Lying for the Camera: chapter 7

He insisted on driving her back to London, despite the train ticket she waved at him. She had a large suitcase and several smaller bags, and there was no way she could carry it all with her shoulder. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so awkward. Ever since he’d met Hattie, she’d barely stopped talking. He liked her when she was blunt, open and disquieting in her honesty. He didn’t much care for the silent companion in the passenger seat as they travelled along the M6.

“Is your shoulder still hurting? Do you need more painkillers?” he asked, with a quick glance across at her.

“It’s fine.” She turned to study the passing countryside.

“We can stop in about half an hour or so. Stretch our legs. Have something to eat.”

No reply.

Tom sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I obviously misjudged the situation. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Something has, and I don’t see any other likely candidates.”

Hattie shook her head but didn’t turn her face towards him. “I’m not upset. I’m angry.”

His fingers clutched the steering wheel. “Angry. Right. Well, you’d better let it out because I’m not having you stewing next to me all the way home.”

Silence. For pete’s sake, what did it take to get the woman to talk? He took one hand off the wheel and poked her thigh. She wiggled away, so he did it again. And then he slipped his hand inside her shirt and began to tickle her. Hattie squirmed and gasped, and finally a reluctant laugh escaped her.

“Don’t do that.”

He kept up his minor torture. “Tell me what’s up.”

She slapped his hand away. “Fine. Just remember, you wanted to hear it.”

“I’ll remember.”

He manouvred the car around a slow-moving lorry and back into the inside lane. “Whenever you’re ready,” he prompted.

“I’m just deciding where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

“Ha ha. You already know the beginning.”

“Help me out a little.”

“You know I fancied you from the start.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I had my suspicions.” He glanced over to see her rolling her eyes at him. Still she looked happier than she had all morning.

“Should I call you Inspector Morse?”

“I prefer Sherlock Holmes. Though admittedly, even Dr. Watson might have worked that one out. Subtlety isn’t your greatest strength, Hattie.”

“I’ve never seen the point of subtlety.”

“I’ll show you sometime.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Clearly there wasn’t going to be a sometime. He’d thought Hattie might be the kind of woman to stay friends with, but it didn’t look like that was going to work out.

“Right. So, I fancied you and you fancied me, but you were all about keeping a professional distance. Which made it more fun to chase you.”

He tried to stop the grin which sprang to his lips. “I noticed that, too.”

“And then you told me about Lianne, and why it wasn’t just about professional distance. And we had sex.”

“We had fabulous sex.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Just checking you had all your facts straight.”

“So then I began to think maybe it might be more. You’d told me stuff you obviously don’t tell many people. I’d told you about some of the things I’m not proud of, too. And the sex was fabulous. So it felt like… I don’t know, more.”

“More.”

“More like a relationship than a one night stand.”

“Oh. I see.”

“You know there’s a bit in Jane Austen where she says how women’s minds jump from admiration to love and love to matrimony in an instant. She’s not altogether wrong.”

He blinked. Forced himself to focus on the road again. “You were expecting a proposal?”

Hattie let out a laugh. “No. Not yet. But I’d begun to wonder. To imagine. You know, if it worked out, what would it be like.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“No, why should you? You’re a guy. A guy with commitment issues. I said I wasn’t angry with you.”

“Then who?”

“Me, you idiot. For letting myself believe the dreams. For being disappointed they weren’t going to become a reality. It’s fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. Back to the office on Monday and you’ll be in Milan with all the pretty girls.”

He changed lane again and signalled for the exit to the service station. “They’re not pretty girls, Hattie. They’re sulky teenagers. You know that.”

“Whatever. Your life does not suck.”

He pulled up in the car park and switched the engine off. “Neither does yours.”

She shook her head. “How would you know?”

“Hey, you just spent a week being shot by a world famous photographer. That’s your dream, right?”

He got out of the car and waited for Hattie, who emerged, smiling despite herself. “Right. That was pretty awesome, actually.”

“And once you get your new portfolio together, your career is going to skyrocket.”

He’d chosen to stop at a privately owned service station with a farm shop and a half-decent restaurant. There was already a queue forming at the cafeteria.

“Do you really think I have a chance?”

Her vulnerability was a surprise. She’d always shown herself to have massive self-confidence. “You know you do.”

She loaded her plate with lasagne and garlic bread. Tom had the same, with a salad.

“I’m trying to be sensible about things. Dreaming hasn’t got me anywhere good.”

“It got you here. If you hadn’t been a dreamer, you’d never have come to my audition,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but I still haven’t decided if that’s a good thing or not.” She grinned at him and he automatically returned her smile. It was good to have her laughing at life again.

“The exhibition might flop.” His stomach did a little flip as he considered that possibility. The fear he’d felt had more or less vanished during the last few days but now, on his way back to the city, it came rushing headlong back in to his mind.

Hattie pursed her lips. “It might. Art critics aren’t known for their rational ability to make judgments.”

Oh God, she was right. It was going to be a disaster.

“On the other hand…” She pointed her fork at him. “You’re a genius behind a camera and any sane person will see it as soon as they step into that gallery.”

“Do you really think so?” And why did her opinion matter so much to him? It wasn’t as though Hattie was an expert on the art world. How would she know if his work was up to scrutiny?

She took another forkful of lasagne. “Of course. And if they don’t see your genius, at least they’ll see my tits. That’s sure to impress them.”

He burst out laughing. “They are very impressive.”

She grinned back at him. “I know.”

His smile faded. He pushed his empty plate away from him and shook his head. “God, Hattie, I’m terrified of it. What if they all see straight through me? It’ll make me a laughing stock. Pretensions beyond my ability.”

“So what if they hate it?” She spread her hands wide. “It won’t be the end of the world.”

“It feels like it will.”

“Now who’s being melodramatic? You’ll still have a great career, and you’ll have given the other thing your best shot.”

He picked up his fork and began to scratch patterns in the sauce left on his plate. “I’ll have failed.”

“Depends what your goal is. If it’s to be adored by the rest of the world, then yes, you’ll have failed. But that’s a stupid goal. You can’t control what other people think, and even if they like you today, they might have forgotten you entirely by the end of the week.”

She picked up the last piece of garlic bread and bit into it enthusiastically.

“That’s not my goal,” he protested.

“Well, good. So what is your goal?”

“To make good art that other people appreciate.”

“No good.” She waved the bread at him. “You’re still focussing on other people.”

“Other people matter.”

“Not as much as you’d think.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Not like that.” She winked at him. “Other people matter individually. But not when you’re thinking about your work. You have to do what you’re proud of and not worry what anyone else says. That’s all that counts.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

She shrugged. “Not really. Like this week, I wasn’t worrying about anyone who’ll see the pictures of me at the exhibition. I’m sure there’ll be some who will just dismiss me as any old fat woman. And some who won’t like the look of me for other reasons. But I’m proud of what I did, and that’s all that counts.”

“Don’t my opinions count?”

She gave him a speculative look. “A bit, I suppose.”

“What if I’d been disappointed with the shots?”

“Then I’d have told you to stop being a pretentious prat.”

“Oh, Hattie… I wish you were coming to Milan.” What? What? He didn’t mean that. He definitely hadn’t meant to say it. But it was true. He was going to miss her. A lot. There wouldn’t be anyone in Milan half as much fun as she was, in or out of bed. And no one who would dare call him a pretentious prat.

Right now she looked as though she had a much worse epithet in mind. Those were genuine daggers in her eyes.

“What the hell? You were the one who was all ‘one last night’. And now you want me in Milan?”

“I didn’t mean it…”

She cut him off as she pushed her chair back and stood up. “No, I don’t suppose you did. I’m not sure what you mean half the time, but perhaps when you’ve made your mind up, you’ll let me know?”

“I just thought we were friends.”

“Friends who have phenomenal sex and tell each other their most shameful secrets? Yeah, right.”

“Damn it, Hattie, that’s not what I…”

“I’m going to the toilet. And then you can drive me back to London. And if you’re very lucky, I won’t tell you exactly what I think of you at the moment.”

“I’m sorry.”

He was waiting by the car. Hattie gave him a brief nod and went to get in her side. Tom climbed in next to her but didn’t start the engine.

“I’m not normally so insensitive.”

“Lucky me.”

“Look, I’ve got a suggestion for you. You know I’m away for the next two weeks.”

“You did mention it, yes.”

“If I call you when I’m back in London, will you come out for dinner with me?”

That was it? He really thought she was a pushover, didn’t he?

She looked at him and saw the tension in his jaw and the fear in his eyes. No, this wasn’t what he thought of her. It was all about Lianne and his own hangups.

“I was hoping for more than just dinner.”

“Dinner and a play? Musical? Sing-a-long Sound of Music?”

She laughed. “Will you be the Mother Superior?”

“If you’ll be the Nazi guard.” His eyes were twinkling again and she was glad to be the cause of it.

“Dinner, a musical, and sex. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

He took a deep breath. “We’ve got a deal.”

Four and a half hours later, Tom parked his car expertly in a spot Hattie hadn’t thought was big enough. He carried her suitcase up to her flat and made sure she hadn’t left any random possessions in his car.

“Keys?”

“Check.”

“Purse?”

“Check.”

“Phone?”

“Check.”

“Lacy underwear?”

She peered down her t-shirt. “Check.”

“You’ll be careful with that shoulder?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Fine. Then I guess I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“I guess so.”

He leaned forward awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to aim for cheek or lips. Hattie took his face firmly in her hands and kissed him thoroughly on the mouth.

“So you don’t forget,” she explained. “Friends don’t kiss like that.”

“No. Right. Good.”

“Have fun in Milan.”

“And New York.”

“And Morocco. But then you’d better come back to London and sweep me off my feet, or there’ll be trouble.”

“Got it.” He slid his hand into her hair and bent his head to take another kiss. “That one’s so you don’t forget. I might be an idiot most of the time, but I like you, Hattie Bell. I like you a lot.”

She watched him disappear down the stairs before retreating into her flat. Small, untidy, and with a faint smell of something that probably should have been thrown out before she went away for the week, it felt like the loneliest place in the world. Hattie grabbed a bottle of wine and her emergency stash of chocolate. She was going to need some serious cheering up over the next two weeks.