Lying for the Camera: chapter 6

He returned with painkillers, a glass of water and a camera. Hattie swallowed her pills and sank back into the pillows, praying for swift relief. It was a few moments before she realised that the clicking sound she heard was Tom taking photos. Of her. Stretched out in agony.

She could just about raise an eyebrow without pulling any angry muscles. “Huh?”

“Just lie there.” He knelt by the bed, trying a different angle. He flicked the duvet over, covering her breasts.

“Can’t do anything else,” she grunted.

“Perfect.”

Hattie closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly, in an attempt to soothe the nerves in her shoulder. In the background, Tom was still playing with his camera. Surely he didn’t mean to put these pictures in his exhibition? No make up, bed hair, face screwed up in agony. Maybe that was it. He’d said he wanted to break her. He wanted the vulnerable side of her that she buried so deep she barely admitted it existed. Perhaps the pain had brought it out.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

She levered her eyelids open and raised her eyes to Tom. He winked and continued snapping away, but the painkillers were beginning to do their job and she relaxed into it.

“Gorgeous.” He laid the camera aside. “I’ve got an idea.”

“So have I. Mine involve you, me, and this bed. All day. With more painkillers at regular intervals, obviously.”

He laughed. “You are insatiable.”

She laid her hand on his chest. “You like me like that.”

He put his hand over hers. “I like you every way. Now do you want to hear my idea or not?”

“Go on then.” She sighed dramatically.

“Advertising.”

She frowned. “Huh?”

He lay down beside her. “Think about it, sweetheart. You’re never going to make it as a fashion model.”

“Kick a girl when she’s down, would you?”

His eyes were smiling and he pinched her bum. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Idiot designers are too mean with their fabric.”

“Quite. And brilliant though you are, there’s not enough work as my muse to keep you in false nails.”

“You could pay me more.” He was right, though, and it was past time that she admitted it. She was never going to make a living as a model.

“Shut up and listen.”

She mimed a zip across her lips.

He rolled his eyes. “There’s a huge industry out there just waiting for you, Hattie. That smile of yours, the way that you captivate people with your eyes, the warmth of your expression – that could sell ice to Eskimos.”

He was serious. He’d really thought about this. “Advertising, huh?”

He leaned in to kiss her temple. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Not really. My agent once sent me for a knitwear audition. The sweaters were too small. Indecently small, when they were stretched across my bosom.”

He grinned. “I’d love to see that.”

“I’ll show you the pictures one day. It’s not pretty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” His eyes darkened and he slid his hands into her hair. She tilted her face up for his kiss. “Smile.”

“Kiss me.”

“Good plan.”

Each time Tom kissed her, the addiction grew stronger. It wasn’t about the way his lips fitted against hers, or the sparks that followed each stroke of his tongue. Maybe it was the way his eyes held hers right until the moment their lips touched and then slid closed as though he was overcome by his desire.

Or maybe it was just him.

He pulled away, leaving her with lips parted and eyes half-lidded. “That’s it.”

“Mmm?”

“You’re smiling now.” He held her chin and examined her closely. “Perfect. Any fillings?”

“What are you, my dentist?”

“It matters. The less photoshopping they need to do, the better.”

“One. Back molar. Top left.”

“That’s not going to be a problem. Look, let me take some pictures today. We’ll make a different portfolio. Show me your fingernails.”

“What sort of things?” She held out her hands for him to inspect.

“Everyday activities. Cooking, cleaning, reading. These are fine for now. You’d need more work to be a hand model.”

“I don’t want to be a hand model.”

“It would be a waste of your best features, certainly. Wear ordinary clothes.”

“I don’t own ordinary clothes.”

“Now you’re just being difficult. You own a pair of jeans and you can borrow one of my shirts.”

“Sexy.”

He laughed, but shook his head. “I’ll tell you when I want sexy.”

“Now?” she asked hopefully.

“It’s your career on the line,” he pointed out. “Not mine.”

“My career can wait ten minutes.”

“Half an hour.”

“You’re on.”

Half an hour later, Hattie stretched out luxuriously in the ancient rolltop bath while Tom strategically arranged the piles of soapy lather around her.

“Just act naturally,” he told her.

“Right. Because I always have people photographing me in the bath. I feel like Elizabeth Taylor.” She pouted and blew him a kiss.

“We’re not doing Anthony and Cleopatra. Act like a normal person.”

She grinned. “You got the wrong girl for that. Are you sure I shouldn’t have done my make up?”

“Completely. The agents want to know what you really look like. They need to see what they’ll have to work with.”

She lifted a sponge and let it drip over her face. “Red-faced and prune-fingered?”

“Glowing and glamorous. Put your good arm up as though you’re shampooing your hair. That’s lovely. Smile at me. Stop sticking your tongue out. Hattie, I am not taking any more pictures of your breasts.”

She giggled. “Fine. I’ll be good. Shall I pretend to wash something?”

“Wash your arms. Keep your body underwater. That’s it. Now point your toes out. Perfect.”

“Are you coming in soon?”

“Do you want to work as a model or not?”

She sat up and reached her hands towards him. “I do, I do! I’ll be good now.”

“Huh.”

“I am grateful. Really.” If it worked, it would be brilliant. She could go on doing jobs until she was eighty, advertising stairlifts and Werther’s Originals.

“Turn round. Can you lift the sponge over your shoulder? That’s enough.” He rearranged her hair, tucking it forward over the other shoulder. “Beautiful. Now look back at me. Smile. Wink. And we’re done.” He put the camera safely away in the bedroom, stripped off his bathrobe and returned. “Need any help, sweetheart?”

“Please.”

He took the sponge she held out to him and began to soap her back. “There are still some bruises here, but I can shop them out.”

“Thanks. Can you help me wash my hair?”

He washed her hair, helped her out of the bath and sent her to get dressed. She’d taken his invitation and helped herself to a blue and white striped cotton shirt. Rolled up over wrists and hanging down to mid-thigh, it was possibly the sexiest thing he’d seen her in yet. Not to mention the way it stretched over her cleavage.

“Put a t-shirt on. And jeans.”

“Yes, sir!” She gave a mock salute and disappeared to find some clothes from her own room. He should have fetched her suitcase.

Dressed, he went down to the kitchen. The milk was off, but there was coffee and bread. He put a couple of slices in the toaster and examined the contents of the fridge.

“I think there’s enough for a picnic,” he said as Hattie joined him. “So long as you don’t mind cold sausages.”

“I adore cold sausages.”

“Excellent. Now I need some domestic shots. Try to look as though you’re enjoying making breakfast.”

She picked up a butter knife and pointed it at him. “I see your game. This is all a clever plan to get me to do the work while you lounge around taking photos.”

“You got me.” He tilted his head towards the window. “Move round a bit. I want to get more of that light.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. Certainly not on a shoot. Admittedly, going out for a walk with Hattie and eating a picnic lunch on the moor hardly felt like work. She’d begun the day posing and pouting, but as he kept the camera on her, she fell into her natural self. The sweet smile when she glanced back over her shoulder at him, the wide grin as she drank in the view from the top of the hill, the moments that were pure, unadulterated Hattie. He shot them all and hoped that the magic was somehow encapsulated in pixel form.

“I have to get back to London tomorrow.” They’d ordered an Indian takeaway and were eating it cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire in the grand drawing room. Two prawn baltis so they could both pick out the prawns. Lots of naan bread and poppadums. A gloriously fragrant chicken dish, the remnants of which Hattie was scraping onto her plate.

“This is seriously yummy.”

“Yes, it was good.”

She reached for the last of the bread and used it to mop up the curry sauce.

“I’m flying to Milan on Monday morning.”

“Oh. Right.” She grinned. “Jetset fashion photographer.”

His lips twisted. “It pays the bills. I have to go onto New York, after that. Then I’m doing a few days in Morocco for a magazine shoot.”

Hattie gave a loud sigh and pushed her empty plate away. “You poor thing. Meanwhile, all I have to do is turn up at the same boring office and do the same boring photocopying every single day. Lucky me.”

“I’ll send on the portfolio pictures. And I’ll pass on your details to a friend of mine who works in that side of the business. Maybe you won’t have to spend much more time in the office after all.” He stacked up the empty takeaway dishes onto a tray and put it on the coffee table.

“Thanks.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “You didn’t have to do all that, and I appreciate it.”

“Anything for my muse.”

Hattie cocked her head thoughtfully.

“Almost anything,” he revised swiftly. “Legal, sane, ethical.”

She pouted. “Well, you’re no fun.”

He shrugged. “That’s hardly a secret.”

“I can think of one place you’re fun.” Her eyes narrowed and his breath shortened.

“One last night, then.”

“For now, Mr Milan, New York and Morocco.”

“Hattie.” He held out a hand to stop her. “I think it would be better if this is the last night full stop.”

“Better?” She shook her head at him. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

He couldn’t help the smile. She could always make him laugh. “Seriously, Hattie.”

“I’m never serious. You should know that by now.”

“Right. That’s why I’m being serious for both of us. I’m not looking for a relationship, Hattie, and especially not with a model. I spend far too much time travelling and frankly, I’m not ready to settle down.”

“Who said anything about settling down?”

He almost laughed again at the outrage on her face. But he needed to make sure she understood. “You know what I mean. Find someone who’ll have fun with you any night you want, Hattie, not just on the one day a month he’s free and in town.”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t know me at all, do you? I’ve only just realised that. How strange.”

“We agreed on one night.”

“But you want to extend it to two?”

“Only if you want.”

“Oh, I want. I’ve never made a secret of that. I just don’t think I’ll be satisfied with two nights.”

“That’s the deal.” Any more than that and he was in serious danger of wanting everything. He couldn’t do that to Hattie. He daren’t trust himself with her.

“But tonight you’ll do anything I want?” Her eyes were twinkling. They might only have one more night, but they were sure as hell going to enjoy every minute of it.

“Try me.”

She leaned back on the cushions they’d taken off the sofa. “Come here and kiss me.”

He didn’t need asking twice.

They made love in the firelight, taking their time to savour every moment. Afterwards, he bent over and picked her up.

“You can’t carry me up the stairs,” Hattie protested.

“Are you saying I’m a wimp?” He grinned down at her.

“I’m saying I know how heavy I am. You’ll put your back out and then neither of us will be in a fit state to drive home tomorrow.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and set her on her feet. “No romance for you, then.”

“Romance is extremely uncomfortable sometimes. I’d rather be happy.”

She was one of the happiest people he knew. He envied her talent for seeing the positive in any situation and letting the negative wash away.

“You can’t always choose to be happy.”

She turned to him and slid her arms around his waist. “Actually, you can.”

“I’m sorry about Milan.”

“I don’t mind Milan. It’s New York and Morocco that were the killer blows.”

He tucked her hair behind one ear. “It won’t be any fun, you know.”

“I know. You’ll get all serious and you won’t let anyone flirt with you.”

“I don’t want anyone to flirt with me.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Not even me?”

He cupped her cheek with his hand. “You are a special case. Hattie, what did you mean when you said I didn’t know you at all?”

She pulled away. “Just that. It’s only been a week, and for most of that time we’ve been working.”

“I know you’re scared of horses, heights and spiders. I know all about Miss Community Service. I know how you feel about your mother. I know about the abortion.”

“Right.” He’d never seen her angry like that before. Cold ice in her eyes. “You know all of those things about me, so you think you know me. But you don’t. You really don’t know me at all.”

He caught her hand. “Then tell me. Make me understand. I thought you’d be happy with a short fling on location, and then back to the city to find someone new.”

He could see her trying to control herself. Deep breaths before she could bring herself to speak to him. “I’m not going to have this conversation naked in the middle of the staircase while I’m getting goosebumps.”

She turned and stalked up the stairs to their bedroom.

She’d been sure he was different. Sexy, yes. Clever, of course. But more than that, when he’d told her she was his muse, she’d thought that meant something. She’d assumed he understood her. That there was a deeper connection.

Idiot.

He was just like all the others, assuming that she was just another good-time girl. Only interested in casual sex and an easy goodbye. Which sometimes she was. She liked sex, she liked men, she liked flirting. But that wasn’t the sum total of who she was.

That was what hurt most. She’d thought Tom was interested in more. He’d fancied her from the start, but he’d wanted more from her. As it turned out, all he wanted were the photos. Which was what he’d said all along. Her fault for reading more into it.

His fault for being a bastard about it.

She dragged clothes on at random, ignoring the stabbing pain in her shoulder. One of his t-shirts. A pair of knickers. Enough that she was covered by the time Tom appeared.

“Get dressed,” she told him.

He picked up an old pair of jeans and slid them on, buttoning the fly. He didn’t bother with a shirt.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

“And yet you did.”

“I liked you. I like you,” he corrected. “We’d finished the main shoot. We agreed on one night. It was fun. I didn’t know you were hoping for more.”

She shrugged. “Ow.”

“You need more painkillers.”

“I know.”

“Hattie, I’m sorry.”

“Fine. You’re sorry. I’m hurt. I need some painkillers.” Why did anyone think talking about things ever helped?

“Where are they?”

“No idea.” If she knew, she have taken them by now.

“Bathroom?” He went to check. “Here. Take two.”

She’d take as many as she damn well wanted. “Thanks,” she muttered ungratefully.

“Get into bed.”

“I’m going back to my bedroom.”

He set his hands on his hips. “If that’s what you want, fine. Personally, I was hoping for another round of phenomenal morning sex tomorrow.”

It was tempting. He was tempting.

But she couldn’t do it. Not now it was just sex for the sake of it. With some men that could be fun. With Tom it would be heart-breaking. And she wasn’t sure she had enough heart left to break.