‘They’re nice.’ He nodded at the autumnal flowers.

‘For Miss Stirrup, with love from Class 2C.’ Having trimmed and curled the bronze and gold ribbons holding the bouquet together, Janey reached for the staple gun and clipped the accompanying card to the cellophane wrapper. ‘She’s a complete dragon; she was my English teacher, always sticking the whole class in detention when the weather was good and all we wanted to do was go tearing off down to the beach. I was tempted to write out "Have a Happy Retirement" a hundred times,’ she added with a grin. ‘And spell "retirement" wrongly, just to annoy her.’

She was looking well and happy, Guy realized. The habitual working uniform of jeans and tee-shirt had been replaced by a pastel pink wool dress which flattered both her figure and colouring. She was wearing make-up too, not a great deal but enough to make a difference. The overall effect was one of renewed confidence and cheerfulness. So far, he decided, everything appeared to be going well.

But he still couldn’t bring himself to raise the subject of the long-lost husband’s miraculous return. Instead, sticking to safer ground, he placed a large Manila envelope on the counter.

‘I’m just on my way up to London. I thought I’d drop this in before I left. Go on, open it.

It’s for you.’

‘Really?’ Janey gave him a playful look. ‘What is it, more wages?’

Guy smiled. ‘Afraid not.’

‘Oh!’ As the photograph slid out of the envelope, she caught her breath. ‘Oh, my God ...

this is amazing. I can’t believe it’s really me.’

As soon as he had developed Friday night’s films, taken purely in order to test out the latest Olympus, Guy had known he had something special. The particular miracle of photography, he always felt, was the fact that although technical expertise played a part, it was never everything.

The best camera in the world, coupled with perfect lighting and the most compliant subjects, could produce adequate but ultimately disappointing results, whereas occasionally — and for no apparent reason — an off-the-cuff, unplanned snap of a shutter succeeded in capturing a mood, an expression, a moment in time to perfection.

He had felt at once, even as he pegged up the still-dripping print in the darkroom, that this was one such success. It didn’t happen often but it had happened last Friday, and the result was almost magical. Unaware of the camera, Janey had hoisted Ella into her arms in order to give her a clear view of Josh on the dodgems. Their faces, close together, were alight with shared laughter. Ella’s small fingers, curled around Janey’s neck, conveyed love and trust. The only slightly out-of-focus background managed to capture both the excitement and noise of the fairground. Ella’s childish elation and Janey’s pride and delight in Josh’s prowess at the wheel of his dodgem car were reflected with such astonishing clarity, it almost brought a lump to the throat. Unposed, unrehearsed and using only natural available light, it was the kind of one-in-a-million shot all photographers seek to achieve. Guy, having achieved it, had known at once where its future lay.

‘I don’t know much about this kind of thing,’ said Janey, who was still studying the print intently. She hesitated, then glanced up at him. ‘But it is good, isn’t it? I mean seriously good.’

‘I think so.’

‘It has ... impact.’ The fact that she was featured in the picture was irrelevant. Shaking her head, she struggled to express herself more clearly. ‘You can ... feel it. I don’t think anyone could look at this photograph and not respond. And how strange, we look like—’

‘Like what?’ Guy prompted half-teasingly, but she shook her head once more and didn’t reply. Against the darker background, which had created a kind of halo effect, both Ella’s hair and her own appeared white-blond and the camera angle had managed to capture a similarity in their bone structure; but the fact that they looked like mother and daughter was sheer chance, a mere trick of the lens and far too embarrassing to voice aloud.

Instead, she said simply, ‘I love it. Thank you.’

‘And now I have a favour to ask.’ Guy, who knew exactly what had been going through her mind, was amused by her reluctance to comment on the apparent resemblance between Ella and herself. ‘I was approached by a children’s charity a couple of weeks ago. They’re mounting a national appeal and they’ve asked for my help.’

‘Raising money?’ He had given her the photograph. Janey, happy to return the favour, was eager to help. ‘What can I do, keep a collecting tin here on the counter? I did a stint once, rattling a tin on a street corner for the RSPCA.’ With a grin, she added, ‘I did brilliantly, too. It wasn’t until three hours later I realized most of my shirt buttons were undone. All those men stuffing pound coins into my tin had been getting an eyeful of my boobs and there I was saying thank you and thinking what lovely caring people they were.’

‘All these months I’ve known you,’ Guy drawled. ‘And I never figured you for a topless model.’

‘It was almost worse than topless.’ Janey cringed at the memory. ‘I was wearing a really awful old bra held together with a safety pin. Talk about mortifying.’

‘Well you can rattle a tin if you want to, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.’ Leaning against the counter, Guy tapped the photograph with a forefinger. ‘You see, they asked me to come up with the advertising poster for the campaign. With your permission I’d like to use this.’

She stared at him. ‘You’re joking.’

‘Why would I joke? It’s perfect. As you said yourself, you can’t look at this picture and not feel something. With any luck,’ he added with a wink, ‘the public will look at it and feel compelled to donate pots of money.’

At that moment the door to the shop opened behind him. Guy could almost have guessed without turning around that the waft of Paco Rabanne aftershave and accompanying footsteps belonged to Alan Sinclair. Janey had gone two shades pinker and her hand reached automatically to her hair.

But he turned anyway, taking his first look at the man who had caused her such untold grief. He saw what he had expected, too; blond, boyish good looks, an air of laid-back charm, the kind of features typical of a man who knew he stood a greater than average chance of taking risks and getting away with them. The urge to launch right in and tell Alan Sinclair exactly what he thought of him was compelling, but it was a luxury he was unable to allow himself. Thea had tried, and failed spectacularly. For once in her life, he reflected, Maxine had been right.

‘Darling ... I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’ Janey sounded both pleased and flustered.

‘Guy, this is Alan, my husband. Alan, meet Guy Cassidy ... um, Maxine’s boss.’

Guy was not a vain man. He nevertheless knew from experience that other men, upon meeting him for the first time, instinctively mistrusted him with their own wives or girlfriends.

Even if the women didn’t appear overtly interested – although, he had to admit, they frequently did – the men grew jealous. It was going to be interesting, he decided, to see how Janey’s husband would react.

Alan, however, appeared disappointingly unfazed. There were no gritted teeth behind the cheerful smile as he shook Guy’s hand.

‘Of course,’ he said easily. ‘It’s really nice to meet you, Janey’s told me all about you and your family. I’m also a great admirer of your work.’

‘Thank you.’ The boy had charm, thought Guy. And since he must be almost thirty he wasn’t even a boy; it was simply the impression he gave of being not altogether grown up.

‘Look, darling. Guy dropped by to show me this picture.’ Touching the back of Alan’s wrist in order to regain his attention, Janey pushed the photograph into his hand. ‘He wants to use it for a poster advertising a charity fund-raising campaign. What do you think, isn’t it marvellous?’

Alan studied the print for several seconds, clearly impressed. Finally, flicking back his blond hair, he nodded. ‘It is. Maxine must be over the moon. Fame at last.’

Guy bit his lip. That was always the trouble with deserting your wife, he thought with derision. When you eventually came back you didn’t always recognize her.

‘You idiot,’ giggled Janey. ‘This isn’t Maxine. It’s me.’

‘Oh, right.’ Unperturbed by his mistake, Alan took another look and nodded. Turning to address Guy he said casually, ‘Very flattering. That’s why you’re so in demand as a photographer, of course. It’s all clever stuff.’

Guy barely trusted himself to speak. No wonder Janey was so lacking in self-confidence, he thought bitterly. Between the pair of them, Alan and Bruno had sapped her of every last ounce of the stuff.

‘Flattery doesn’t come into it.’ He had observed Janey’s crestfallen expression. His dark blue eyes glittered as he removed the photograph from Alan Sinclair’s grasp. ‘The picture was there, waiting to be taken. All I did was capture it on film.’

‘Of course,’ Apparently realizing his mistake, Alan shrugged and smiled once more. ‘I’m sorry, ‘I wasn’t implying otherwise. And I think it’ll make a great campaign poster.’

‘I still can’t believe it,’ sighed Janey. ‘This is so exciting.’

‘Not to mention well timed.’ Slipping his arm around her waist, Alan gave her a brief, congratulatory hug. ‘Maybe now we’ll be able to take that holiday after all.’ He turned to look at Guy. ‘How much will she be getting for this?’

Guy stared at him. Janey, whose colour had only just reverted to normal, went bright pink all over again.

‘Alan, it’s for a charity campaign! The idea is to raise money. ‘I wouldn’t be paid!’