In fact, the faint prickle of sweat under her hairline and the butterflies in her stomach told her there was a quite different reason for her sudden mania for texting. They told her it was because Sarah was terrified of speaking to Hugo again after how they had parted, but she ignored the signs. She was determined to keep it all very professional.

As she parked the car, however, and set off to the front door, she was forced to smile at herself. The previous night she had told herself that as a professional she should be able to murder a bride who had a venue she wanted. Now she felt about as professional as a cast member of a school before her as a reminder of what happened when you took a risk, she said: 'No.'

‘You're a strange woman in some ways, Sarah,' said Hugo, defeated.

‘But I am very good at my job!' She couldn't deny the 'strange', not unless she was prepared to tell him about the boy who broke her heart at university, who looked just like him and whom it had taken her ages and ages to get over. And she wasn't. 'So, let's have a look at the photos. Have you made your choice? Then we must think about getting them up on the website so people can order them.’

A waiter appeared. Hugo looked at him, back at Sarah and sighed. 'Coffee please… Very strong and black. Thanks.’

As Sarah drove home she felt very pleased with herself. She'd very nearly been her cool, calm, professional self. And if her insides had clenched a bit when she let her glance drift towards his hands, or at the dimple that formed in his left cheek when he almost smiled, she was certain she hadn't let him see. He had seemed quite upset when she'd turned him down but he'd get over it. She'd probably only dented his ego, after all. And with any luck they wouldn't have to work together again for a bit, although the photos were fantastic. She had to admit he really was very good: she'd have to recommend him to Mandy. As she'd told him, she wouldn't let her feelings get in the way of business. Unless Carrie had her own photographer, and with any luck she would have, she'd have to use Hugo – he was one of the best in the business.

It was only then she remembered. She'd been so intent on keeping things cool between them, that she had completely forgotten to thank him for passing on her name to Mandy.

Never mind, she could text him or email him when she got home. She really did wish Hugo weren't so attractive -or rather that he hadn't made her see how attractive he was. They'd worked perfectly well together before; now it was going to be really difficult.

‘Men!' she said out loud. 'Who'd have anything to do with them!’

Bron walked down the High Street looking for the wine bar. Roger had not been thrilled about the idea of her going out midweek, but she'd cooked him a very good fish pie and there was sport on television and so she had been firm about going. He was grumpy because the meeting was about another wedding, not really because he wanted her company.

Then she saw Elsa and hurried towards her.

‘Isn't this exciting!' said Elsa as they entered the wine bar. 'Sarah didn't say much on the phone. Did she tell you what it was all about?'

‘She sounded very businesslike,' said Bron. 'Apparently it's another wedding for a mega client.'

‘Oh good. I've got work for the next couple of months, but then I've got a bit of a dry spell.'

‘Let's sit here,' said Bron. 'We can really spread ourselves out. Shall we order drinks while we wait?’

‘Definitely.’

Bron picked up the menu. 'We might as well have a bottle. House white OK for you?' Elsa nodded. 'Better get some water too.’

When both women were settled with drinks and olives, Bron said, 'So, Elsa, while I've got you on your own, I really want to ask you some more about what it's like working for yourself. I know we talked about it briefly the other night but I wanted to pick your brains properly. I've been giving it a lot of thought recently and I keep wondering if I should go freelance again.'

‘Do you really not like working at the salon? One of the things I regret about my job is the amount of time I spend on my own. I think it would be fun to work with jolly people. I worked in a dry-cleaner's as a Saturday job and I loved the other women. They used to get me to do the mending because I had "nimble fingers".’

Bron, fiddling with the menu, considered her answer. 'I'd like the salon more if I liked the people I worked with, but my boss is only a bit older than I am and is pretty vile, one way and another. The other girls are younger and tend to stick together. I'm a bit on my own, apart from the clients.’

Elsa sipped her wine, allowing Bron to talk.

‘Take today, for example, one of my regulars – a lovely woman in her fifties – wanted something a bit different. We were going through colour charts and discussing what would go with her skin tones – all that stuff – when Sasha came over, took the chart out of my hands, and said, "That's the colour you should have, Mrs Aldroyd."' Bron took a sip from her glass. 'And suggested something that would have been absolutely minging!’

Elsa laughed. 'What colour was it?'

‘Oh God, nearly grey! It would have made Mrs Aldroyd look about a hundred and twenty.' Bron gave a little giggle. 'We had to wait until Sasha had gone away before we could work out what was best. Then' – Bron's indignation escalated – 'she came back, saw we hadn't done what she'd suggested and went ape!' She took another gulp of wine and sighed. 'Mrs Aldroyd would definitely become a client if I went freelance. Sasha was practically telling her off for not wanting grey lowlights!'

‘My mother's in her fifties. She wouldn't want grey lowlights.'

‘Well, no!’

Elsa chuckled sympathetically. 'What does Roger think about you going freelance? You have talked it over with him?' Having seen, albeit briefly, how Bron and Roger were together made Elsa wonder about them.

‘He thinks I'm mad even to think of going it alone. He's an accountant and the insecurity worries him. He'd insist on doing my books, I know he would, he is a bit of a control freak, and then he'd tell me how little money I was earning.' She made a face. 'I'd hate to be a kept woman. At least now I pay my way.'

‘It would only be for a while, I'm sure you'd soon build up a client base and earn more than you did before. There's much more work for hairdressers than dressmakers, surely? Most women go at least every six weeks – they'll have a dress made once in their lifetime.'

‘I never thought of it like that. Of course you're right.' Bron selected an olive. 'But I don't know if I could convince Roger.' Delicately, she removed the olive stone and picked up the menu again. 'And also, I don't think he likes the idea of me doing so many weddings. It means I'm not always there for the cricket.'

‘That seems a bit unreasonable.’

Bron put the menu down. 'Oh no, it's fine! I always knew he was a cricketer. And he doesn't play it all weekend. And only in summer.'

‘So what do you do on Sundays? Picnics, walks – things like that?' Elsa heard the wistfulness in her voice but hoped that Bron hadn't.

‘We have lunch with his parents. I really like his mother. She and I get on like a house on fire,' said Bron quickly. 'Can I top you up?'

‘Oh, go on. I'm not driving. And you needn't either, really. Where you live, you could take a taxi home.'

‘Are you trying to lead me astray?' asked Bron, filling up her glass as she said it. She didn't get many opportunities to go out with friends; she should make the most of it.

‘Yes,' said Elsa simply.

Just then, Sarah came rushing in. 'I am so sorry! I got horribly held up. I wouldn't have been quite so late if I didn't know Bron was with you, Elsa.' She kissed both women and then collapsed on to a chair.