by Lindsey Kelk
‘She was a very kind woman, very gracious,’ he nodded. ‘But she was a powerhouse. God help you if you ever got in her way. Or divorced one of her friends. Or two of them.’
‘How many times have you been married?’ Amy asked.
‘Lift that up again, Amy,’ I interrupted. ‘She sounds amazing. And terrifying.’
‘Oh, she was,’ Edward laughed, folding the fabric on the dummy and pinning it in place. ‘It was almost worth upsetting her to watch her go. I remember once, during fashion week, she and Al were holding a party at their palazzo and an up-and-coming shoe designer – I won’t name names – came over to talk to Al about his new line, but everyone knew Jane ruled the roost when it came to the shoe department, everyone except this young man. Anyway, Al tells him he’ll have to speak to his wife and the designer mistakenly thinks he means to get an opinion because, you know, she’s a woman, she must be shoe crazy. So, he turns to Jane and says, “Tell me, madam, what do you look for in a shoe?” and Jane says “Something that sells one thousand units a month” and walks away. Never spoke to him again, refused to even look at the samples.’
Amy and I stared at him.
‘Maybe you had to be there,’ he muttered. ‘But it was a very long time until you could walk into one of their stores and buy a pair of shoes with a certain colour sole. Never cross a Bennett.’
‘Al just doesn’t seem like the sort of man to hold a grudge,’ I mused, shifting positions to get a wider shot.
‘Don’t underestimate him,’ Edward said, smoothing out his epic eyebrows. ‘And Artie inherited his mother’s temper.’
‘I know he and his dad don’t necessarily get on brilliantly,’ I replied, wrinkling my nose. ‘I shot him in Hawaii a couple of weeks ago but I haven’t seen him here yet.’
‘All the better that you don’t,’ he said, adjusting his cufflink. ‘You know what a difficult character he can be. I’m glad they’re talking again – it would have broken Jane’s heart to see them at each other’s throats the way that they were.’
I signalled for Amy to lift up the reflector again, getting a high-pitched whine in response. ‘I don’t think I realized it was that bad. They really fell out then?’
‘I don’t like to gossip,’ Edward said before deciding that he was more than happy to make an exception. ‘But it was very unpleasant for a while. Al was in Hawaii; Artie was here in Milan or out in New York. As I understood it, Artie felt that he was doing all the work on the business and should be made CEO of the company.’
I snapped a couple of shots to keep him talking. ‘But that’s happened now, hasn’t it?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ He clambered to his feet and dusted off his emerald knees. ‘And now they’re talking again, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see another tiff. Artie inherited Jane’s temper but he failed to develop some of her more gracious habits and he was always such a mummy’s boy. But like I said, I’m not one to gossip.’
‘Clearly,’ Amy said, dropping the reflector to the floor. ‘Dreadful habit.’
‘It’s a shame you aren’t taller, you would make a wonderful model,’ Edward said, looking up from the dummy to consider my friend. ‘Such an interesting face.’
‘Interesting?’ she returned his gaze with as serious an expression as she could muster. ‘Bugger. If only I could grow a foot overnight.’
‘Perhaps you would be interested in modelling for me?’ Edward asked, gesturing to the huge black-and-white photos on the walls. ‘I actually took all of the pictures in this room.’
‘I reckon we can get the rest of it done without you,’ I said before Amy could punch him in the balls or accept. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Warren.’
‘Right, yes.’ He pulled a business card out of his back pocket and handed it to Amy. ‘Think about it.’
‘Tess could model for you,’ Amy said, immediately putting the card down on the table beside her. ‘She’s tall.’
Warren cast his eyes my way, looked me up and down and screwed up his face.
‘You are tall,’ he said, hand already on the door handle. ‘Good for you.’
‘I’m going to Photoshop his bald patch even bigger,’ I whispered as the door closed behind him. ‘Wanker.’
‘Please tell me we’re done?’ Amy begged, two hours later, poking her head out from underneath one of the unfinished dresses. She had been flat on her back underneath her haute couture tent for the last twenty minutes and I was well aware that she was losing patience. Amy wasn‘t someone who suffered in silence. Ever. ‘You must have taken a photo of every stitch in every dress.’
‘I’m trying to be thorough,’ I said as I adjusted the flash. I was trying to be thorough but really, I was just enjoying myself so much I’d been messing around for at least the last forty minutes. There didn’t seem an awful lot of point in sharing that information with Amy.
‘Look at you.’ Amy gave me a tired smile. ‘You’re so excited. You really do love this, don’t you?’
I smiled right back and carried on clicking.
‘I can’t imagine not having a camera in my hands now,’ I said. ‘It’s so weird. I never thought I’d be able to fall in love with something so quickly.’
‘Are you talking about photography or Nick?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?’
‘I can’t wait to see the pictures,’ she said with a yawn. ‘Which is a thinly veiled hint that I really think we could have been finished by now.’
‘This is my job, you know,’ I replied, clicking through my last shot. ‘And it is supposed to be yours as well, at least for this week.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ She shuffled out from underneath the dummy and began trying to roll up the reflector. I wondered how many times she would attempt it before giving up. ‘Although it’ll be fun to have someone to go to the Jobcentre with for a change.’
‘Nice.’ I turned off my camera and stashed it safely in its bag, feeling a pang of Charlie-related guilt. Would I have to give him the camera back? Would it really count as a break-up if we were never really going out? ‘Have you got everything?’
‘Everything except my sanity,’ she replied, holding up her backpack. The reflector was shoved in the top, not even nearly properly folded. ‘Can we please get a car back to the palazzo?’
‘You can call it the house, you know,’ I said as I nodded, pulling out my phone and dialling Domenico and asking him to send someone to pick us up. ‘I would know what you mean.’
‘But it isn’t a house,’ she gushed, following me into the lift, waving goodbye to the naked women on the walls. ‘It’s a palazzo and I love it. It’s so beautiful and I love going back to find my bed already made and dinner already cooked – and they’re sending us a car, Tess! You just called and they’re sending a car. I think I was Italian in a former life, I feel so at home here.’
I raised both eyebrows. ‘Yeah, it’s definitely because you were Italian in a former life and not because you’re lazy.’
‘I can’t help that I was made to enjoy the finer things in life,’ Amy said. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do when we have to leave.’
‘Well, that makes two of us,’ I said, whipping my brand new sunglasses off the top of her head and sliding them up my nose. ‘Come on, the car will be here in a minute.’
Incapable of standing in one place for more than two minutes, Amy bounced around the street while we waited outside. I pushed up the long sleeves on my striped T-shirt and leaned my head back, letting the sunshine wash over my face and give me as many premature wrinkles as it liked, while she pawed the window of an incredibly expensive lingerie shop.
‘There are loads of knicker shops here,’ she shouted back at me. ‘Do you think Italian people do it more than English people?’
‘Just because you’re not speaking Italian doesn’t mean you can shout things like that across the street,’ I pointed out, refusing to make eye contact with her and hoping none of the straight-to-the-point-of-po-faced people w
alking quickly by could understand.
A large black SUV I recognized from Al’s Milanese harem of cars pulled up across the street.
‘Amy,’ I shouted, waving her over. ‘The car is here.’
But before she could scoot back from ogling the window of the neighbouring shoe store, the door of the car opened and a tall, grey-haired man stepped out. Twisting the ends of his handlebar moustache, he pressed the buzzer on Edward Warren’s studio. I took a step backwards into the doorway of one of the knicker shops.
‘Where is it going?’ Amy wailed as the car pulled away. ‘Please don’t leave us.’
‘That’s not for us,’ I said, grabbing her collar and dragging her into the doorway beside me. ‘That’s Artie Bennett.’
‘Al’s son?’ she whispered, eyes wide. ‘Nice tash.’
‘It does make him a bit conspicuous,’ I agreed. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘I got the impression Mr Warren wasn’t that keen on him,’ Amy said, wrinkling her nose. ‘He certainly doesn’t look like it’s a social call, does he?’
A second black SUV pulled up just as Artie disappeared inside the studio. Taking Amy by the hand, I dashed across the street and hopped straight into the back seat of the car.
‘What do you reckon that was all about?’ Amy asked as we pulled away and into the busy midday traffic.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, looking through the back window of the car and wishing I could be a fly on the wall in that studio. ‘But he certainly didn’t look very happy.’
‘Maybe he told two men that he loved them and has to work out what he’s going to do with his life as well?’ Amy suggested, pre-emptively cowering in the corner of the backseat.
‘Yeah, probably,’ I replied, punching her in the arm. ‘There’s a lot of that going around.’
‘Just the ladies I wanted to see.’
Before we had even pulled all of the equipment out of the car, Al was jogging down the front steps and taking the backpack out of Amy’s hands, throwing it onto his back. Back in his comfy clothes, knee-length board shorts and a faded Led Zepplin T-shirt, he looked altogether more like himself than he had yawning his way through the opera.
‘Hello.’ I couldn’t help but smile when Al was around. My mum’s father had died when I was very young and since my dad hadn’t ever really been around, I’d never met his parents. I’d been in the market for a surrogate grandpa for a long time and I couldn’t think of a better candidate. ‘Nice shorts.’
‘So glad to be out of a suit.’ He pulled at the neck of his T-shirt and stuck out his tongue. ‘It’s too bloody hot.’
I nodded, desperate to get out of my super-cute printed trousers and T-shirt combo and into the shower.
‘Have you spoken to Artie this morning?’ I asked, not quite sure what to say. ‘Only I thought I saw him just now, when we were leaving Mr Warren’s studio.’
‘I haven’t seen him today,’ Al said, looking a little uncomfortable. He always looked a little bit uncomfortable when he was talking about his son. ‘Probably out shopping. He’s worse than his mother for spending money on clothes.’
‘You don’t think he’d be visiting the studio?’ I suggested.
‘Unlikely.’ He shook his head and chuckled. ‘There’s very little love lost between Artie and Edward. Artie has never forgiven him for putting him over his knee at Paris Fashion Week when he was seven.’
‘I can see how that might leave some mental scars,’ I replied, perfectly happy to change the subject. Their domestics were none of my business. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Nick around, have you?’
I thought I’d done quite a good job of sounding terribly casual but according to the look that passed between Amy and Al, I wasn’t quite as blasé as I had hoped.
‘He’s out all day,’ Al confirmed. ‘Left me a message. We were supposed to have lunch together but apparently there is some journalistic emergency that must be tended to.’
‘Totally gone to buy a ring,’ Amy said.
‘So what’s on the agenda for today?’ I asked, digging an elbow into her ribs. ‘Well-deserved day off?’
‘No rest for the wicked,’ Al said, shaking his head. ‘Off to look at the retail space the estate agent has found. Care to come along?’
‘I was going to look over this morning’s shoot actually. Can you manage without us?’ I shifted my own backpack onto both shoulders. Why did everyone always take Amy’s bag from her? She was little but she was as strong as an ox. So what if I was five foot ten? I was as weak as a kitten and twice as pathetic.
‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll cope,’ he said with a wink. ‘How is everything looking?’
‘We’d tell you but we’d have to kill you,’ Amy said. ‘And I’m not doing anything, I could come and look at the shop with you. I’ve worked in enough of them.’
‘Fabulous.’ Al offered Amy his arm. ‘I could use an expert eye. And Tess, I was thinking, it would be lovely to blow up some of the photos you took in Hawaii for the party, the ones of Janey’s dresses. What do you think?’
‘Sure,’ I shrugged, trying not to scream out loud. My pictures? My pictures on display at one of Bertie Bennett’s famous parties? ‘Did you want to pick some?’
‘You’re the photographer,’ he said, opening the car door for Amy. ‘Whatever you choose will be perfect, I’m sure. Perhaps pick eight or so and email them to Kekipi? He’ll get them sorted out in time for Friday.’
The two of them jumped straight back into the car Amy and I had just stepped out of, leaving me in the courtyard waving like I might never see them again. As the car disappeared down the road, I turned to look at the palazzo. It really was beautiful. I knew that if I chose photography it wouldn’t always be glamorous locations and swanky jobs on this kind of money, but the alternative was starting to look a lot less appealing. Even if I got to spend one week a year somewhere as beautiful as this, a blank, beige office in the cheapest part of East London could hardly compete. We might have a water fountain if we were lucky. This place had an actual fountain.
‘I could get used to it if I tried,’ I said, starting up the staircase.
It wasn’t that I was in love with climbing three flights of stairs up to my room, although it was probably brilliant exercise for my arse, but every time I stepped foot in the palazzo, I expected to see bluebirds hovering around me and adorable squirrels running ahead of me down the hallways. It was magical. And enormous. Amy and I only took up one suite at one end of one floor. I didn’t even know where Nick was staying, let alone Al and Artie. Three floors of stories, hidden behind locked doors. Me and my camera were itching to get inside some of them. Instead, I headed up to my own room, riffling around for my suite key, and noting the glow of my phone in the bottom of my bag.
Opening the door, I dropped my bag on the sofa in the living room and dropped myself into the armchair closest to the window. I had fallen in love with the street below, the park across the road, and promised myself I would make time to go and get lost in it as soon as I’d got some work out of the way. But who knew when that would be?
I settled at my desk, taking the memory card from my camera and slotting it into the card reader that was already plugged into my laptop. While I waited for the morning’s photos to download, I checked my phone, finding dozens of exciting spam emails offering to help me enhance my penis and two text messages, one from Paige and one from Charlie.
Paige’s text was lovely, All right, slag, managed to keep your knickers on this time? Without a wittier response in me, I replied No and pressed send. Hopefully she would have some words of wisdom for me. The text from Charlie wasn’t quite so easy to deal with. You around to talk for a bit?
Hmm. In all fairness, I was around but I didn’t really have time to talk. I needed to edit a load of pictures and work out a way to say: ‘I know I said I was in love with you for ten years but it turns out I sort of love someone else now, and so it’s a thanks but no thanks from me’ in a way that wouldn’t make him wa
nt to beat me around the head with a sackful of Perito’s Chicken cook-in sauce. And every time I tried to think about it, my brain started to melt.
A holding text was the only thing for it. Fighting with my shattered screen, I told him I was out on a shoot and would call him tomorrow. I always worked best on a deadline. Now I had twenty-four hours to sort things out with Nick and work out how to tell Charlie that I still wasn’t sure about the agency but I was pretty certain that I didn’t want to move in with him or spend any more one-on-one time with his penis but I still totally considered him to be one of my very best friends. Because men loved hearing that, didn’t they?
Staring at my laptop, I felt myself spacing out. Maybe if I started on the Perito’s pitch and came up with something amazing, I’d feel less guilty. At least then I would only be fucking up half of Charlie’s life – and nothing took the edge off having your heartbroken like winning the account for Britain’s second most successful cook-in sauce, did it?
‘Or maybe that’s just me.’ I gave myself a concerned glance in the big, gold mirror that hung above the desk. ‘Bugger.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Here you are,’ Amy said, skipping into my room. ‘Should have known I’d find you behind a desk.’
‘Hey, what time is it?’ I waved behind me and rubbed my screen-sore eyes. It felt as though I had been staring at the same blank page forever but I still had nothing for the Perito’s pitch but a notebook full of scribbled out statements and lots of Pinterest boards of badly cooked chickens. ‘How was the shop thing?’
‘It’s nearly seven and the shop thing was great and you need to get dressed for dinner.’ She walked straight over to my wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans and a black silk long-sleeved top. ‘Come on. I’ve got loads of exciting things to tell you.’
‘I think I’m just going to get this finished,’ I said, nodding at the computer. ‘I need another hour or so.’
‘Have you spoken to Charlie?’
‘No.’
‘Have you spoken to Nick?’
‘No.’
