‘The only person I haven’t met yet is the photographer,’ I pointed out. ‘Ordinarily I’d have liked to have gone over things with them by now. I’ve made a few attempts at getting in touch with him, but he’s not called me back. Would you mind speaking to him and asking him to ring me so that we can set up a meeting? I’d really like a chat with him and to do a walk-through at the venue before the day itself so that I know exactly what the plan is.’

To be honest, the lack of communication and cooperation from the photographer was the one thing about this wedding that had me nervous. I didn’t really do nerves. I couldn’t afford to in my job. I was there to smooth things over for everyone else, which I was able to do because I knew exactly what and when everything was happening. Usually. But I’d never worked with this photographer. I wasn’t sure he was even a professional photographer, which was fine. I’d seen amazing moments captured in beautiful shots by amateurs over the years, but I did need communication from him. Ordinarily I’d have spoken to Peyton about considering having a back-up – although finding one at this late notice would be a challenge, but I would manage. The situation, however, was proving more tricky as Peyton was adamant about using this guy. Apparently she’d known him since college and thought it would be lovely to have a photographer she knew and trusted and felt she’d be more relaxed for the photos that way. All that was great – but I had my reservations.

‘You’re worried about the photographer, aren’t you?’ Lorcan said as I turned back from waving the bride and groom-to-be off.

‘Stop reading my mind. You know it unnerves me.’

He shrugged. ‘I’d say sorry but then I’d be lying. It amuses me.’

‘Such a child,’ I said, moving him out of the way to get to my filing cabinet. ‘But yes, I am. I’ve normally got all this locked down by now but I haven’t even been able to speak to the man yet.’

‘I’m sure Peyton will get onto it now.’

‘I’ve mentioned it to her a few times already and he’s still not made contact. It’s odd, not to mention unprofessional.’

‘Maybe he’s a bit of a prima donna and thinks – don’t take this the wrong way – that he doesn’t need a wedding planner poking her nose into his “art”.’ He did the actions. ‘Remember this is just a theory and not what I think,’ he said, eyeing the letter opener glinting under the lamplight on my desk. ‘Just to be clear.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to stab you,’ I said, following his eye line. ‘I don’t have time to clear up the blood.’