Lying for the Camera: chapter eight

Chapter Eight

He called her from Milan. Twice. Then New York and Morocco. Brief conversations that left her wanting more and plotting her tactics for his return. She had big plans for Tom Metcalfe on his return.

He’d emailed the portfolio pictures and, which she hadn’t expected, arranged for a printed set to be delivered to her. She took the box from the courier and opened it up to find a simple black file with her name stuck to the front. Professional but not ostentatious.

The pictures inside were nothing like her old portfolio. Hattie stared in wonder at the woman Tom had seen and shot. She didn’t look like she was pretending to be a model. She looked like herself, only a million times better.

There was a note tucked inside. “Feel free to rearrange them. Keep the smile on top.”

She remembered him taking that shot of her during their picnic. She’d been looking up to the sky, following the cloudy tracks of a plane. He’d spoken her name and she’d turned to him, and smiled. And he’d captured the moment forever.

It felt almost too personal, too precious, to use as a selling card for hawking herself to model agencies. But Tom had told her to keep it on top so that it was the first picture they saw and she knew he was right. It was an arresting image, memorable and familiar. There were a thousand products it could sell.

Two days later, she got an email inviting her to bring her portfolio to an agency she’d never heard of before. She checked with Tom and he told her it was the one his contact had recommended. They supplied all the major advertising and PR companies with models. If she got herself on their books, then all sorts of opportunities could open up.

Hattie booked a day off work, got up ludicrously early in the morning to sort out her hair and make up, and work out what to wear. In the end, she opted for the same outfit she’d worn to the picnic – jeans and a checked shirt. If nothing else, it would confirm that she was really the woman in the photos.

She picked up a coffee and walked to the bus stop. Her phone buzzed to announce a text message.



You’ll wow them. xx

She smiled and sent one back.



I know.

His reply came after she’d got on the bus and squeezed onto a seat.



Don’t flirt with anyone.

She laughed.



But how else will I get the job?

He was slow to answer and she’d all but finished her coffee by the time the phone buzzed again.



I don’t want to know.

She could imagine the wry grin as he’d seen her response and the shake of his head while he typed his own. He was so cute when he was pretending to be outraged by her.



Nearly at the office now. Talk to you later.

It was only a couple of minutes from the bus stop. Hattie took a moment to check her appearance and redo her lipstick. She arrived promptly at nine o’clock and walked over to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Andy. He’s expecting me.”

A dark-haired girl who couldn’t have been more than nineteen looked her up and down, rolled her eyes, then swivelled her chair back to her monitor.

“Name?”

“Hattie Bell.”

“All right.”

Without another glance at Hattie, the receptionist started flicking through the pile of mail on her desk.

“So, where should I go?” Hattie bit back her exasperation.

The girl looked up in surprise that Hattie was still there. “Second floor. Lift’s behind you.”

“Great. Thanks so much for all your help.” She was reasonably sure that her sarcasm had gone straight over the receptionist’s head.

“No worries.”

Hattie stepped out of the lift into an open-plan office. Unlike the foyer, the second floor was full of people and activity.

“Hattie?” A bald, slightly plump, middle-aged man came forward to greet her.

“Hello. Are you Andy?” Smile, shake hands, don’t blurt out your life story all at once.

“Andy Mitchell. Pleased to meet you. Tom’s told me all about you.”

“He has?” What on earth had he said?

Andy smiled pleasantly. “All good, I promise.”

“I brought my portfolio.” She handed over the black file and surreptitiously wiped her clammy hands on her skirt.

“Fine. Coffee?”

“No, thanks, I just had…”

“Jason!” Andy cut her off. “Bring a pot of coffee over to the interview room.”

A young man in an astonishingly orange sweater nodded and disappeared.

“Experience?” Andy guided her past a series of huge display boards.

“Oh, um. Some. I worked for Tom a bit. And life-modelling.” It wasn’t much, she knew that.

“No issues with nudity, then?”

“No.”

“Even blown up to ten times lifesize on a billboard?”

He showed her into a small room with a couple of soft chairs and a drooping pot plant.

“My mother would have ten fits, but no, I wouldn’t mind being naked on a billboard.”

“Good. Acting work?”

“None.” She bit her lip. He wasn’t asking about her role as third shepherd in the school nativity play. She was determined to be professional. This could be her big chance and she was not going to blow it.

“Honest. I like that. Most of what we deal with are stills, anyway.”

His face gave nothing away as he flicked through the photos. He paused once or twice but she couldn’t tell if that was good or bad. He finally looked up when Jason brought the coffee in.

“None for me, thanks,” she said when he indicated she should take a cup. More caffeine would be disastrous at this stage.

“More for me.” He smiled again. “What’s your availability like?”

She pushed her sweaty hands down her jeans again. “I work in an office. But I could easily get temp work if I needed to be more flexible.”

“Live in London?”

Hattie nodded.

“Good. Tell Jenna to get your details. You’ll need to send us copies of the portfolio.”

He stood up and she followed suit. “You’re taking me on?” Did that sound desperate? Was it okay to be desperate?

“Can’t guarantee any work.”

“I understand.” He was letting her down gently.

“But I think you’ll be easy to place. Very commercial.”

“Right. Good.” That was a yes, right? Definitely a yes.

“Tom said you were a dream to work with. He’s got a reputation for being tough on his models.”

“I dislocated my collar bone.”

Andy laughed. “I hope he paid you danger money.”

She shrugged. “He kissed it better.”

His eyes narrowed with interest. “Did he now?”

“Does it matter?” Oh, God, she’d really blown it now. He’d think she rolled into bed with every photographer.

He shook his head. “No. Not if you’re as good as I think you’re going to be.”

Hattie let out a long breath. That was definitely a yes. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

She wrangled the contact form out of the receptionist, filled in her information and made sure that the girl didn’t put it underneath a huge pile of papers marked for recycling.

As soon as she was out on the street, she texted Tom.



Wowed them.

He wrote back almost immediately.



That was quick. They must really like you.



Well, duh.

She grinned at a passing stranger. Everything had gone brilliantly. Better still, it was only ten o’clock, she had the rest of the day off work and there were shoes to be bought and dresses to try on. She needed something truly spectacular to wear for Tom’s exhibition.

The Morocco shoot was dull. Tom had no idea how a country so full of vibrant light and colours could become so tedious when peopled with half-naked skinny teenagers. The magazine’s fashion editor had brought clothes in neutral tones and told Tom to make them shimmer against the north African skies.

He’d had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at her and remind himself that this was the work that paid the bills. The exhibition, on the other hand, might not make a penny. In fact, it could end up costing him a fortune.

So he set up the shots she wanted, manoeuvred the models into position and found ways to make them come alive for the camera. But at the end of the day, he was glad to return to the souk and phone Hattie.

“Hey,” he said, when she answered at the second ring.

“Hi. I’m just in the middle of making dinner, but I can talk while I’m stirring.”

He could picture her in the chaotic flat, searching for a wooden spoon and testing the food while it cooked.

“What are you making?”

“Just spag bol.”

“Sounds delicious. I have to go out later and eat forty kinds of couscous.”

She laughed. “It’s a tough job. How was your day?”

“Boring. How was yours?”

“Brilliant. I’m going to be a huge success. Andy said so.”

He kicked his shoes off and lay back on the bed among the piles of embroidered silk cushions. “What did he actually say?”

She huffed. “He said I was very commercial and I should be easy to place.”

“Great.”

“He also said you’d told him I was a dream to work with.”

Tom smiled at the phone. “I never said any such thing.”

“Liar. Anyway, he believed you and he’s going to make me a star. So, thanks.”

“Hattie…” He hated the way she always built such vast, ornate castles in the air with only the flimsiest of foundations. She’d end up being disappointed and he didn’t want that.

“No, don’t say it. Just let me have one evening to enjoy the dream.”

He sighed. “Fine. But…”

“No buts. For once in my life everything’s worked out. I found an incredible dress to wear at your exhibition opening, by the way. Just wait until you see it. You won’t know what to say.”

“Surprise me.”

“I’ll try. I’m not good with keeping secrets.”

“It’s only a dress.”

“You won’t say that when you’ve seen it.”

“I’ve made dinner reservations for Saturday.”

“Somewhere good?”

“Depends what you mean by good. Do you want paparazzi and celebrities, or enough food to eat?”

“Tough choice but I’ll take the food this time.”

“That’s what I thought. You’ll love it.”

“Tom.” He heard a clatter in the background, then silence.

“What’s up?”

“I’m scared.”

He sat up slowly. Hattie was never scared. “What of?”

“You know this is it. What I’ve always wanted. This really could be it for me. My one chance.” She paused and he waited for her to continue. “I’m utterly terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he told her. “Hattie, you know you’re not. You’re incredible in front of a camera. That portfolio blew me away and it clearly had the same effect on Andy.”

“What if I fall down the stairs and break my leg tomorrow?”

“Then you’ll go and get crutches and phone Andy to put things on hold for a couple of months. Seriously, Hattie. Nothing’s going to screw this up for you now. Not unless you develop some hideous skin disease, or get pregnant or something.”

Silence. He almost thought she’d been cut off, but then he heard her breath catch.

“Hattie?”

“Say that again.”

“Nothing’s going to screw this up for you now.”

“Unless I get pregnant.” He’d never heard her voice so shaky.

“Hattie? Hattie, what’s going on?”

“We didn’t use a condom.”

“You’re on the pill. Hattie, dammit, you told me you were on the pill.”

He ran a hand over his face. This wasn’t happening. She was being irrational.

“I was. I am.”

“Then you can’t be pregnant.”

“I can’t remember when my last period was.”

“Go and get your diary. Now, Hattie.”

He heard the sounds of the phone being dropped. A few moments later, she was back on the line.

“It was before the photoshoot.”

“And that started two and a half weeks ago. How long before?”

“Um…” Pages were being turned. “I think… oh, God, three weeks.”

Tom closed his eyes and grimaced. “Five and a half weeks in total.”

“Yes, I think… yes.”

“Hattie, is your dinner still on the hob?”

“What?”

“Turn it off before you burn your house down.”

“Okay.”

He gave her time to do it, and tried to get himself under control.

He spoke as calmly as he could manage. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Put a coat on, and go to your nearest chemist. Buy three pregnancy test kits and bring them home. Do it now, Hattie.”

“Tom?”

“I’ll ring you back in half an hour. You can do the test then.”

The phone went dead. He dropped back onto the bed and pressed his hands to his face. It couldn’t be happening. It would be okay. A false alarm. Stress, maybe. Or some hormonal imbalance. Women missed periods all the time.

He shook his head. He had to face the reality. Hattie was pregnant.

She’d do the test, the stick would turn blue and then there would be no escaping it.