Lying for the Camera: chapter 4

Chapter Four

Hattie didn’t sleep well. Tom’s cold, emotionless voice telling her he planned to shatter her kept ringing in her head. She’d brushed it away in the moment. She had no intention of letting him know how vulnerable he made her feel. He did not need to know that when he looked at her, she felt as though he saw straight through her carefully constructed image to the inner workings of her heart.

He made her want to confide him, to trust him with all the secrets she barely admitted even to herself. On that first night, she’d told him about her miserable office affair and its consequences. She’d never told anyone about the pregnancy—not even her mother.

The way he got her to open up scared her more than any spider. Which was a good thing because there were definitely spiders in the dusty old bedroom here. She hoped it was an urban myth that people swallowed spiders in their sleep. Just in case, Hattie clamped her lips tight and closed her eyes, taking deep, long breaths to help her relax. She needed sleep tonight. She needed to be alert tomorrow to cope with whatever Tom had planned.

She woke abruptly, when one of the assistants banged on her door. “Shooting in ten!”

Ten minutes later, she’d washed and dragged a comb through her hair. There were shadows under her eyes. She shrugged. Tom might think that added to her fragility. And if not, that’s what the make-up artists were for.

Oh God, there was a horse.

She’d hoped he was joking about that. Or at the very least, she had assumed he meant for her to be out in a field where there would be lots of nice soft muddy grass for her to land on. She hadn’t anticipated the giant stallion who towered above head height right in the centre of the grand entrance hall.

Hattie paused on the staircase, clutching the banister rail. Black, shiny, and huge. Humungous. Twice the size of a normal horse, or maybe he just looked that way. Definitely too big for her. He couldn’t expect her to ride it. He knew she couldn’t ride.

She tried to look on the bright side. If he was shooting inside the house, Tom couldn’t be expecting her to gallop through the countryside, jump over hedges or chase innocent animals. Maybe she could manage to perch on top of it in here. Just so long as it didn’t move.

She sidled around the horse towards the costume team.

“Another nightie?”

Inge grinned. “Not today.” She held up a shot silk ballgown which shimmered black and fuchsia in the light.

“Ooh, I like that. I like that a lot.”

Inge fitted her with the kind of industrial underwear which sucked Hattie’s stomach in and pushed her breasts out.

“I look like Marilyn Monroe,” she decided.

“With a better bosom.”

“Of course.”

Hattie stepped into the gown and waited while Inge fastened it at the back, then shook the skirts out. The bodice fitted like a glove, smooth around the shape Inge had created with the underwear. The skirt fell to the floor and trailed behind as Hattie twirled and preened.

“It’s stunning. Can I keep it?”

“If you have a spare five thousand pounds you can.”

Hattie froze. “I can’t wear a five thousand pound dress.”

Tom looked over his shoulder. “Relax. It’s insured. But please don’t spill tomato ketchup down this one.”

“Right. No ketchup. I’ll try.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on then. Let’s get you mounted.”

Hattie stood behind Tom as he checked the side saddle. “I don’t like horses. They kick.”

“Can’t kick you when you’re sitting on top.”

“But they move.”

“The handler’s holding his bridle. He’s very well trained. Give me your foot.”

Tom boosted her up into the saddle. Hattie peered down. “It’s a long way to the floor. What if I fall off?”

“Don’t fall off. Here.” There were pommels on the saddle to hook her legs around. It didn’t feel at all secure. She gripped the reins for dear life.

“Feel safe?”

“No.” She waggled her stilettos at him. She was absolutely sure that they weren’t safe for her. Or the horse, come to think of it.

He grinned at her. “You’ll be fine. Just remember the reins aren’t handles, Hattie. Let go of them.”

She gritted her teeth and unclenched her fingers from the leather straps. “I’m going to fall off.”

“Sit up straight, face forward and don’t panic.” Tom wandered off to speak to the lighting guys and make sure the props had been set up how he wanted. Hattie was left stranded on top of approximately a ton of horse. Better on top of it than underneath, anyway.

So long as she didn’t look down.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

She looked down. Her stomach lurched and the horse skittered in response to her. She squealed. Only a little squeal. She wasn’t a total wuss.

“Hold on, Hattie. We’re not ready for you yet,” Tom said before immediately turning back to continue his checks.

Heartless bastard.

She’d told him last night that he wasn’t going to break her. No matter how much he made her face her fears, she was going to show him that she was a strong, confident woman. Hattie Bell wasn’t going to be photographed cowering with fear on top of a horse. She picked up the reins and pretended she did this all the time.

Sit up straight, face forward. Don’t panic. Easy. Just as long as she remembered not to look down.

The shot silk looked amazing against the sleek dark coat of the horse. The black disappeared into the background but the pink sparkled with life. Tom signalled that the lights should be moved a little closer, then checked his viewfinder again. Hattie’s spine was rigid and she’d grasped the reins again, transmitting every spark of tension to her mount. The handler was holding the bridle, murmuring soothing noises to the horse and keeping it quiet.

“Clear the shot.” He waved the handler away. Hattie’s mouth tightened and her knuckles gleamed white. “Perfect.”

He took several shots with the pale sunlight streaming into the room. There was a delicious incongruity between the raw strength of the stallion and the refined beauty of the house. And Hattie, strong and brave, beautiful and fragile was the perfect embodiment of the contrast.

“Turn this way,” he instructed. “Glance over your shoulder, Hattie. That’s it. Drop the reins. Hitch up your dress.”

Throughout, he kept the camera clicking, capturing as many moments as he could, hoping that just one of them would have the magic he needed.

“We need more movement.” Tom nodded to the handler. “Walk him across the hall.”

Hattie squeaked.

“Sit up, Hattie. Shoulders back, chest out.”

She glanced down at her cleavage. “I don’t think my chest goes any further out.”

He grinned. It was extremely tempting to take some close ups of her bodice. Maybe later.

For now, he needed a way to inject more drama into the shot.

“Can the horse climb the stairs?”

“Of course.” This was a specially trained horse for film and television. No doubt they were hoping for a remake of Black Beauty. The handler mounted the stairs and held out her hand to call the horse to her.

“You’ll need to stand aside,” he warned her. “I need a clear shot up the staircase.”

Obediently, the stallion climbed up two steps towards his handler. Tom nodded that it was enough and the woman moved out of shot.

Hattie was still just about upright in the side saddle. She’d dropped the reins and was gripping the saddle with one hand while the other was twisted into the horse’s mane.

“Lean forward,” Tom told her.

She leaned and wobbled a bit, but twisted just enough to regain her balance. As she twisted, her sharp heel dug into the horse’s side like a spur. He caught his breath as the stallion reared up. Hattie flew backwards, hands waving helplessly in the air and her scream electrifying the room.

It was the perfect shot. Nature asserting its brute force over the attempts of human civilisation. Hattie hanging helplessly in midair, lit from behind so that her silhouette was clearly outlined. Tom kept his finger on the shutter, watching the scene unfold in slow motion. Every shift of light on the shot silk gave a new drama.This could be the money shot of the whole exhibition.

Then, as if he was waking from a dream, the screams pierced through the camera. Hattie’s screams. The horse’s wild whinnying. Other people yelling in fright.

Damn it, this was no dream. This was real and that was Hattie, lying on the ground, white as the marble tiles beneath her. Too late, he dropped his camera and ran towards her.

“Unconscious,” his assistant muttered grimly. “I’ll call an ambulance. Don’t move her.”

The life had seeped out of her. Hattie, who was so vivid she could transform a room with her smile, lay still and silent. Tom rested his hand gently on her throat just to reassure himself that the blood was still pumping in her veins. Still warm, still pulsing, still breathing. She was going to be okay. She had to be okay.

By the time the ambulance had arrived, her eyes were open. They checked her over and strapped her into a terrifying neck brace and spine support so that she couldn’t move. He watched as they carried her into the back of the ambulance and drove away.

“We’re done here.” The team were standing around uncertainly. He shook his head. “You’ll be paid for the full week, but the rest of the shoot’s off. Can’t continue without her.”

“She might be back for tomorrow,” someone suggested.

Tom ran his hand over his face. “No. That’s it. Thanks for your work, everyone.”

He’d have to go and see her. She didn’t deserve to be in hospital alone. And he needed to explain. But hell, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Since Lianne he’d managed to avoid the agony of the waiting room and the disinfectant smell of the wards.

What he wanted was a stiff drink, but that wasn’t allowed if he was going to drive to the hospital. He’d just have to face up to it and be damned if it hurt.

“I brought your suitcase.”

She was awake. Alive. Extremely lucky, the doctors said. No internal injuries.

“Thanks.”

“They say they want to keep you in overnight.”

She nodded, then winced. “Sorry.”

Tom flinched. “I’m the one who’s sorry. It was my fault.”

“You said you wanted to shatter me.” She winked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like this. You know that.”

“It’s only a dislocated shoulder. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You’ll be bruised and sore for weeks.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m so glad you came to cheer me up.”

“God, Hattie. I thought you were dead.”

Her hand lay on top of the hospital sheets. She opened her fingers and crooked them towards him. He half-lifted his hand, then dropped it.

“I could have killed you.”

“I expect you still could if you want to.”

“Of course I don’t want to.” He took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be shouting at her. “Sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know that. Accidents happen.”

“Accidents happen when idiots like me are allowed to get carried away with our irresponsible notions without caring about who gets hurt along the way.”

“Right. Well, don’t do it again.”

“No danger of that. I’ve cancelled the rest of the shoot.”

Hattie glared at him. “I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

“You dislocated your shoulder. You can’t work tomorrow.”

“Back in the saddle. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you come off a horse?”

“No.” He was never letting her anywhere near another horse. He’d be happy if she spent the rest of her life wrapped up in a thick blanket of bubble wrap.

“You didn’t get the shots you wanted.”

Bile rose in his throat. “I got plenty.”

“So you don’t want me to be your model any more?”

“Sorry. I’ll do the studio pics I promised when we’re back in London.”

“No, I want you to do them at the house. Tomorrow.”

“I sent everyone home. There’s no one to set up the lights. No costume, no make up.”

“We’ll manage. I want pictures that don’t look like everyone else’s. Something to make an agent sit up and take notice.”

He owed her that much. “Fine.”

“And after that, there won’t be any reason for you not to sleep with me.”

His mouth dried. “Hattie.”

“Tom,” she mocked. “Are you turning me down again?”

“This is a very bad idea.”

“It’s just sex, Tom. I want it, you want it. We should just do it and enjoy it.”

“Your shoulder…”

“We’ll be careful. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

One night. He’d be careful. She’d be fun. He couldn’t say no.