Strange Allure

by Susan Lewis

  ‘So how was your Christmas?’ Rosa asked Carla.

  ‘Great. How was yours?’ Carla answered, lifting her face to the fan.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ Rosa shrugged. ‘New Year was better. What did you do?’

  ‘We were in Somerset,’ Carla replied.

  ‘Oh.’ Then, when no-one asked her, Rosa said, ‘I went to a party at Chrissie and Richard’s. There were only a dozen of us, and it was a bit, you know, but it was OK.’

  Though Carla’s expression didn’t change, she was suddenly very tense inside and her heartbeat had noticeably altered.

  Avril said smoothly, ‘So you’re still friendly with Chrissie, despite knowing she refused to cast you?’

  Rosa’s nostrils flared. ‘I don’t know if friendly’s the word,’ she responded haughtily. ‘It’s hard to be anything with someone who’s in the kind of state she’s in.’

  Carla desperately didn’t want to have this conversation, but for the moment seemed unable to steer herself out of it as Rosa continued with, ‘She’s so screwed up, I mean like seriously so. I really thought she was going to lose it altogether, not so long ago. Everyone did.’ She shrugged. ‘I have to admit she seems a bit better lately, but it makes you wonder how Richard puts up with it.’

  Avril’s and Carla’s eyes met.

  ‘I can’t make the man out at all,’ Rosa blundered on. ‘I mean, on the one hand he’s all over her, won’t let her out of his sight, you know like he really, genuinely cares about her, and on the other, he’s having affairs with at least three other women.’

  Carla’s heart stopped, as the blood drained from her face.

  Avril said, ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Jilly knows someone who knows one of them,’ Rosa answered. ‘She’s an associate producer, or some kind of editor I think, at the Beeb. Then there’s some waitress or other at the Groucho Club, and apparently he’s still seeing that air stewardess he’s been with for years. What is the man like, I ask you? But, hell, you know him better than most,’ she said to Carla. ‘I’ll bet you’re glad you’re shot of him now. I know I would be.’

  Carla’s voice wasn’t quite steady as she said, ‘Rosa, just take your gossip somewhere else, OK?’ Though she smiled there was no mistaking the chill in her tone.

  Rosa’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Oh God, I thought you were over him by now. I mean, with the way things are between you and John …’

  Carla’s anger flared. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she demanded. ‘There’s nothing between me and John, and if you’re spreading it about the unit that there is … Jesus Christ, I see what Chrissie meant now about how disruptive you are. You’re a menace, Rosa. Now just go.’

  Rosa was on her feet. ‘Carla, I’m really sorry,’ she said earnestly. ‘I didn’t mean any offence …’

  ‘On your way,’ Avril interrupted.

  Rosa had barely left before Hugo’s gangly frame flopped into the empty chair, and as he began talking about the shoot Frazer joined them too, then Kit returned with Phoebe and Yale, and before long John arrived, having swapped his Arab attire for khaki shorts and a white Ralph Lauren polo shirt, his hair still wet from the shower.

  ‘OK, who’s having what?’ he demanded. ‘Fraze, you can get them, and put them on your room. I don’t want the producer on my case over a giant bar bill, she terrifies me witless as it is.’

  As he looked at her, Carla felt the knots starting to loosen inside her, and a renewed warmth returning to her smile. ‘Not quite so dashing,’ she told him, meaning his clothes.

  ‘But still utterly ravishing,’ Phoebe finished.

  His eyes remained on Carla’s, as though she, not Phoebe, had spoken.

  To break the moment Carla said, ‘What are you going to drink?’

  Pulling up a chair to sit between Kit and Yale, he said, ‘I’ll have one of those Kilimanjaro beers.’

  After taking everyone else’s order, Frazer transferred it all to a barman, then came back to join in the increasingly raucous exchange that was going on now that John was there. As the director, his presence seemed to sharpen everyone’s wits and created such an eagerness to impress that the entire proceedings were heading fast towards the outrageous. Though she joined in from time to time, Carla was content to admire the way he handled himself, and the crew, with such guilelessness and humour. He was such an easy man to like, and seemed so unaffected by his looks and fame, that no-one ever had a problem relaxing with him – if anything, they all appeared so remarkably stress-free that they might have been on holiday, rather than in the grip of a punishing schedule.

  As she watched him, listening and laughing, she began wondering about the man behind the charisma, since no-one’s life escaped the vagaries of fate, and as untroubled, even blessed, as he appeared, she didn’t imagine that heartache and pain were unknown to him, for the simple reason they were strangers to no-one. But whatever his particular difficulties had been, or even were, he certainly didn’t wear them on his sleeve, nor did he exhibit any signs of the bitterness or cynicism that so often settled over the scars of emotional wounds. He was simply there, in the thick of whatever was going on around him, with that wonderful gift of making everyone feel special, or incisive, or accomplished, or just plain entertaining. And she knew how heady a feeling it was to make him laugh, for she’d done it plenty of times herself, though probably not as often as he’d done it to her. It suddenly struck her how rarely Richard had made her laugh. They’d done so many other things together, but the kind of laughter and lightheartedness she experienced with John hadn’t been a part of what she’d known with Richard. He was much more serious and cerebral, deeply into the pathos of life’s recondite meanings, and the mind’s unfathomable depths of knowledge and understanding. All of which made him extremely stimulating, and in many ways amusing, but he was never fun, the way John was fun, nor did he ever exhibit the same kind of interest in others, unless they were French and dead.

  Realizing her criticism was a way of punishing him for what Rosa had said, she let the thoughts go and returned her mind entirely to John, who she knew was aware of her scrutiny. He winked at her, and as she smiled she felt an almost overwhelming affection for the way he flirted and fooled with her, and invariably stopped her taking herself so seriously. How much easier life seemed when he was around, she reflected, and what a gift it was to make someone feel that way. Even when they went into dinner, and began discussing the conference she and Avril had just come from, he made it all seem so exciting and achievable that her eagerness to get started on their new interactive project was only surpassed by her need, at that moment, to sleep.

  Finally leaving him to go and join the others, she and Avril meandered back through the lamplit gardens to their rooms, too jet-lagged to hang on any longer. Though they talked, idly, neither of them mentioned Rosa, or what had been said earlier. It was as if, by unspoken agreement, they would treat it as the unfounded gossip it probably was, though Avril knew she was much more inclined to believe it than not. However, she wouldn’t mention that to Carla, for there was no point spoiling what was promising to be an extremely enjoyable shoot.

  The following morning the crew left at six to make an early start filming the town. Though a few were starting to fall victim to the African diet already, their absence from the unit wasn’t going to prove disastrous, though what they’d do if John or one of the main cast went down certainly would prove a problem. Already the temperature was soaring into the nineties as the Land Cruisers rolled out of the hotel’s courtyard, heading for a complicated day, with a lot of crucial sequences to get through, and no doubt plenty of interested crowds to keep quiet and out of shot. Jaffah had hired some local men to help with the security, and apparently a few government officials were promising to show up too, to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.

  Carla didn’t join the unit until lunch time, staying behind with Avril to watch rushes and discuss what
they should do with Gus Ringborne, the freelance reporter, due to fly in later. Avril’s London team had booked him to cover the shoot, while Jaffah had organized a photographer locally, who was already out there taking stills of the action.

  Finally ready to leave, Carla picked up her hat, heavy bag and sunglasses, and trotted downstairs to where Avril was preparing to go and meet Gus at the airport. They’d already agreed that Masud would take her, while one of the unit cars was on its way to get Carla.

  Reaching the bottom of the steps and hearing Avril still banging about inside her room, Carla paused to gaze out at the ocean that was shimmering white beneath a hot, milky sky, and inhaled deeply of the wonderful fragrances that wafted through the tropical gardens. An unexpected flutter of happiness stole through her, and the soothing warmth and light seemed to stir anew the feelings of anticipation and excitement she’d awoken with earlier. Avril was right, it really was doing her good to be here, for not only did the low grey skies and wintry darkness of England seem a whole world away, so too did the confusion of her relationship with Richard. It surprised her that Rosa’s rumour-mongering last night hadn’t had more of an effect, but once past the initial shock and anger she’d found herself unwilling even to think of him, which was why she hadn’t checked that particular email address since arriving, nor would she for a while. She’d decided that this trip wasn’t about him, nor his time here with Chrissie, it was only about her, and the programme, and, she had to admit it, the thrill of being around John.

  Hearing the clop of Avril’s mules she turned to ask what time she expected to be back, but got stuck on a gasp of laughter.

  ‘What?’ Avril asked.

  ‘You’re going like that?’ Carla cried.

  Avril looked down at the yellow T-shirt and cotton wraparound skirt she was wearing. ‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded. But her eyes were sparkling with mischief, for the wide slash across the front of her T-shirt more than amply revealed the tops of her breasts. ‘The plane’s not due in for hours,’ she said, slipping a sheer cotton shirt on over the T-shirt and fastening a few buttons, ‘so I’ve agreed to go and get some shots of the bay John was talking about last night, and hopefully the dolphins too.’

  With an undisguised wryness Carla made no further comment, simply followed her through the gardens and out to the front of the hotel where they found Masud looking more arresting than ever, in a long white tunic which was buttoned up to the neck, white cotton trousers and expensive leather sandals. He was chatting with the driver who’d come for Carla, but the moment he saw Avril his astute brown eyes were entirely on her.

  ‘Incidentally, what kind of camera are you using?’ Carla enquired, taking out her mobile as it started to ring. ‘Stills or video?’

  ‘Both,’ Avril responded.

  Grinning, Carla answered the call, while Avril attempted to tell Masud that she had to pop into the production office to pick up the cameras.

  ‘Oh, hi John, how are you?’ Carla said on hearing his voice. ‘How’s it all going?’

  ‘Slowly. The heat’s hard to deal with. When can we expect you?’

  ‘I’m on my way now.’ Handing her bag to the driver, she slipped into the back seat, and gave Avril a wave as the car began moving off down the drive. ‘Where exactly are you?’ she asked John.

  ‘The old slave market. We finished outside Tippu-Tip’s house about an hour ago. They’re setting up the whipping post at the moment. It’s pretty grim, and I think we should cut it.’

  Carla thought about it, and quickly came to the conclusion he was right, for the inhuman practice of tying a man to a post and whipping him half to death – or even right to death – in order to test his strength, was indeed too horrific a part of the island’s history to be re-enacted for the purposes of There and Beyond. ‘OK, drop it,’ she said. ‘I’ll take a look at the script and have it reworked by the time I get there.’

  There was a pause before he said, ‘Did you manage to see the rushes?’

  ‘It’s what I’ve been doing most of the morning. We’ll talk when I get there.’

  His smile was audible. ‘That sounds ominous,’ he responded.

  She smiled too. ‘I’m sure you know what I think,’ she said.

  ‘Reading your mind is a skill I haven’t yet acquired,’ he replied.

  ‘Then maybe I should feel thankful for that,’ she answered, and after hearing him laugh she rang off.

  It took a little less than an hour for Masud to drive Avril to the south coast fishing village of Kizimkazi. They were met on the beach by an agile young boatman, who cheerily handed her into his vessel and sped her out into the bay where at least a dozen bottle-nosed dolphins were putting on quite a show for a small boatload of tourists who were already there. Using both cameras Avril easily and expertly captured the kind of shots even a wildlife programme would applaud, and was so entranced by the dolphins’ performance that she stayed watching much longer than she needed, for the massive, graceful creatures with their silvery smooth flesh and happy smiles were hard to tear herself away from. Eventually, however, she signalled to the boatman to take her back to shore, where Masud was waiting to drive her on to the coastal spot John had circled on the map. Apparently it was a deserted bay with the kind of pristine beach and clear blue ocean views he needed for a special-effects sequence.

  As they drove away, heading out of the village and along a badly pitted and rocky coast road, Avril casually shrugged off her over-shirt, and threw it onto the back seat. After a while she turned to look at Masud’s imposingly regal profile, and gave him a quick smile as he glanced her way. For a long, anticipatory moment she allowed her eyes to linger on the hand he had resting on the gearstick, then feeling a deep, slow burn spreading all the way through her, she stretched out her limbs, before turning to gaze out of the window.

  A while later the Cruiser turned off the road, and began a more cautious drive along a much narrower track that led finally to the bay. It was indeed breathtaking, and, seizing both cameras, Avril climbed out of the car to begin a series of wide shots to capture the backward curl of the spray as it was flung from the coral rocks. Then, repositioning herself, and refocusing the lens, she recorded close-ups of the foaming surf rolling on to the sand. There were no stills required for this location, so the film she loaded into the Nikon, after returning the DVD to the car, was her own, to take shots of whatever she wished. When the camera was ready she raised her eyes to Masud, who was still in the driver’s seat, watching her every move.

  Smiling, she turned away, and, with her back to the car, began taking random shots of the spectacular sun-drenched beach with its small clusters of orange and pink rock and impossibly fine sand. After a while she glanced back over her shoulder, then held the camera out to Masud, asking him to take some pictures of her. Obediently he stepped down from the car, and, taking the camera, remained standing on the grassy bank as she descended the gently sloping beach towards the waves.

  The first shots he took were of her standing in the surf, hair and skirt blowing in the breeze, wicked abandon shining in her eyes. Then, after beckoning for him to come closer, she began striking a series of sultry and outrageous poses, until finally she tugged down the hem of her T-shirt so that her breasts were fully revealed through the gash. His only response was to carry on clicking, as though he did this every day of his life, and even drop to one knee as she removed her skirt to expose her nakedness beneath, then sat down in the waves, legs slightly apart, to allow the flowing water to soothe her burning flesh.

  When the film was used up she walked towards him, carrying her T-shirt and skirt, and keeping her eyes on his as he lowered the camera to watch her come. Though there was no question he was as aroused as she was, he merely gestured politely for her to return to the car and followed on behind. When she got there he began speaking in what she presumed was Swahili, and turning round she saw that he had a hand outstretched, asking for her clothes. Dutifully she handed them over, and watched as he folded th
em carefully, then laid them on the back seat, before opening the passenger door for her to climb in.

  After turning the car round he headed back to the road, and didn’t speak again for several miles, only looking at her from time to time, seeming to admire her body, though making no attempt to touch it. They passed few other vehicles, though saw plenty of men toiling the land, who might or might not have noticed her bare breasts as Masud slowed the vehicle to plunge carefully into potholes and bring them smoothly out the other side. For Avril, the whole experience was so unspeakably erotic that when finally he stopped, a mile or so from the airport, and handed her her clothes, the last thing she wanted was to put them on.

  Laughter rang around the old marketplace where the grassy centre island with its succulent red dwarf palms and leafy rain trees provided the only cover from a blistering afternoon sun. The unit base was behind the church, shielded by parasols and stocked with ice-cold drinks. These were regularly ferried out to the actors, who were suffering nobly in the heat now that the sun had appeared over the crenellated ramparts of the slave-market building that had earlier provided some shade. Yale Winfield, as Tippu-Tip the infamous trader, had just, in the middle of an extremely tense stand-off with a customs official, threatened to ‘lip out’ the man’s ‘river’ instead of rip out his liver, which was what had prompted the laughter, and Hugo’s ensuing ‘Cut!’

  ‘Sorry John,’ Yale bellowed across the square, ‘but these feeth don’t quite tit!’

  Laughing, John signalled Hugo to reset from the top, and walked over to join Yale and Phoebe, who, as the prized slave girl, was heavily adorned with bracelets, necklaces and earrings, which were just a part of the package to make her more attractive to buyers.

  Running a cool damp towel around her neck, Carla watched as they reset for the third take of this particular shot, in which Phoebe’s ears, eyes and teeth were crudely inspected by a potential buyer, while the customs official harangued her trader for unpaid taxes. This was a very dark note in the island’s history that rang so long and discordant that it simply couldn’t be ignored, but John was right, it wasn’t necessary to dwell on it.