bag. "What about that one?"
He reached toward it, but she grabbed his arm and pulled herself up to her full five-foot-seven-inch frame.
"Hey, no. Back off," she warned quietly. “I don't know who you are or why you think someone would want my pictures of you, but I’m telling you, that'snotwhat's going on. I just finished photographing a wedding and was only killing time before I have to be somewhere. That's it, I promise."
"How do I know you're telling the truth? How do I know those pictures won't show up somewhere they’re not supposed to?"
"I guess you'll just have to trust me."
He huffed. "You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not. Since I havenoidea who you are, I also have no idea who would want your picture. All I can do is apologize, and promise to dispose of the pictures as soon as they're developed."
“Developed? Can’t you just delete them?”
“From my digital, yes. But the camera in my bag uses film.”
“Give the film to me.”
Her embarrassment quickly gave way to annoyance. “Absolutely not. As I’ve already said, I’ll be happy to give you the pictures once they’re developed.”
“Fine. In the meantime, I’ll watch you delete the photos from your digital camera.Please."
She held out her camera and deleted the three pictures, then glanced at him. “It’s too bad; they were actually pretty good."
He only stared at her, arms now crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. After jotting down her name and number, she handed it to him.
"If it makes you feel better, you can be there when I develop the film.” She paused, studying him closely. “You’re not some kind of psycho, are you?”
His eyes widened. “What? No! I just want the picturesyoutook ofmewithout my permission. How does that make me a psycho?”
“My bad,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “I’ll be happy to give you the pictures and the negatives. You can then set fire to them, stomp on them, rip them to shreds, whatever you want. Call me tomorrow, and we can get this taken care of."
