Lying for the Camera: chapter 3

Chapter Three

“Hold it there. Just a bit more. Eyes on me. Focus, Hattie.”

She fixed her gaze on Tom and tried to concentrate, but it was easier said than done, what with the carpenter hammering nails into a board just inches from her head.

Hattie hadn’t known quite what to expect of the shoot but it certainly wasn’t this. Tom had whisked her off to a crumbling stately home on the Northumbrian coast where it rained every single day and the windows didn’t shut properly. She’d been cold for the past forty-eight hours and not just because of the ridiculous outfits she’d been given to wear.

Today, he’d set up one of the most dilapidated rooms with all kinds of DIY tools and traps for her to fall into.

Earlier, she’d been attached to the wall while the electrician worked in the space around her. Hattie had barely dared breathe for fear of electrocution. It wasn’t until after they’d finished the photos that she’d realised none of the cables were live. Right now she was lying on a trestle table while a wooden box was built around her. She had a horrid feeling it was a coffin. And the hammer which flashed past at the edge of her vision definitely sounded real as it thudded into the nail. She flinched.

“That’s it. Give me more. Eyes ahead.”

The hammer caught her hair as it banged down. Hattie screeched.

Tom put down the camera and sighed. “Take a break.”

She let out a long sigh of relief.

“You okay?” He came over and held out a hand to help her up.

She sat up cautiously and checked that all her limbs were still attached. “I think so.”

He nodded. “Good. Have a coffee. We’ll start again in ten minutes.”

Tom went to talk to the lighting guy. Hattie slid off the table, grabbed a cardigan to put over the ridiculously flimsy nightdress she’d been given to wear, and went in search of something more sustaining than a coffee.

In the kitchen, she blagged a huge mug of strong tea and a bacon sandwich off the chef. She took a grateful sip of the hot drink and cradled the mug in her hands, grateful for the warmth. Presumably Tom had chosen this location because it was falling down. Personally, Hattie preferred accommodation with reliable hot water and windows that actually kept the cold air outside. She’d complained about the chiffon nightie but Tom had merely shrugged and said that he wanted to see her goosebumps.

Huh. It was all right for him, wearing three fleeces and a scarf. She’d like to see him wandering half naked around Croxfield Hall’s draughty corridors. Well, okay, she’d just like to see him half naked. Or fully naked. She wasn’t fussy. Unlike Tom, who was proving irritatingly good at resisting her.

He still fancied her. She was sure she wasn’t reading the signals that badly wrong. But they were already two days into her week-long contract and so far he’d all but avoided her. Even when he was shooting, his instructions were brief and impersonal. She’d done her best to flirt with him, but it was hard work when he was so determinedly not giving her anything back.

Hattie wasn’t one to give up on a challenge. He’d said there would be no shagging. He must have known she’d go all out to prove him wrong. She just had to find the right moment to catch him.

“We’re waiting.”

Hattie turned to grin at the object of her desire. “I’ll be there in a second. Want half?” She lavishly squeezed tomato ketchup on the salty bacon and soft white bread that the chef had put out, then cut the sandwich in half and held out the plate towards Tom.

“Thanks.” He took the plate and picked up his half neatly.

Hattie took a large bite. Tom shook his head and waved in the direction of her bosom. She looked down.

“Oops.”

A dollop of bright red ketchup had landed on the white nightgown.

“It’s fine. You can take it off.”

“Here?” She winked. “Or shall we go upstairs?”

“We’ll get back to work. But I think we’ll try some nude shots next.”

“You know, on some film sets, when they’re doing nude scenes, everyone gets naked. Including the director.”

Tom looked at her steadily. “They do that when the actors are nervous.”

Damn. “I can be nervous.”

“Not because you’re naked.”

“Well, no.”

“So stop trying to get me out of my clothes.”

She finished her tea and followed him out of the kitchen. “Spoilsport.”

Tom uploaded the day’s shoot onto his laptop and scrolled through the pictures. He earmarked a handful of potential shots, but none of them had the spark he was looking for. The fragile vulnerability he’d detected at Hattie’s audition was missing, despite the fear in her eyes and the precarious positions he’d put her in. The nude shots were no better. He should have realised that she didn’t wear clothes as armour or disguise, the way so many women did. She dressed for adornment, but she was equally comfortable in her unadorned state and the photos showed that.

“Any good?”

He couldn’t help the smile that sprang to his lips at the sound of her voice. She’d been brilliant over the last couple of days. No whining, no complaining. Despite everything he’d put her through she was still cheerful.

“Hopeless.”

“Really? I thought it went rather well today.”

Tom swivelled on his office chair to see Hattie leaning against the doorpost. “Did you?”

“Well no one was seriously injured, and I was gorgeous. What more could you ask for?” She winked at him.

He laughed. She was irrepressible. “Nothing.”

“Have you eaten?”

He checked his watch. “No. I must have lost track of the time.”

“There are leftovers. I’ll bring you a plate, if you like.”

“I can raid the fridge myself later.”

“Can I see the pictures? Are they really hopeless?”

He hesitated. Would it help Hattie understand what he was after? She might just look at the pretty images and think everything was fine.

“Better not.”

“They’re that bad?” Her voice was light but there was a note of genuine uncertainty underneath.

“I’m sure you’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

He hated hearing the dejection in her voice. It wasn’t fair to let her believe it was all her fault. But if it worked… “You’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s just lack of experience.”

She chewed her lip. “Should I just go back to London? You could find another model, I expect.”

Instinctively, Tom reached out to put his hand on her arm. “Stay.” He might find another model but he wouldn’t find another Hattie.

She nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“I told you before. I want you.”

“Am I still your muse?”

“Apparently.”

“Good. So what are we doing tomorrow?”

“How do you feel about horses?”

She shuddered dramatically. Just what he wanted.

“Excellent. What else scares you, Hattie?”

“Apart from power tools being used within inches of my brain? My hair when I’ve just got out of bed is utterly terrifying.”

He tugged a lock of said hair. “Be serious for a moment.”

“Um, I’m not brilliant with spiders. Or high places. Ghosts. Horror films. I’m just your all round basic wuss, in fact.”

“You’re not a wuss.” Why had he said that? He wasn’t supposed to be reassuring her.

“Thanks. You know what really terrifies me?”

“Tell me.”

“Well.” She stepped closer. “I’m absolutely, utterly petrified–” She ran her finger down his cheek. “—that I’m losing my touch.” And then she bent over, so that her cleavage filled his vision and her lips came to rest on the corner of his mouth. “What do you think? Have I still got it?”

Thinking was well beyond his capabilities in that moment. Tom tilted his head, his lips automatically seeking hers. Warm, soft and oh so good against his mouth. Hattie kissed like a goddess demanding worship, and he was her obedient slave. She dragged every last second out of that kiss, every touch and taste and lingering pleasure.

“That’s enough,” he said, though his hands in her glorious hair didn’t seem to hear him, and his mouth was already returning for another taste of her deep velvet lips.

“Mmm,” she murmured into the kiss, which didn’t help his self-control at all.

“Hattie,” he tried again. “We have to stop.”

“You stop.” She knelt between his legs and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, pressing kisses on his chest as she went.

“No. We both have to stop.” He removed her hands firmly and did his shirt up again. He took a deep breath. “I warned you about this in London. I don’t get involved with my models.”

Hattie sat back on her heels and surveyed him. “We don’t have to get involved. We could just have sex.”

He gave a curt laugh. “It doesn’t work like that.”

She tilted her head and smiled wickedly. “I thought that’s exactly how men like it to work.”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the magazines.”

“There’s never anything about you in the magazines. Just the photos.”

“That’s the way I like it.”

“So, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment.”

“But you are into women?”

“Yes, Hattie. I think the last ten minutes have established that I am into women.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

He pushed his office chair further back. “Stand up. You look ridiculous down there.”

Hattie glared at him. “You’ve been making me look ridiculous all day. I don’t know why you’re so worried about it now. And don’t think you can avoid the question.”

“I’ve told you before. I don’t get involved with my models.”

“I’m offering you no-strings-attached sex and you’re turning it down?”

He shrugged. “The strings are always there, even if you can’t see them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Someone really did a job on you, didn’t they?”

“I’m not talking about this any more. I’ve got work to do.”

Hattie’s gaze slid across to the laptop. “Wow.”

He’d forgotten to close down the image he’d been working at when she came in. The best picture of the day, it was one of the nude shots, showing Hattie stretching up to the chandelier, strewn with cobwebs and dust. Sunlight reflected on the crystal drops and glowed on the spider’s web, giving the illusion that Hattie was trapped in a glittering prison of light.

“You like it?”

“It’s amazing. It felt so ridiculous, standing like that earlier, but now I understand.”

“What do you understand?”

She’d moved nearer the desk and her head was near Tom’s as they both studied the picture.

“The light… the cobweb… they’re so fragile and yet there, in that moment, they make me look powerless.”

He drew in a sharp breath. She’d got it. She’d really got it. “Show me what you mean.”

“Here.” She traced the ray of light which curved over her breasts. “It’s like it’s holding me back. Stopping me from doing something. And here.” Her finger moved up to the network of light which criss crossed her face on the screen. “It looks like I’m afraid of it. Like something in a horror film.”

“Science fiction.”

“Yes, maybe. I didn’t know my eyes could look like that.”

“So pale? I played with the exposure a little bit.”

“That’s part of it, I suppose. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like looking at myself in a nightmare.”

“Look at this one.” He scrolled through until he came to the image of her in the coffin. “What does that make you feel?”

She stared at it for several minutes. “Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“It’s ridiculous. I look like the Bride of Dracula, only fat.” She gestured at the red lipstick and the white nightgown. “The props are silly.”

He nodded. She was right. “How about this?” He skipped ahead a couple of photos.

“Oh.”

It was the same set up. She was still in the coffin but this time he’d taken a close up of her face with the hammer and changed the lighting. He could feel her tense up as she looked at the picture.

“You were a total bastard making me do this.”

“I know.”

Hattie drew a deep breath. “But it was worth it.”

“I think so.”

“Is this what the whole week is going to be like? A living nightmare?”

“Only while I’m shooting.”

“Oh, great.”

He grinned. “Be thankful I could only afford this place for a week.”

“Next time, pick somewhere with central heating.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun would be in having someone else to warm my bed, but apparently that’s out of the question. What’s a girl supposed to do?”

“Hot water bottle?”

“I could use a hot toddy.”

“Come on then, I’ll make you one while I’m having dinner.”

She cradled the warm mug between her hands and watched Tom as he assembled a plateful of leftovers and nuked it in the microwave. His movements were always quick and deft. He wrapped the remains of a chicken pie in foil and replaced it in the fridge. Collecting knife and fork, he brought his heated dinner to the big scrubbed pine table where Hattie was sitting.

“This is the only warm room in the whole house. I think I’ll bring my duvet down here and sleep in front of the range.”

“Sorry you’re cold.” Tom forked up another mouthful of food. “I didn’t know it would be this bad.”

“I’ll live, I suppose. Maybe I’ll find one of the crew who wouldn’t mind warming my bed.”

He raised his eyes and contemplated her for a moment, before returning to his food.

“What, you don’t think they’d want me?”

“I think you’re trying to provoke me into sleeping with you.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“Pity.” She smiled and sipped at her hot toddy. “Carl, you know, who does the lights?”

“I know who Carl is.”

“He’s cute.”

“He’s married.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t going there with a married man ever again. “What about Pavel?” The electrician wasn’t to Hattie’s taste, but Tom didn’t know that.

“Gay.”

She laughed. “I don’t think so.”

Tom tilted his head to one side. “Well, maybe he goes both ways. But he certainly has a boyfriend he was giving a very loving goodbye to at the station.”

“Tom Metcalfe, are you telling me that you are the only available man on this shoot?”

He shook his head. “I keep trying to tell you that I’m not available.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Hattie.” He laid down his fork and his face filled with weariness. “Please just leave it, okay?”

She’d had no idea he was under such strain. During the days he was efficient and calm, patient with other’s mistakes and laughing at his own. She knew the exhibition was important to him but she had no doubts it would be a huge success.

“Okay.”

They sat in silence while Tom finished his meal and Hattie drank her hot toddy.

“Look, I know today wasn’t brilliant, but I’ll do better. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“You were fine. It’s me that’s the problem.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s all very well you doing everything I ask of you, but I still have to ask the right questions.”

She frowned. “But I thought you had it all planned. The props, the shots, everything.”

He sighed. “I wish it was that easy. I have ideas, sketches, storyboards. But it doesn’t guarantee the magic.”

“Magic?”

“I don’t know a better word for it. You saw it upstairs. The difference between those two shots of you in the coffin. It’s lighting and placement, expression and focus. But it’s more than that.”

“It’s chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” he said with a faint smile. “You think so?”

“I have A-level Chemistry. So I know.”

Tom laughed. “And what did you learn in A-level Chemistry?”

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a grin. “I learned how to make Jamie Taylor want to kiss me behind the bike sheds.”

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I know.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Of course it was. That’s why you picked me for this job, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why then?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Because you were the only woman I’d seen all day.”

She frowned. “What? I was sure you’d have had hundreds of models lining up to work for you.”

“I did. Hundreds of them. Teenagers, mostly. And the ones who weren’t, doing everything they could to look as if they were. Size zero, stinking of cigarette smoke, with dark circles under their eyes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They were girls, Hattie. Kids. Fabulous clothes hangers, but no life in them. No experience. Not women. None of them spilled over with their life story before I’d even got the camera out. They stood where they were told and went through the poses they know.”

“That’s what the agencies teach them.”

“Right. That’s what sells clothes. But I’m not in the business of selling clothes in this shoot.”

“What are you selling?”

He leaned back and Hattie held her breath. She wasn’t at all sure he was going to tell her. Eventually, he closed his eyes and spoke just one word. “Myself.”

Himself? He was selling his work. His photographs. His vision of the world. Oh. “That’s scary.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s the rest of the exhibition like? You said it was mostly ready.”

“Landscape. Urban landscape. Some macro shots.”

She shook her head. “That tells me nothing.”

“Right. It’s, um, well it’s about fragility.”

Fragility? And he’d picked her to model for him? “So, I’m the contrast? Strength? Size? Weight?”

“No!” He slapped a hand on the table. “No. No, you’re part of it.”

“You looked at me and saw fragility?” She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I looked at you and knew I could shatter you.”

She sucked in all her breath. “You are a total bastard.”

He shrugged, but there was guilt in his eyes. “That’s what being an artist does to you.”

“You were wrong, though, weren’t you? I’m still here and I’m still in one piece.”

He stood up and cleared his plate. “There’s still four days, Hattie. And I’m getting closer all the time.”

“Not any more. Now I know what you’re after, I’ll be on my guard.”