by Kiki Archer
“No, this is interesting. Are they your front?”
Harriet leaned forward. “I’ll snatch them off you.”
Camila laughed before focusing on the piercing stare, quickly realising the threat was serious. Removing the glasses, she handed them over. “I’m sorry, here you go.”
“Thank you.”
Watching Harriet re-position the gold frames, Camila shrugged. “You’re beautiful without them, but obviously you’re still beautiful with them. I just mean you don’t need them, they don’t add anything.” She paused. “Do they hide something?”
“Of course not.”
“So why are you on edge?”
“It’s intrusive.”
“Says you, asking about all the sex stuff!”
“Taking someone’s glasses off is different.” Harriet looked out of the window. “But there’s no issue. Maybe it’s just my persona. Harriet Imogen Pearson’s a brand, characterised by many things, and one thing is the glasses.”
“You could just take them off?”
“I could.”
“But you don’t want to?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they are my front. But I’m not hiding behind them, I just feel empowered when I wear them.”
“Like Wonder Woman.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Camila smiled. “You don’t have to wear them when you’re with me.”
“I like them.”
“Mmm hmm.”
Harriet returned her gaze and laughed. “Don’t you start with that. Fine, maybe I do feel more confident when I wear them.”
“Because you’re the brand, and people don’t mess with the brand.”
“It’s just easier to be the ball-buster.”
“So you don’t like showing your vulnerability?”
“Does anyone?”
“It can bring you closer to a person.” Camila smiled before noticing the bright lights of the football stadium. She recognised where they were; the driver was definitely doing loops meaning Harriet could end this whenever she wanted. She took a deep breath. “Do you trust me?”
The look was puzzled. “Ummm.”
Camila continued. “Let’s try something. I know I’m pushing you, but let’s go there.”
“I like the sound of this.”
“You won’t. What I want you to do is answer these questions. First with the glasses on, and then with them off.”
Harriet laughed. “Good on you trying to push the boundaries. Let me finish this drink first then I’m with you.”
Camila watched as Harriet necked the remainder of her glass. “Okay, stay as you are with the glasses on. Now tell me. Are you happy?”
Harriet nodded. “Of course I am. Can I have a refill please?”
“Wait. Take the glasses off.”
“Let me just top myself up. You want any more?”
Camila shook her head as Harriet faffed around with the bottle.
“Cheers.”
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Glasses off.”
“Really?”
“Yes, do it.”
“Can’t I just nudge them to the end of my nose?”
“No, completely off. Come on, Harriet, this will be fun.”
Harriet laughed. “I think you and I have different definitions of fun.”
“For me then? Do it for me.”
The sigh was notable. “Okay, fine, they’re off.”
Camila smiled. “Thank you. Now look at me.” Camila waited until the piercing eyes were connected with hers. She smiled again. “Are you happy? You.”
The nod was forceful. “Yes.”
“Truly?”
“Yes,” Harriet smiled, “mostly. Oh, Camila, you’re gooooood.”
“See! Right, next one. Glasses back on. Are you a player with women?”
Harriet adjusted herself before nodding. “Yes.”
“Now, glasses off. That’s it. Look at me. Keep looking. Crikey your eyes really are beautiful, Harriet. Sorry, I was distracted for a moment there. Right. You. Are you a player with women?”
Harriet smiled. “Not really. I’m just… I’m not sure anyone gets close to the real me.”
“Because you don’t let them. You let Harriet Imogen Pearson take the lead.”
“But I am Harriet Imogen Pearson.”
“Yes, she’s a part of you, but she’s definitely your front.”
The laugh was loud. “Are you a secret psychologist?”
“No, I just see you.” Camila waited for the eyes to return. “I see you.”
Breaking the connection, Harriet put her glasses back on. “Right, my turn. Never have I ever deliberately tried to get inside someone’s mind.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m just chatting. We’re just chatting. We’re bonding. We’re getting close. It’s what people do.”
“A day after meeting?”
“You’re the one who invited me here!”
“Because you’re hot.”
Camila gasped. “That’s the only reason? Oh you meany! Thankfully I see your glasses are on so I know it’s your glasses doing the talking.” Camila lifted her drink. “And I’m not talking about the ten or so of these glasses we’ve consumed.”
Harriet shook her head. “I think we should stop. This could end up going one of two ways. But I apologise for what I said. This isn’t about you being hot.”
“Oh, well damn it.”
The laugh was genuine. “You know you are though.”
“No one has ever called me hot before so whoever’s calling it, and whatever their reason, I’m taking it and not questioning it.” Camila nodded. “I’m hot.”
“And then some.”
“You wouldn’t say that if your glasses were off, would you?”
“Let’s not go back there.” Harriet finished her drink and nodded. “Reach up and tap that window would you?”
“We’re done?”
“Like I said, this could go one of two ways.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“That wasn’t one of the ways.”
“It wasn’t? Oh.” Camila reached out and knocked loudly. “You’re right though. I might end up talking crap and embarrassing myself.”
“End up?”
“Oh you tease.” Camila knocked again. “Home, James.”
“What was that?”
“It’s what they say. In the movies. To the driver.”
“He’s called Peter.”
Camila nodded. “Pull us in, Peter.”
Harriet laughed. “And he will. Look, your cul-de-sac’s just up here. I didn’t realise we were so close.”
“Yes, you did and you didn’t want him doing another loop.” Camila squinted out of the window into the darkness, wondering if she should suggest stopping at the end of the road to avoid causing a scene, but then again Julie would have already told the whole neighbourhood about Harriet’s visit and while returning home in a limousine was rather full-on, it felt quite nice to showboat for once. She nodded. “Look. My car’s back and your car’s gone. Wait. Who’s that in my drive? Isn’t that the other chauffeur? Or is it Julie wearing another weird outfit?”
Harriet leaned forward in her seat. “No, Julie’s over there in a dressing gown.”
“Where?”
“Next to her bacon butty van and, look, police. Two of them.”
Camila unbuckled herself as the car pulled in, yanking on the door handle the second it stopped. “Are the boys okay?” she gasped, bursting out of the limo in a frenzy of panic.
“Mrs Moore?”
Camila dashed to the policeman. “Miss. It’s Miss. Miss Moore. Camila. The boys? What’s happened?”
“Is everything okay?” asked Harriet, right behind.
Camila was shaking her head. “The boys?”
“They’re fine,” snapped Julie. “The coppers think I’ve nicked her bloody car, don’t the
y?”
“We didn’t say that,” said the same policeman.
Harriet turned to the empty space where her Lamborghini had been parked. “My car?”
“So the boys are okay?” Camila was breathing deeply.
“They’re fine!” shouted Julie. “Her car’s the one that’s gone awol.”
Harriet turned to the second chauffeur. “What’s happened?”
The chauffeur shrugged. “It looks like it’s been taken.”
“Taken where?”
Julie muttered. “On a joyride probably. Bloody ridiculous leaving it here anyway.”
Harriet frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You were asking for trouble. And look at you in that limo.” Julie pulled her pink dressing gown tighter around herself. “Really, Camila.”
Harriet scanned the street. “You’ve stolen my car?”
“Don’t you start blaming me as well!”
“Your people?” Harriet turned to the small crowd that had started to form. “These people? They’ve stolen my car?”
“Ooooh these people.” Julie was mimicking.
Harriet gasped. “You’ve STOLEN my LAMBORGHINI?!”
Chapter Nineteen
Your people. That’s what Harriet had said. Your people. These people. Stepping out of the lift onto the fifth floor of the H.I.P building, Camila shook her head. Harriet hadn’t meant it the way Julie had assumed. Harriet was simply making reference to the group of people who’d inevitably started to gather to watch the scene, and while that wasn’t great, she wasn’t necessarily lumping Julie in with that bunch. Agreed, Harriet had left rather abruptly in the limousine, but wouldn’t you if your car had been stolen? And it didn’t mean she was waltzing away, never to return again, as Julie had declared; it was just late, and the evening had come to an end. Admittedly, it might have been nice for Harriet to pop in for a nightcap, but her car had been stolen, of course she’d want to get off.
Camila nodded, it was fine. Harriet would have insurance, in fact Harriet would probably have numerous cars; not that it made the crime any less important. Camila gasped. Crime. Who was she kidding? It was awful. A crime on her doorstep. What impression must Harriet have of her now? Passing Deana’s office as she continued down the corridor towards the open plan area, Camila realised she was about to find out.
“Morning, Camila,” said Deana.
Geoff raised his head from his work pod. “Morning.”
“Same from me too,” added Brett.
“Morning,” replied Camila, scanning the space from left to right. Harriet wasn’t at the pods and the soft seating in front of the screen was empty, as was the formal seating and the coffee area near the coat rack. Camila looked towards the balcony. Harriet didn’t smoke but she might be getting some air.
“All okay?” Deana was suddenly blocking her view.
“Fine, fine, yes. I’m not late, am I? Do you start earlier?” It had been extra hard hauling herself out of bed after the boozy evening, but she’d deliberately set her alarm half an hour early and stood under the shower on cold and hard for that little bit longer than was comfortable, but it cleared her head… a bit.
“It’s nine o’clock; you’re bang on schedule. Over to the sofas please everyone.”
Geoff rose from his seat at the pod. “We get in early to think of our ideas for the show and tell.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Brett. “I do my homework at home like I’m supposed to.”
“So that list I’ve just seen you frantically scribbling isn’t what you’re about to read out?”
“Of course not!”
“Can I make you a drink before we begin?” asked Deana.
Camila focused on the woman. Why was she being so nice? “A latte would be lovely, thank you.” It was good. It would give her time to think up some inventions because with all of last night’s excitement she’d totally forgotten she was actually required to do some work here.
“She doesn’t offer to make us drinks,” said Geoff with a laugh. “How much are you paying her?”
Camila tried to smile and nod as she dropped her bag at her work pod before taking her coat to the rack on the wall. She wanted to be polite but she didn’t have time to get into a conversation; she needed to think of an invention. Returning to her desk and taking her notebook from her bag, she cursed. She’d been so wrapped up in Harriet and the fun they’d been having that she hadn’t even thought to prepare anything for today. Smiling at Deana, already at her side with her drink, Camila reached for a pen and followed the group to the sofas. Hopefully Harriet would arrive soon and let her off the hook. But no, that would show favouritism and it certainly wasn’t the impression she wanted to make. Plus, Harriet might still be cross about the car and if Julie was right Harriet had also been tarring her with the “these people” brush.
“So,” said Deana, “who wants to begin?”
Camila glanced around. “Shouldn’t we wait for Harriet?”
“Harriet’s already been in this week.” Deana nodded. “Brett?”
Camila continued. “I thought she said she’d be here more often now we’re in the thick of it all?”
Brett laughed. “You begin then, Camila, seeing as we’re in the thick of it all together.”
Deana’s voice was sharp. “Brett.”
The bald man shook his head. “Sorry, I’m snappy. My ideas are crap this morning. I’ve only managed to find seven.”
Camila swallowed. She hadn’t even found one. She was good at thinking on her feet though, like the time Ethan had walked in on her and Mick making love. She’d spotted him out of the corner of her eye and loudly declared: “Silly, Mick! You’ve fallen on top of me! Can’t you get up? You’ve tried twice, try again now!” Mick, having glanced over his shoulder and cottoned on, had played along; the fact he was still fully clothed and had indeed flopped into position before pushing up and down a couple of times made the ruse rather believable.
“A device that alerts parents to children entering their bedroom,” said Camila, opening her notebook and pretending to read.
“Wouldn’t you just see them or hear them?” asked Brett.
Geoff shrugged. “Not if you were asleep.”
“Surely they’d come over and shake you on the shoulder.” Brett was frowning.
“You’re meaning when parents are having adult time, right, Camila?”
Camila looked at Deana who was nodding supportively. Why was she being so nice this morning? “Yes.”
Brett huffed. “It could work for burglars as well I guess. They’ve disarmed the main alarm but you have a laser beam across your bedroom door.”
“Battery powered,” added Geoff, “avoiding the faff of hooking it up to the electrics.”
“And portable,” said Deana, “so you could move it into different rooms.”
Brett winked. “Wherever the moods takes you, is it, Deana?”
“But a bloke’s not going to bother about it.” Geoff was shaking his head. “In the heat of the moment the last thing he’s going to think is: oooh, I must get my portable laser beam out and stick it to the doorway.”
Brett laughed. “Ai ai.”
“Women would,” said Camila. “Especially women with young children.”
Deana smiled. “Good start, Camila, well done, we’ll look into that one.”
“Shame Harriet’s not around to hear it,” said Brett.
Camila noticed the tone. “I actually think she’s due in.” There was no need to play one-upmanship, but Brett had been sniping and Harriet had said she’d be in today. She’d be in wearing her red heels. Her red stilettos. Camila smiled to herself. Wearing them would be their secret sign. Their in-joke. Something only she and Harriet were privy to.
Deana spoke loudly. “I spoke to Harriet last night; she won’t be in until we film again next week.”
Deana’s statement snapped Camila out of her daydream. “What?”
“Geoff, let’s have your first one.”
Camila continued. “Harriet won’t be in until next week? I’m sure she will. She said—”
“I spoke to her last night, sweetie.”
Camila looked at the hand that had reached out for her knee. Sweetie? Deana was only a couple of years older than she was and while her tone wasn’t condescending, her “sweetie” word choice and action were. Camila suddenly got it. Deana felt sorry for her, that’s why she was being so nice. “You spoke to her last night?”
“We need to move on. Geoff?”
Unable to focus on Geoff’s rambling idea, Camila stared down at her notebook. Harriet and Deana had spoken last night? It must have been after their evening out as Harriet hadn’t taken any calls; in fact, both of their phones had stayed out of sight all evening. So was Deana Harriet’s go-to gossip woman? Or her go-to drama woman? Or the woman she turned to in a crisis? Either way, Harriet had chosen to speak to Deana and now Deana was more in the know than she was. Camila stopped herself. Deana was Harriet’s second-in-command, of course they spoke all the time, and Harriet’s absence was probably something to do with one of the other businesses. Camila suddenly had an idea. She knew how to flush out the truth.
Waiting for Geoff to finish his spiel about shoes with soles that adjusted to different surfaces, Camila spoke up. “What about a car alarm that actually works for once?”
She watched carefully. Deana reached for her mug, clearly trying to hide her smirk as she took a sip of her drink, Geoff outright laughed and Brett muttered something under his breath.
“Pardon?” said Camila.
“Apt,” said Brett, more audibly.
Feeling her cheeks flare, Camila looked away. They knew. They all knew. Each and every one of them.
Chapter Twenty
Curling herself even tighter into her work pod, Camila glanced around. The head-height screen separating her space from Deana’s was mottled like bathroom glass, clear enough to let the light through, but private enough to protect your modesty… and while Camila wasn’t planning on stripping off, she was baring her soul on her computer screen. She continued to type. It hadn’t dawned on her that she didn’t have Harriet’s number. She’d planned on sending a simple text, apologising once more for last night, before nonchalantly asking when Harriet would next be around, because as far as Deana was concerned it wouldn’t be until next week, but Deana didn’t know they’d rearranged iFly for this weekend. Harriet had promised.
