Nora had been Aunt Evelyn for forty-six minutes when Aunt Evelyn arrived. The real one carried a folded raincoat and asked the man at the conservatory door whether she had missed the photographs.
Nora knew the woman’s name from a laminated card in her handbag. The card also said Evelyn lived outside Hartley, grew roses, and had taught the bride to make pancakes. None of those details had come from Evelyn.
The agency had booked Nora for three hours: arrive early, sit on the bride’s side, join the family portraits, and avoid long conversations. The fee included a modest extra payment for crying during the vows, if the moment called for it.
The wedding was in a municipal glasshouse. Water clicked through the irrigation pipes above the guests, and somebody had tied white ribbon around the trunks of two orange trees. Nora wore a blue jacket borrowed from the costume cupboard.
Sana, the bride, had hired her personally. Her mother’s sister had refused the invitation, leaving one conspicuous gap among a dozen people from Ben’s family. Sana had said she did not want to explain the gap all afternoon.
The real Evelyn stood beneath a sign asking visitors not to touch the orchids. She was wearing flat green shoes and holding an envelope with Sana’s name written on it.
"Are you here for the Malik wedding?" Nora asked.
"I’m Sana’s aunt." The woman glanced at Nora’s yellow flower. "You must be from Ben’s side."
"I’m a guest," Nora said. It was technically true, which did not make the answer comfortable.
Pavel, the agency coordinator, came out of the service passage carrying a clipboard. Nora took him aside and told him. He checked the seating plan, then looked at the woman as though a delivery had come to the wrong address.
"We can ask her to wait outside," he said. "The client booked a particular arrangement."
"She isn’t furniture, Pavel."
"Neither are you. I’m trying to prevent a scene." He handed Nora a radio. "Keep her here. I’ll find Sana."
Evelyn had overheard enough. "Did Sana say she didn’t want me?"
"She thought you weren’t coming."
"I told her I wouldn’t." Evelyn unfolded the envelope, then folded it again. "I got as far as the station this morning before I decided whether I was buying a ticket."
Nora offered her a chair. Evelyn declined it and remained standing beside a tray of seedling pots. Through the glass, guests were arriving in clothes too thin for the weather.
"What is your name?" Evelyn asked.
Nora hesitated. The card in her bag seemed suddenly heavy. "Nora."
"You’re not one of Ben’s relatives."
"No."
Evelyn looked at her borrowed jacket, then at the empty chair reserved in the front row. She understood more quickly than Nora had hoped.
"She paid somebody to be me?"
"To sit with her," Nora said. "That was the part she asked for."
Evelyn gave a dry little laugh. "Of course. I’ve been very reliable at not turning up." She did not ask how much Nora had been paid.
Then Sana appeared, carrying a bouquet and a pair of shoes in one hand. One heel had broken. Her face changed when she saw Evelyn, but she did not move toward her.
"I wrote to say I wouldn’t come," Evelyn said.
"I read it."
Three years earlier, Evelyn had written to Ben about Sana’s debts, advising him to reconsider the marriage. Ben had shown Sana the message. Sana had paid off the debts, but she had never answered her aunt’s subsequent apologies.
"I shouldn’t have involved him," Evelyn said now. "I was frightened you would both make things harder for yourselves. I made them harder instead."
"You did." Sana put down the ruined shoe. "You don’t get to turn up at the wedding and make today the day we settle that."
"I know." Evelyn held out the envelope. "It’s a card. Not an argument."
Sana took it without opening it. Behind her, the string quartet was tuning. One violin kept catching the same stubborn note.
"You can stay for the ceremony," Sana said. "There are chairs at the back. Please don’t speak to Ben about any of this today."
Evelyn nodded. She had imagined a warmer invitation, Nora thought, but she accepted the one she had been given.
Pavel began explaining the changes this would make to the photography schedule. Sana stopped him. "Nora, I asked you to come because I wanted somebody on my side of the aisle. I still want that. But I don’t want you called Evelyn."
"I wasn’t planning to," Nora said.
"You were forty minutes ago."
"Yes." Nora could not improve the answer. "I was."
Ben found them when the quartet began the processional. Sana told him what she had arranged, in a low voice Nora could not hear. His first look was surprised; his second went toward the woman in green shoes. He asked Sana a question and listened to the answer before they went inside.
Nora sat in the front row beside an empty chair that nobody moved. At the back, Evelyn sat with the envelope’s torn flap in her lap; Sana had opened the card and returned the envelope before the music began.
Nora did not cry. Sana laughed when Ben put the ring on the wrong finger, and the glasshouse seemed to relax with her. Afterward the guests spilled into the paths between the citrus trees.
The photographer assembled families in shifting groups. He asked Nora to stand near Sana, then asked whether the older woman by the door belonged in the picture. Nora did not answer for either of them.
Sana watched Evelyn for a moment. "Come over," she said. "One photograph. We can decide about the rest another time."
Evelyn crossed the wet stone floor. No one embraced. Sana reached for Nora’s elbow to make room, and Ben moved a chair out of the way.
"All right," the photographer said. "Names, so I don’t mix you up afterward?"
"Evelyn Mercer," said the woman in green shoes.
"Nora Bell," said Nora.
The photographer wrote them both down. On his first attempt Evelyn blinked, so he asked for one more. They stood together a little longer, waiting for the flash.