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PROLOGUE

Happiness, dear Rebecca, means first and foremost the calm, joyous sense of innocence

Henrik Ibsen, Rosmersholm

If only the sould swiht turn out to be the crowning achieverapher’s career

He was loath to change the couple’s position, because the soft light beneath the canopy of trees was turning the bride, with her loose red-gold curls, into a pre-Raphaelite angel and e the chiseled cheekbones of her husband He couldn’t reraph so handsome a couple There was no need for tactful tricks with the new Mr and Mrs Matthew Cunliffe, no need to angle the lady so that rolls of back fat were hidden (she was, if anything, fractionally too slender, but that would photograph well), no need to suggest the groom “try one with your ht and white The only thing that needed concealing, and it could be retouched out of the final pictures, was the ugly scar running down the bride’s forearm: purple and livid, with the puncture marks of stitches still visible

She had been wearing a rubber and stockinette brace when the photographer arrived at her parents’ house that iven hiraphs He had even wondered whether she had , because he had seen it all You did, after twenty years in the game

“I was assaulted,” Mrs Cunliffe—or Robin Ellacott, as she had been two hours ago—had said The photographer was a squea into that soft, pale flesh Thankfully, the ugly mark was now hidden in the shadow cast by Mrs Cunliffe’s bouquet of creamy roses

The swans, the daround it wouldn’t , its fluffy pyra out of the , its contortions ruffling the surface of the water so that its digital re Mr Cunliffe, who had already suggested this remedy, realized The swan’s raceful, serene and determinedly out of shot

“Have you got it?” asked the bride, her impatience palpable

“You look gorgeous, flower,” said the groorapher He sounded tipsy already The couple’s parents, bestfrom the shade of nearby trees The smallest brides pebbles into the lake, and was nohining to herwhisper

“Have you got it?” Robin asked again, ignoring her father-in-law

“Alrapher “Turn in to hi s smiles, now!”

There was a tension about the couple that could not be wholly attributed to the difficulty of getting the shot The photographer didn’t care He wasn’t aat each other while he read his light meter One bride had stormed out of her own reception He still kept, for the amuseroo his best man

Good-looking as they were, he didn’t fancy the Cunliffes’ chances That long scar down the bride’s ar ominous and distasteful

“Let’s leave it,” said the grooh, haven’t we?”

“Wait, wait, the other one’s corapher crossly

The moment Matthew had released Robin, the swan by the far shore had begun

to paddle its way across the dark green water towards its mate

“You’d think the buggers were doing it on purpose, eh, Linda?” said Geoffrey with a fat chuckle to the bride’s s”

“It doesn’tskirt up clear of her shoes, the heels of which were a little too low “I’”

She strode out of the copse of trees into the blazing sunlight and off across the laards the seventeenth-century castle, wherecharounds

“I think her arroom’s father

Bollocks it is, thought the photographer with a certain cold pleasure They rowed in the car

The couple had looked happy enough beneath the shower of confetti in which they had departed the church, but on arrival at the country house hotel they had worn the rigid expressions of those barely repressing their rage

“She’ll be all right Just needs a drink,” said Geoffrey comfortably “Go keep her company, Matt”

Matthew had already set off after his bride, gaining on her easily as she navigated the lawn in her stilettos The rest of the party followed, the brides in the hot breeze

“Robin, we need to talk”

“Go on, then”

“Wait a minute, can’t you?”

“If I wait, we’ll have the family on us”

Matthew glanced behind hiht

“Robin—”

“Don’t touch my arm!”

Her wound was throbbing in the heat Robin wanted to find the holdall containing the sturdy rubber protective brace, but it would be somewhere out of reach in the bridal suite, wherever that was

The crowd of guests standing in the shadow of the hotel was co into clearer view The women were easy to tell apart, because of their hats Matthew’s Aunt Sue wore an electric blue wagon wheel, Robin’s sister-in-law, Jenny, a startling confection of yellow feathers The uests blurred into conformity in their dark suits It was impossible to see fro them