by Fiona Harper
Peggy picked up one of her pens and fiddled with the fluffy, baby-pink feather tip. ‘Okay,’ she finally said grudgingly. ‘You might have a point. I don’t like it, but you might have a point.’ She sighed. ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’
Nicole was grateful for Peggy’s nod at their platitude tradition. She even joined in with one of her own. ‘One door closes and another one opens, right?’
The only problem was that Peggy and Mia didn’t look very convinced. She decided to stop being silly and start being honest. ‘Anyway, thank you. Thinking about it is all I’m asking for right now—I’m not off to get a paintbrush any time soon.’ Even if she dearly wished she could. Some days that flipping pink wall gave her a headache.
‘Now…who’s up for a latte? My treat.’ She had just enough change in her purse to cover that, and since she still had the urge to stride around, she might as well put her legs to good use before something polka-dotted of Peggy’s came flying towards her across the office. Both Mia’s and Peggy’s hands shot up in the air.
‘I’ll be back in ten,’ she said and grabbed her coat and headed for the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Alex had said this wedding was going to be a little different, he hadn’t been kidding.
‘Where’s the church?’ Nicole had asked as they’d sped through the East Sussex countryside. ‘Which village?’
‘We’re not going to a church,’ Alex had answered, smiling to himself, and had refused to be drawn on the matter any further. ‘Just you wait and see.’
And now they’d reached their destination, Nicole certainly did see.
No quaint village church with a pointed spire and flintdecorated walls, stained glass and flagstones. Instead, they’d pulled up outside Luttingford Steam Railway and when Nicole spotted the assembled guests she thought she’d wandered into a time warp.
As they unloaded the bags and tripods from the Jeep, she couldn’t help but stare. Every single person, from babes in arms to octogenarians, was dressed in full Victorian finery—but with a twist.
‘Ever been to a steampunk wedding before?’ Alex asked as they set off towards the vast Victorian railway shed that now formed the main part of the museum.
Nicole shook her head.
There were ruffled skirts and crinolines, corsets and button-up boots. The men wore tails and cravats, waistcoats and top hats, but here and there on everyone there were a few details that weren’t strictly historical. Like the old-fashioned driving goggles the groom and best man wore on their hats, the gun belts some had slung round their middles. The buttonholes, instead of being the bog-standard rose or carnation with a pin, were beautiful contraptions made out of cogs and curling metal filigree, with a small sprig of heather sticking out the top.
‘What exactly is steampunk?’ Nicole whispered as they made their way inside.
‘I’m not an expert, but I believe it’s inspired by science fiction set in worlds where steam machinery is dominant. Think H. G. Wells or Jules Verne.’
‘Oh,’ Nicole said. That made sense, even if she still didn’t quite get why people wanted to dress up in that style, especially for a wedding.
Inside the museum there were rows of chairs set up in front of a massive steam locomotive. Even the celebrant was dressed in full-on steampunk costume, from the feather in her jaunty little hat to the satin corset enhancing her already ample chest.
‘I love things like this,’ Alex said, grinning at her. ‘Sometimes it’s nice not to have the same old pastel bridesmaids and boring white flowers. There’s certainly room for some creativity at a gig like this.’
A gig.
Only Alex could get away with calling a wedding, possibly the most serious and meaningful day of a person’s life, a gig. She was about to smile, tell him off good-naturedly about it, but then she stopped herself. This wasn’t what she’d promised herself when she’d been waiting at the end of the street for him to pick her up this morning, was it? But it was so hard when it just felt natural to talk to him as if she’d known him all her life.
The only way she—and Hopes & Dreams—was going to survive this day was if she doubled the efforts she’d made last week. Nothing personal. She would keep a little—okay, maybe a lot—of professional distance between her and Alex. Chatting kept to the absolute minimum and definitely not even the wrong kind of smile sent in his direction. Nice, professional, safe smiles only.
She nodded and gave him her most serene effort. ‘It’s certainly going to be an interesting day.’
Alex gave her a bit of a funny look, but they didn’t have time to analyse anything. The service was going to start in twenty minutes, just enough time to do a few preliminary snaps. The bride and groom had chosen to have the shots of the bridal party done after the ceremony, rather than lots of ‘getting ready’ shots, preferring to be seen in all their finery, rather than without.
Nicole trudged after him as he set up a tripod off to one side of where the bride and groom were going to stand. At least she knew what to expect this week. The fact they’d be rushed off their feet would help her plans. It was the lulls she would have to watch for. Thankfully, she knew she was going to fill one of them by telling Alex she couldn’t do the other weddings he had planned for them. She had a good excuse all worked out and had even rehearsed it with Peggy last night.
Before she knew it, the doors of the museum were closing and they were scuttling outside to take a few pictures of the bride before she and her attendants made their way down the aisle.
If she’d thought the guests had gone to town, the bride truly was something to behold. She wore a snow-white Victorian dress with a bustle and a narrow skirt that flared at the bottom. The front was mostly plain, but the back was a waterfall of ruffles. On top of the tight-laced corset she wore a fitted jacket, and a miniature top hat with a veil graced her elaborately coiled dark hair. Her bouquet, while containing traditional white roses, also had heather and ivy, but amongst all that were all manner of cogs and clockwork parts, metal curls and even a few tiny old-fashioned keys. Alex must have used twenty shots on that alone.
Once that was done, he and Nicole dashed back inside to await the bride’s entrance. She walked slowly down the red-carpeted aisle towards the steam train and her groom, a small nervous smile on her face. The poor groom had looked so terrified that all he’d been able to do up until that point was stare fixedly ahead, his jaw clenched and his hands clasped so tight in front of him his knuckles were going white. His best man gave him a nudge and he finally turned round.
From where Nicole was standing, on the opposite side of the banks of chairs, she could see his face quite clearly. His look of terror melted away as he watched his bride walking towards him and he broke out into a grin that rivalled one of Alex’s. He looked as if he was smiling right down to his toes.
She let out a little sigh. Sometimes she got so caught up in organising the romance that she forgot about the magic. This wedding was totally different from any other she’d ever been to before, but that look that passed between bride and groom as she took her final steps towards him was one Nicole had seen a hundred times over.
And then the work really began. Everyone left the cover of the Steam Museum to stand on the platform of a lovingly restored Victorian station. Nicole helped herd the different groupings of family and friends in front of the big green steam train that looked as if it had just pulled in from some far-off destination, complete with white ribbon tied to the front. The driver was even persuaded to let off a jet of steam so the bride and groom could pose in a romantic clinch as it swirled mistily around them.
Nicole did pretty well, even if she did say so herself. She managed to hand Alex lenses, take care of memory cards and flash units, without engaging in anything remotely resembling flirting or chatting. Cool, calm, businesslike. And silent. Perfect.
As they started to do the larger group shots, which ended this part of the job, Nicole looked around. The big locomotive shed, while f
ine for a short ceremony, was a bit too large and draughty for a reception, and there was no evidence of caterers waiting in the wings, ready to spring out with tables or canapés.
It all became clear a few minutes later: everyone bundled onto the train. And, after the driver had tooted the horn and fired up the engine, it pulled out of Luttingford Station and headed down the track through the frosty countryside.
The insides of the carriages were fabulous—every bit as glamorous as the Orient Express—even if there were no sleeper cabins, only dining cars and seating cars. The whole wedding party sat down at immaculately laid tables, covered in white cloths with well-polished and well-loved silverware, where they were served a three-course meal, carried with amazing precision and efficiency by a fleet of sure-footed waiters.
Nicole made a mental note to check this place out when she got back to the office. If a wedding was wonderful on board the Belle of the Weald, then it could be an amazing proposal venue too.
As the bride and groom and their guests tucked into moist pink salmon in a champagne sauce, Alex flitted from carriage to carriage, snapping away, getting shots of whole carriages, different seating groups and any quirky little details that caught his eye—like the little lamps with shades that sat in front of every window or the way the steam drifted past the carriages, making the pale tones of the winter countryside seem even more ethereal.
Even though Nicole’s arms were tired and she lost her balance and bumped against the tall wooden partitions between the seats more times than she could count, watching him work was still fascinating. He was just so…creative. And energetic and talented.
Alex saw the world differently to her. Where her challenges were items to be ticked off a list, his were adventures. Where she saw an ordinary bit of cutlery, he saw a photo opportunity. And not only that, he’d find the right angle, the right lighting, to make that very functional thing look unique, exquisite, interesting.
He spotted an antique pistol, owned by one of the guests, and asked to borrow it. Nicole would never have thought that guns and weddings went together, but when Alex had whispered a suggestion to the bride and she’d been delighted at the idea of a cheeky picture, where she pretended she was coercing her besotted husband into marriage with the aid of a loaded pistol, Nicole had to admit it captured the atmosphere of this fun-filled wedding perfectly.
As the train neared the end of its journey and the passengers started getting ready to disembark, she and Alex took a moment to catch their breath. He leaned in close and showed her some of the shots he’d taken on the LCD display on the back of his camera. He grinned at her as she glanced up at him.
‘They all look amazing, don’t they?’ he said, nodding towards the carriage full of Victorian weddings guests. ‘I’ve hardly known which way to point my camera, there have been so many great shots.’
Nicole nodded, remembering her vow to keep chit-chat to a minimum. The guests did look great, even if, now they’d finished their meal, some of them were videoing each other or the scene out of the window on their mobile phones, which kind of spoiled the effect.
‘I could even be tempted to dress up like this, given half the chance.’ The dimple put in a well-timed appearance. ‘It has to be better than my last fancy-dress outfit—the bit of the horse that produces the manure.’
Nicole nodded again, quickly, abruptly, and looked away. She didn’t want to remember that horse costume, how soft the fur had felt under her fingers, or how his chest felt through his T-shirt as she’d started to explore, but she also didn’t want to think about him dressed like an adventurer in a top hat and flying goggles, a crisp white shirt and a waistcoat. It suited him too well.
‘What about you? Would you dress up in those long skirts and hats? And what are those hoopy things that go under the skirts?’
‘Crinolines,’ she replied quietly and studied one of the guests near to her. She wore a dark green dress with black velvet stripes. The skirt was layers of ruffles, stopping short above her daintily heeled lace-up ankle boots. A black corset pulled her in at the waist and gave her some serious cleavage, and it was all topped off with a parasol and an ostrich-feather fascinator.
‘It’s not really my style,’ she added, thinking of her wardrobe of clean lines, neutral colours, understated…everything. ‘I’m not sure I could pull it off anyway. All those frills and layers.’
‘Pity,’ Alex said as he hauled his camera back over his shoulder. ‘I think you’d look great.’
The train was slowing now, and any further conversation was cut off by the need to collect up equipment and disembark before the bride and groom so Alex could take a few shots of them on the steps of the train.
They’d arrived at Chillingham, a quaint little railway station that looked like something off a film set. The old-fashioned signs were lovingly painted wooden boards in deep greens with gold lettering. There wasn’t a rotating advertising sign or an electronic departures board in sight. Neither were there any cold and uncomfortable metal seats, but slatted wooden benches with wrought-iron ends, the wood varnished so it gleamed in the afternoon sun. Flower baskets hung from the network of old studded girders that held up the corrugated roof, and vintage leather suitcases were artfully stacked on a handcart near the exit.
There was a picturesque church right next to the station, with hall attached, where the rest of the reception was being held.
‘Why didn’t they just get married there?’ Nicole asked Alex quietly as they hauled the equipment through the graveyard and round to the hall’s entrance. She’d gathered while unintentionally eavesdropping on the train that the bride’s family came from this village.
Alex looked shocked. ‘What? And miss that wonderful train ride?’
Nicole rolled her eyes. ‘Seems boys never do grow up, do they? Anything with wheels or a propeller and you’re happy.’
‘Too right.’ And he jogged off with a big smile on his face.
Nicole shook her head and followed. If she couldn’t convince Saffron to choose a proposal venue outside of London, she might just have to persuade her to opt for a speedboat racing down the Thames.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A lot of thought and attention to detail had gone into decorating Chillingham village hall. There was bunting and balloons, but all in white, purple and black to match the bridesmaids’ dresses. Tables and chairs were laid out round the edges with a space in the middle for dancing, but pride of place was a five-tier cake that blew Nicole’s mind away. She needed to find the name of that baker for future reference.
It was the palest cream fondant icing and the detail was minimal, but what was there was a work of art. The baker had piped intricate swirls and flowers, cogs and keys in both thick and thin black icing, delicate and lacy, but the swirling patterns also suggested ornate Victorian wrought iron. It was topped off with flowers similar to those in the bride’s bouquet. It was as if the baker had condensed the whole spectacle and essence of this unusual wedding and had fashioned it into a cake.
Since everyone had already eaten the wedding breakfast, champagne was served and speeches were done before the cutting of the cake, giving hardly any let-up. It was only when the lights had dimmed and the party was well under way that Nicole managed to collapse onto a stackable wooden chair that looked as if it had been sitting in the church hall since World War II.
Alex plonked a bright purple plastic tumbler down in front of her. ‘There you go.’
‘What is it?’ she asked. It was bubbling, but it didn’t look like champagne, which was probably for the best, given the events of the previous week.
‘Lemonade. I asked for sparkling water, but they didn’t have any.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, meaning it. The first sip was sweet and sharp and the bubbles tickled her nose. ‘I haven’t had lemonade in years…When I was little, I always used to ask for it as a treat on my birthday, and my dad insisted on serving it up every year.’ She laughed. ‘Even after I’d gone to uni.’
&n
bsp; Alex pulled out a chair and sat down beside her. ‘Are you close with your family?’
She opened her mouth to say yes, but she realised she felt slightly adrift from them now. She was always working so hard, and when she did see her family she felt as if she’d been slowly morphing into someone who didn’t quite fit in with them any more. She frowned. ‘Not as close as I should be.’
Alex let out a gruff laugh. ‘Nobody is as close to their family as they should be, but for some of us it’s by choice.’
She knew she should just drink her lemonade and shut up, but she couldn’t help turning to him and checking the expression on his face. He looked resigned, weary. That strange little tug in her chest happened again. ‘You don’t get on?’
He gave her a rueful look. ‘We’d get on a lot better if they’d just accept that being a photographer is what I want to do and let me get on with my life.’
She nodded. ‘That must be tough.’ At least her mum and dad supported her whatever she did. She was the one who was always pushing herself to change, driving herself forward.
He shrugged it off. ‘We’ve kind of reached a stalemate now. It’s not important.’ And he sipped his plastic glass of cola and stared out across the dance floor.
Nicole joined him. There were a group of men by the hatch into the little kitchen, which was being used as a bar, drinking beer and swapping stories. Uncles. For some reason she thought of them as uncles. Probably because her dad and his four brothers all did the same at family gatherings, and when her dad was one of five and her mum one of four, there was always a wedding or an engagement or a surprise birthday party to go to. In fact, take away the fancy coats and top hats, the corsets and parasols, and this family was very much like hers. She really ought to make time to see them more often.
She turned and continued looking at the guests. Two little girls, aged about eight, were strutting their stuff with one of the bridesmaids on the dance floor. It was a little odd to see them in their petticoats and pinafores, wiggling away to Lady Gaga, but whatever…
