They ate in silence for a while and then James said, 'So, how are you finding it, living alone?’

Bron considered for a moment. 'It's fine, really. Much better than I thought it would be. I've never lived on my own before and I've always assumed I'd hate it, but I really like the freedom.' She paused and took another sip of wine. As James didn't comment she went on. 'I've got friends and my work, I don't need anything else.'

‘Not even a man to do the heavy stuff?’

Bron laughed, aware he was teasing her. 'I've got a very strong back, thank you, so I can do my own lifting. I might need your help if I come across a spider though,' she added, not wanting to appear too strident. Besides, it was true.

It was James's turn to laugh. 'I'll have a glass and a bit of card ready.' He was silent for a moment. 'And I know what you mean about living alone. It's peaceful even if it is a bit lonely at times.'

‘I'm certainly going to do it for a while. It means I can have the radio on in the middle of the night if I can't sleep.' She raised her glass again. 'To the single life!’

When they clinked again, she went to get the crumble. It was shortly before twelve when James, who had suddenly looked at his watch, got up. 'I had no idea it was so late-’

They had been chatting about this and that, books, films, music and the time had whistled by.

‘Nor had I.' Bron was a bit surprised; the conversation had flowed easily.

‘I've got an early start. But thank you so much for dinner. It was wonderful. One of the drawbacks to the single life is food. Somehow it never seems worth putting too much effort into cooking.'

‘Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was just a thank you for being such a good neighbour. In fact' – emboldened by the wine Bron said what she'd been thinking for a while – 'I could cut your hair for you if you wanted.’

The corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. 'I'll bring the hedge trimmers.’

Bron twinkled back at him. 'It's all right. I've got my own.’

As he walked down the path she decided he was really quite cute when he smiled.

Sarah held the piece of card in her hand, flapping it backwards and forwards as she read the words for the hundredth time. She wouldn't even have dreamt of going if she hadn't been in London already but she'd come up to check out the band Mandy wanted to play at the reception and, having done that, she now had this invitation forcing her to pay it some attention.

It had arrived in the post a couple of days earlier, the announcement of an exhibition that included Hugo's photographs. She had been about to recycle it but catching his name made her pin it on her notice board instead.

And goodness knows why she'd stuffed it in her bag as she walked out of the door that morning. But as she had, she reasoned, she might as well go. She got out her London street map and worked out a route.

It was in a part of London Sarah didn't know at all. It looked 'up and coming', in that there were a few stylish shops in among the grille-fronted off-licences and video-games stores. The odd brightly painted front door shone out from among the homes for squatters. It would be the place to buy property for those with strong nerves who didn't fear street crime. Sarah didn't qualify for either criteria and was glad she wasn't here after dark. She hailed a taxi from the tube more so she didn't get lost, she told herself, than because she was nervous.

The driver pulled up in front of a huge old warehouse that looked big enough to store elephants. 'Here we are, love. They tell me this is one of the hottest new galleries in town.'

‘Oh, right, thank you!’

Once inside the building, Sarah felt pleased to be there. Going to exhibitions was the sort of thing she loved to do but hardly ever let herself make time for. She walked up the stairs trying to convince herself that it was just the exhibition generally she'd come to see and the fact that Hugo's work would be here was just by the by. She chuckled at herself, not even slightly fooled.

The space she arrived at made Elsa's large workroom look like a single bedroom. Here the vast area was divided up by white-painted partitions. The room was full of activity. People were hanging work, realigning bits of partition and, somewhere out of sight, someone was banging ten bells out of a piece of metal. Sarah was confused. She pulled the invitation out of her pocket from where it had been in and out several times already and realised she'd got the date wrong. The exhibition was for next week.

Mentally kicking herself extremely hard, she was about to turn and leave when a girl came up to her. 'Can I help?’

She was tall and thin and encased in tight denim. Her hair was very blonde and blossomed out of her head in wild curls. Sarah thought she was familiar but couldn't immediately place her.

Sarah made a gesture. 'I'm sorry, I got the date wrong. I'll just go.'

‘Do you live in London?’

Sarah realised the girl could probably tell that she didn't just by looking at her and then wondered if this was paranoia. 'No..

‘Then come and have a look now or you'll miss it.' The girl smiled. 'I know what you country bumpkins are like! Is there an artist you're particularly interested in?’

‘Well, I know Hugo Marsters a bit.'

‘Oh, Hugo! He's great, isn't he? Bloody good photographer, by the way. I'm Electra Handforth-Williams.’

‘Sarah Stratford.' So that was why she was familiar. She'd seen her with Hugo that time, when she was last in London. She found it almost impossible to smile. Her hand, she knew, taken by Electra and shaken, would be damp and cold. Why did she ever let herself think Hugo might be interested in her? Electra was enchanting, in the way that Bambi was enchanting. She couldn't possibly even think of competing with such youth and vitality, not to mention beauty.

‘Well, come on in. We're still setting up, as you can see, but Hugo's work is hung. I took responsibility for it personally. We're expecting it to attract a lot of attention. One or two pieces have been sold already but he'd promised them for the exhibition and I jolly well told him they had to be there!' She sparkled at Sarah. 'Jolly nice to have a few red spots straightaway!’

Sarah nodded, trying to reflect some of Electra's good humour, and followed her.

‘He's so good, isn't he? Well, I'll leave you to it. Come and find me if you want to be talked through any of the other artists.’

Electra was right – he was so good! Sarah had seen his portfolio at Carrie's hotel and been impressed but these were amazing. Huge black and white photographs filled two of the enormous partitions. One wall was of celebrities, beautiful people, but looking really interesting. She spotted Carrie, her hair flying across her face, laughing, freckled and completely without make-up. Sarah had never seen her look so beautiful. Several famous actors;

men and women, young and old; sporting heroes in unusual, casual poses who she recognised but couldn't immediately place; politicians, past and present: all were represented. She gazed and admired and felt ashamed of how she'd just assumed Hugo made his living by doing weddings, never suspecting that he was also a great artist.

Then she was brought up short. She came to a section where no one seemed to be famous and felt sick and faint for the second time that day.

She could hardly breathe as she looked at herself. She was crouching down, looking up into the face of Ashlyn's little bridesmaid. She was smiling and taking a strand of hair out of the little girl's eyes. The little girl was doing the same for Sarah, and now she saw it, she remembered the feel of the tiny, damp hand on her face.

Sarah swallowed. She wasn't used to seeing herself look beautiful and she had to admit in this picture she did. Yet she also looked exactly like herself, so it wasn't just a clever angle or something. Was that how Hugo saw her? As beautiful? Or was it just the artist's eye? But why hadn't he shown her this before? She was acutely aware of Electra, somewhere in the gallery.