An Image of You

by Liz Fielding

  She tried a smile. ‘Wonderful,’ she said faintly. ‘A slight case of sunstroke, a lungful of lemonade and a bruised back. Apart from that I feel …’ she waved vaguely ‘… just wonderful. You should try it some time.’ She lifted arms like lead and reluctantly pushed herself away from the comfort of his arms and on to legs still not entirely ready to carry her. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and with a sinking feeling she realised that she had lost the protection of her glasses. She glanced around, wondering where they had fallen.

  Lukas, with a sardonic expression, produced them from his jacket pocket. ‘They’re quite safe,’ he said, and produced a handkerchief with which to polish them, holding them up to the light and peering carefully through them to make sure they were clean. ‘These were what you were looking for, I imagine?’ He was standing very close as he slipped them on to her nose and with a thoughtful expression he brushed back a wayward strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. ‘I know you can’t manage without them.’ His smile was pure mockery.

  George stepped back quickly and pushed the spectacles firmly up her nose. More confident behind her screen, she looked around for her hat. It was still down on the river bed.

  Lukas followed her glance and sighed. ‘I had hoped you would be able to manage without that,’ he murmured. ‘Get the lady’s hat, Mark. Then perhaps we can get back to camp without any more disasters befalling us.’ He took George’s arm and led her firmly to the front of the jeep. ‘Up you get.’

  ‘I’ll get in the back,’ she protested, but Lukas shook his head. ‘Oh, no, my dear. If you feel sick, I should prefer it if you had a window handy.’

  ‘I won’t …’ He didn’t bother to argue. Instead she was scooped up and dumped on to the front seat. Her head was thumping too painfully for her to protest further and she slumped against the unyielding seat and closed her eyes. She immediately opened them again in panic. ‘The camera …?’

  ‘Is fine. It’s already packed away.’ Lukas allowed himself a small smile. ‘I caught it before you managed to—er—drop it.’ He closed the door firmly on her.

  A little desultory conversation in the back filtered into George’s head as they drove back to camp, but Lukas was silent and brooding beside her and she wondered if he was planning to dispatch her back to Nairobi without delay. She had hardly acquitted herself with glory and had given him more than sufficient cause to rid himself of her. In fact she had been a total disaster as his assistant, and she couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him. Suddenly her throat ached with unshed tears for her refuge, and the homeless ones who would have benefited from it. She had failed them. Damn Lukas. And damn Pa …

  The window is on your left.’ George stared uncomprehendingly at Lukas. ‘You looked a bit green. I just wanted to be sure you knew where the window was.’

  ‘Green?’ George managed a careless laugh. ‘That’s just my sun-block.’

  The jeep bounced into camp and Lukas parked it in the shade of a tree. George didn’t wait to be helped down, but opened the door and jumped. For a second her knees buckled, but pride determined that he shouldn’t see how weak she felt. She opened the rear door and unloaded the bags, then reached for the tripod. Lukas leaned across and took it from her.

  ‘I usually carry the tripod. I shouldn’t have left it back there for you,’ he addressed the air somewhere over her head. ‘If I do it again, just leave it. It would serve me right if I had to go back for it.’

  It was probably as near to an apology as she would ever get and they both knew it. ‘Whatever you say,’ she said with a sudden lifting of her heart as she realised he was saying that she could stay. ‘Boss,’ she added, with the slightest twinkle.

  She heard Walter chuckle behind her. ‘Is something amusing you, Walter?’ Lukas demanded.

  ‘No. Nothing.’ He glanced at George and chuckled again. ‘Boss.’

  Lukas caught her arm and pulled her away from the jeep. ‘Come on. Let’s get this film sorted out. Then Walter can drive up to Nairobi with it. We’ll see if he thinks that’s so funny.’

  She had to half run to keep up with his long strides. ‘Do you send film after each day’s shoot?’ she asked, breathlessly, as they arrived at the store tent. ‘That must be very expensive.’

  His look was scathing. ‘Worrying about Daddy’s money? Is that the reason you dress in jumble-sale remnants?’ His look was scathing as his eyes swept over her. ‘It would be a bit of a blow to look at the slides when I get back to England and find that I’d chopped all the girls’ heads off’

  She replaced the unused film in the refrigerator, taking her time, making the most of the welcome blast of cold air. ‘Do you think anyone would notice?’ she snapped, irritated by his comment about her clothes.

  He glared at her. ‘Very funny. Come on. I’ll give this to Walter and we can have a cup of tea.’ He held out his hand and after the slightest hesitation she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. For a moment he surveyed her critically, until she found herself flushing under the intensity of his gaze. ‘You’re looking better, George. Tell me, do you always go about dressed like an advert for a church jumble sale?’

  George knew it was ridiculous to feel peeved by his remarks. After all, she had brought it on herself. But a small part of her found it galling, would have liked to see that expression in his eyes that had so enraged her when their paths had crossed before. But, with the tiniest regret, she managed to fix a huge smile to her mouth and launched herself back into character.

  ‘Oh, absolutely! I do believe in recycling, don’t you?’ she asked him earnestly. ‘After all, if these clothes were thrown away they would just fill up some hole in the ground until they rotted and started to produce methane …’ She managed to retrieve her hand and began to walk to the mess tent.

  ‘Have you ever considered that methane might be the lesser of two evils?’ he persisted.

  ‘Come on, Lukas. You’re not that thick. You must know as well as I do about the problem of global warming. I had to spend a lot of time persuading Pa about the benefits of recycling, but even he eventually saw the light. He recycles all the waste paper from his offices, uses low-energy lighting, there’s so much that can be done—’

  ‘All right!’ Lukas stepped in front of her and George was forced to a halt. ‘I promise I won’t make any more comments about your clothes on one condition.’

  ‘Oh? And what’s that?’

  ‘Abandon that bloody awful hat.’

  George’s smile reached her eyes as she pulled her hat more firmly on her head. ‘Oh, that’s all right, Lukas. Make all the comments you want, I don’t mind a bit. The more people I can convince the better.’

  ‘God, but you’re stubborn!’ He leaned towards her.

  She didn’t flinch. ‘So are you!’ They glared at each other for a long moment, and Lukas welcomed Walter’s intervention with apparent relief.

  ‘Here are the films. Will Mark be all right driving the other jeep back?’

  ‘No problem. I’ll pick up the post and the newspapers from the Norfolk as well.’

  George’s hand shook as she poured the tea. Newspapers?

  ‘Are you still feeling shaky, George?’ Kelly asked, with concern. ‘Here, let me do that.’ Kelly poured the tea and handed them each a cup.

  ‘Sorry. I’m just a bit tired,’ George excused herself, as she considered the implication of what she had heard.

  ‘Not too tired to come and look at tomorrow’s set, I hope,’ Lukas challenged her over the edge of his teacup.

  George tried to hide her dismay. It was a real effort to concentrate on being a thick-skinned dim-wit under that slightly disbelieving stare. ‘No. Of course not. Where are we going?’

  ‘There’s a village a few miles upstream. We’re using it for Amber’s “white African queen” shot. I’ll want you to go over early tomorrow and set it up.’ He paused. ‘If you think you can manage it.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ George replied evenly.

>   ‘Exactly my meaning.’

  She resisted the urge to throw her tea, cup and all, at him and stood up.

  ‘If you can just spare me a few minutes to freshen up?’

  ‘Just a few.’

  The tent was hot and airless and George had no desire to stay there longer than necessary. She stripped off and washed as quickly as she could, nervous that Lukas might suddenly appear.

  The examination of the contents of her bag revealed a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts that looked comfortable and she added a man’s white shirt to hang baggily over it. Without a mirror it was difficult to tell exactly what the effect was, but George hoped that she had retained the air of a refugee from a charity shop.

  She brushed out her hair, enjoying briefly the feeling of freedom from hat and hairpins.

  ‘Are you decent?’ Lukas enquired, his voice just outside the tent. He didn’t wait for her answer.

  In a sudden panic George gathered her hair as the flap lifted and sunlight flooded the tent. She twisted it up and attempted to skewer the resulting knot with her hairpins.

  ‘For heaven’s sake stop titivating and let’s get going. I don’t want to be driving about the bush after dark unless I have to.’

  George’s hand trembled, the pins slipped and her hair descended around her shoulders. ‘Dark? But it’s only half-past four.’

  There was a sudden stillness about Lukas and he regarded her steadily. ‘It’ll be dark by six. We’re almost on the equator here.’ He took a handful of her hair and allowed it to slide between his fingers. ‘Lovely. Like evening sunshine. Why do you hide it in a bun?’

  George regained control of the pins and turned abruptly away from him. ‘It gets in the way.’ She swept it up into a twist and deftly pinned it into place. Then she replaced her glasses and picked up her hat and jammed it on her head.

  She hung her camera around her neck and followed Lukas to the jeep. He opened the door for her with a flourish.

  ‘I don’t suppose you opened doors for Michael,’ she said with irritation. ‘I don’t expect any concessions, you know. You can treat me exactly the same.’

  ‘As Michael?’ He appeared to be amused by this suggestion.

  ‘Yes. Your last assistant. The young man in hospital.’

  ‘That would be difficult.’ He smiled lazily down at her. ‘Michael didn’t have quite the same effect on me as you do, George.’ She felt the colour rise in her cheeks and her body reminded her with a jolt the feelings he had awoken in her before. ‘I didn’t have a constant and overwhelming urge to shake him.’ George released the breath she had not been aware she was holding. ‘Or do this.’ His lips touched hers before she had time to side-step him. The kiss was the lightest exploration of the possibilities. He made no move to touch her, or restrain her, but before he raised his head her body was vibrating in response. Lukas stepped back and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘It’ll come to me,’ he murmured. ‘I never forget a face.’ He indicated the interior of the jeep. ‘Shall we go?’

  George did not move. The sudden realisation that a sort of guerilla warfare had broken out between them had left her deeply apprehensive. She knew she had started it, but she had just lost control of the game and she didn’t know what the rules were. If indeed there were any rules.

  ‘Well?’ His eyes were laughing at her and George scrambled up into the jeep with more haste than elegance. Lukas climbed in alongside her, apparently oblivious to her hot cheeks. He started the engine and the jeep began to bounce towards the track. He began to discuss the shoot as if nothing had happened between them. George shook herself mentally. Nothing must. She made an effort to regain a measure of control.

  ‘Lukas?’ He glanced across at her. ‘About my being called George.’

  ‘A very silly notion, in my opinion.’

  George ignored this. ‘I meant what I said just now. I expect you to treat me exactly as if I were Michael.’ She was very firm.

  ‘Except I should call you George,’ he mocked.

  She knew she was blushing, but she had to make the point. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I know what you mean.’ A muscle tightened at the side of his mouth. ‘I mustn’t make passes at girls who wear glasses. Perhaps it would be as well. I don’t suppose Daddy would approve. Will you tell him we’re sharing a tent?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with …’ She left the words unsaid. Maybe that would be the best way. ‘No,’ she said, with genuine embarrassment at the deception. ‘I don’t suppose he would approve at all.’

  ‘Perhaps we could get back to work, then,’ he suggested. ‘Tomorrow morning I want you to bring over the props for the set and get it ready for us.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘You can drive?’

  ‘Yes, of course. You’ll want me to come back for you when I’ve got everything ready?’

  ‘No. Mark and Walter are bringing the other jeep back from Nairobi tonight, which is a relief. I don’t like being down here without a spare vehicle.’

  ‘So? Why are you?’

  ‘Michael tried to write the other one off. However, he did himself more damage than the Land Rover.’

  ‘Was he badly hurt?’ George asked, concern driving out all other thoughts.

  ‘Nothing that won’t mend. In the meantime he can lie and meditate on the wisdom of drinking and driving. And thank his lucky stars it didn’t happen in Britain where he would almost certainly have lost his licence.’

  ‘Silly boy.’

  Lukas grimaced. ‘On that point, at least, we are in complete agreement. Here’s the village.’

  The village consisted of a number of circular huts built around a clearing. As the jeep drove in, smaller children dived for shelter behind mothers, while a group of boys with a pack of dogs chased the jeep into the clearing. George had her camera up and working before they stopped.

  The older children gathered around Lukas as he climbed down, calling his name with enthusiasm. George watched with surprise as he allowed them to swarm over him, finally surrendering good-humouredly to their entreaties and producing a bag of mints from his pocket. She took great pleasure in snapping this unexpected side to his nature.

  ‘Lukas.’ She drew his attention to the little ones. He beckoned to them, but they shrank further behind their mothers’ skirts, so he bent down, squatting on his heels, reducing his bulk to less daunting proportions. They came shyly then, clapped their hands together politely, grabbed a sweet each and ran back to safety.

  An old man, dressed in clean but worn trousers and a vest that had seen many better days, came forward and greeted Lukas, who turned and beckoned to George. She scrambled inelegantly down, wishing, not for the first time, that she was taller.

  ‘Jambo, mzee,’ she greeted the old man politely and, the formalities over, Lukas took her to show her where the set was to be built.

  ‘Where are the tyres?’ she asked.

  ‘Walter’s bringing them down from Nairobi tonight. We wanted to be sure of getting the right ones. The villagers are going to barter them afterwards for some concrete blocks to help build a school.’

  ‘They’re building a school? Here?’ George asked with amazement.

  ‘You find that so surprising?’

  She ignored his acid tone. ‘I’d love to see. Would they let me have a look, do you think?’

  Lukas sighed. ‘I’m sure they’d be delighted. But if you could just give me your attention for a moment.’ He recalled her to business, explaining the layout of the set, drawing in the dust with a long stick the positions of the various props. She copied the plan into a notebook, carefully pacing out the distances. By the time she had finished Lukas had disappeared.

  She found him sitting outside the largest hut with the village elder who indicated that she should sit on his other side. She sank on to the mat and crossed her legs, glad that she wasn’t wearing a skirt.

  A girl appeared with three cups and poured a thick brown liquid from a blackened enamel teapot. George thanked her and st
ared down at the cup. She raised a questioning glance at Lukas, who, totally expressionless, picked up his cup and sipped. His eyes were a silent challenge for her to do the same, but George could feel her stomach rebelling at the thought of drinking the unknown brew from a chipped and rather grubby cup.

  She recalled her grandmother telling her about some tea she had to drink in the Himalayas. It had been black, with rancid yak butter floating in it, and it had been covered in flies. Well, she had lived to tell the tale. Family honour was at stake. It would be something to tell her own grandchildren. Assuming that she was as lucky as her grandmother.

  She sketched a smile and lifted the cup to her lips. Offering up a silent prayer, she sipped. It was tea, strong and unbearably sweet with precious sugar and evaporated milk. She raised her eyes over the brim of the cup. ‘Mzuri, sana,’ she said appreciatively to the old man, who beamed with pleasure. ‘It’s very good.’ Her large violet eyes met the sardonic challenge Lukas had thrown down and she sipped slowly and deliberately, having banished the cup, its contents, and the hard ground she was sitting on, from her mind. She was concentrating very hard on the fact that she was drinking China tea from the Minton set at home. It wasn’t easy.

  Lukas watched impassively as she finished every drop, then rose, and George, feeling decidedly queasy, followed his example.

  She thanked the old man for his hospitality, and the girl, who giggled shyly, and, clutching her notebook tightly, walked carefully back to the jeep.

  ‘A bravura performance, if I may say so,’ Lukas grinned with apparent delight at her discomfort.

  ‘Merely politeness,’ George said stiffly, trying not to think about the bumpy track ahead. ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘But I thought you wanted to see the school,’ he teased remorselessly.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll look tomorrow.’

  She was glad of his help into the jeep. ‘A good idea. It wouldn’t do to bring up their tea in front of them. Not at all the famous British good manners.’ He started the engine. ‘And I begin to suspect that you come from a long line of those formidable English ladies who tamed the natives with afternoon tea and the Church of England.’