by Daisy James
The little illuminated screen told her there was a message from Alice. She opened it with a smile and read the update on her friend’s operation and her expression of gratitude for saving her skin by continuing with the shoot. Emilie didn’t have the heart to text back to tell her that her confidence in her abilities was perhaps misplaced.
There was a second, later text and a voicemail asking her for all the juicy gossip on sharing the road trip with a hunky surfing dude! She glanced at her watch and decided she’d ring her the next day so she had something positive to report, for she was determined to ensure the next day’s shoot was perfect, giving Lucinda no cause to complain.
Chapter Eight
‘Okay, is everything exactly where it should be?’ asked Matt, taking a step back to survey the set it had taken them the best part of two hours to create in a renovated barn in the middle of an apple orchard in a village just outside Truro.
Through the open oak doors of Ashcroft Down Farm, Emilie could see the neat avenues of ancient apple trees snaking as far the eye could see, stripped of most of their fruit, their leaves a kaleidoscope of autumnal colours. Shards of sunlight forced their way through the windows, highlighting the dancing dust eddies and sprinkling the scene with a golden light that was just perfect for the photographs. The air smelled of stewed apples, honey and nostalgia. Emilie recalled the apple pies her grandmother used to make from the apples in her own back garden.
‘Where do you want your prop box?’
A surge of pleasure cascaded through Emilie’s veins as Matt appeared in the doorway, dragging Alice’s trunk in one hand and her prop box in the other, like a golden gladiator framed in a ruffle of sunshine.
‘Over here will be fine, thanks.’
With burgeoning confidence, Emilie directed the shoot set-up like a mini stage show, holding Alice’s laminated cards in her hand but adding her own twist to the detailed theme, including the hand-hewn oak chopping boards she’d used as props at Hugo’s vineyard, alongside a collection of artisan ciders to complement the orchard theme of the Truro shoot.
‘I wish I’d known you when I was marketing my beers. You’re a real whizz at creating an appropriate montage for your products from what’s available.’
Emilie laughed. ‘It’s the result of years of experience, mostly trial and error, but I’ve had infinite fun creating backdrops from nothing. When I was at college, my vision for an assignment shoot was always far more elaborate than the extent of my budget, so I had to think outside the box. I’d use anything I could beg and borrow, even took part in a few dustbin raids for discarded sheets of cardboard that I could spray paint or cover with tissue. You’d be amazed at what you can do with a collection of plastic bottles and washed-out tin cans covered in fabric or gift wrap and decorated with sequins, ribbon or lace. I’ve even been known to rummage around in skips for bits of old wood or bricks that can be upcycled and used as an urban backdrop.’
‘It’s great to see you so passionate about your work, Emilie. It’s certainly true that when you love something it really shines through in the final product, no matter what that is. Look at Hugo’s wines and Lucinda’s baking, even Alice’s obsessive attention to detail – with that kind of enthusiasm success is bound to follow!’
Emilie noticed Matt didn’t go on to include his own award-winning success in the craft ale arena. She wondered what was causing him to avoid talking about that part of his past. She was about to ask about Hugo’s reference to his brewery but Matt was stepping back to take in the finished set.
‘And you’ve absolutely made this shoot come alive. I didn’t want to say anything before but even I could see that the initial backdrop detailed on Alice’s cards was a little predictable.’
Emilie joined Matt and took a moment to scrutinise the stage for Lucinda’s Truro bakes. A sudden sharp anxiety crept into her chest as her faith in her ability to fly solo wobbled and frayed around the edges. She stared at the scrubbed farmhouse table that had been dressed with a beautifully embroidered tablecloth commissioned specially for the shoot and the carefully selected china awaiting the arrival of the desserts. If it had been Brad by her side she wouldn’t have felt able to voice her doubts, knowing she would be risking a barrage of disapproval. But with Matt she knew he would understand.
‘Actually, I’m not sure now about moving off brief. Lucinda is a stickler for perfection and Alice’s notes were very clear…’
‘But you hated that straw scarecrow and pitchfork combo! It’s such a cliché I can’t believe the great Lucinda Carlton-Rose approved it. The whole thing looks much more natural with the wooden boards, the woven hazel baskets crammed with apples from the orchard, interspersed with those wonderful walnuts, and rounded off with those bottles of local cider Hugo gave us.
‘Sometimes you have to be prepared to take a few risks, Emilie, professionally and personally. You have to learn to trust in your own judgement, go with your gut instinct. You have talent, Emilie, and I don’t understand why you don’t celebrate that more often. And added to that you are now fortunate to have a willing chauffeur-cum-assistant to enhance your creative flair and give you all the positive feedback you need! What’s not to like?’ Matt declared, a smile stretching his cheeks. ‘It’s a fabulous, typically Cornish backdrop, just as Alice planned but with an Emiliesque twist!’
His calm composure and unswerving confidence in her abilities rubbed off on her and she relaxed. It felt good to be told she had talent instead of the constant undermining of her capabilities that Brad had favoured under the pretext of pushing her beyond her boundaries. Matt was right, she should celebrate her skills. After all, she had graduated from the Royal College of Art top of her year!
‘However, Miss Roberts, Product Photographer Extraordinaire, what you do not excel at is tidiness. So let’s spend a few minutes putting everything we haven’t used back into its allocated space and I’ll take the trunk and the prop box back to the van. Shall I move this pile of dry-cleaning too? It’s making the whole place look cluttered.’
‘Oh, yes please. It’s the aprons from the Padstow shoot. Marcus must have left them there earlier. Would you believe Lucinda wanted them individually gift-wrapped? Pink ribbons and bows and everything. I bet the woman in the shop thought he was crazy, but I have to admit she did a great job.’
When Matt returned, she began to tweak the lighting before double-checking the notes and taking her practice shots. She intended to repay his hard work by producing a faultless exhibition of her expert photography skills, determined to leave no room for Lucinda to complain about even the smallest of details or accuse her of producing a mundane, predictable set. She polished the apples, buffed the silver cutlery and even worked the bowl of walnuts into an artistic pyramid.
‘Perfect!’ she breathed. ‘You’re right, Matt. We do make a great team. And I couldn’t have done this assignment without you. Thank you.’
A frisson of electricity sped down her spine, causing a ripple of goose pimples to appear on her forearms. Matt took a step towards her, his eyes fixed on hers, his breath on her cheek and a waft of his citrus aftershave causing every one of her senses to elevate. She lowered her eyes to his lips.
‘Hi, Emilie. Oh, hello!’ exclaimed Marcus as his eyes fell on Matt. Marcus’s liquorice-coloured eyebrows shot up into his fringe and his eyes widened with obvious interest. ‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Marcus Baker, Lucinda’s personal assistant. Do I take it you’re Emilie’s intrepid chauffeur who stepped into the breach?’ Marcus lowered his voice and stage-whispered to Matt behind his palm. ‘Made any headway in the mystery of why she doesn’t want to drive that orange monstrosity herself, apart from the obvious taste disaster? If you want my opinion…’
‘Erm, sorry,’ mumbled Matt, casting a glance over to a smirking Emilie. ‘I just need to go and check on the van. Emilie, I’ll see you in an hour?’
‘Sure.’
‘Well, I must say, you’ve fallen on your f
eet with your driver. And you’ve done a fabulous job setting up. And Lucinda is in a great mood too, so all in all I have a feeling this shoot is going to be spectacular! Grant is down from London for the dinner party Lucinda is hosting at the manor house she’s rented for the weekend. Thank God I have the night off or else she’d probably have me in my butler’s outfit serving the drinks!
‘It’s a shame you won’t get to meet Grant – you’d just love him! He’s a real angel. Their guests are four couples down from Kensington and they’ll be staying over, which is why we have a late start tomorrow so we can all recharge our batteries before the Falmouth shoot. Can you talk me through the set before Lucinda gets here?’
‘So, this is where the Cornish Cyder Cake will go, this china stand is for the Honey and Walnut Tarts and this is for the Apple and Caramel Loaf.’
‘Everything’s just perfect – you’ve really pulled it off this time and…’ Marcus glanced around the barn, obviously expecting to see the disarray that tended to follow in Emilie’s wake. He clasped his purple clipboard close to his chest. ‘It looks like you’ve tidied up too. But I’d still keep a low profile, just in case. She’s baking with an old college friend today, which is why she’s in such a great mood. I reckon you can celebrate tonight with the hunk of the year!’
‘Marcus, Matt’s just…’
Marcus glanced over his shoulder to the doorway through which two uniformed chefs strode carrying steaming desserts, followed by Lucinda who was chatting animatedly to her friend, the farm’s owner, both of whom were holding cakes aloft. Each of the four of them sported one of Lucinda’s pink aprons declaring they were at the third shoot with the words Lucinda loves…Truro. A miniature flagon of cider was the chosen embroidered logo.
‘Ah, Millie, there you are. Take this, would you?’ Lucinda handed her dessert to Emilie and strode to the edge of the barn where she scrutinised the set. Her eyes narrowed as she took in every detail. Her lips pursed into a thin line, her expression giving nothing away. Emilie held her breath and sent up a brief prayer to the god of stressed-out photographers.
‘Ah, Lucie, this looks amazing!’ cooed her friend, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she joined Lucinda at the table. ‘You really are very clever. These Truro photos are going to be the best in the book; I’m certain of it! Now where do you want me to put these Honey and Walnut Tarts?’
Lucie? thought Emilie. There’s no way anyone else except an old college friend would get away with referring to the indomitable Lucinda Carlton-Rose like that. She crossed her fingers behind her back for an extra slice of good luck as she waited for the verdict.
‘Just pop them down there, Carrie darling, thank you. Okay.’ Lucinda turned towards Emilie who nearly dropped to the floor when she saw the famous TV chef smile at her. ‘I like what you’ve done here. I agree with your decision to ditch that ridiculous scarecrow. I think we can go ahead with the shoot.’
Emilie sent up a grateful missive to her guardian angel that Matt had been on hand to help her avoid another ear-chewing. The aroma of the buttery pastry of the tarts permeated through the warmth of the barn and, in spite of her wish to fade into the background, her stomach refused to play along and gave out a loud groan of desire. The desserts were exquisite, there was no doubt about it, and every item deserved equal billing in the photographs.
Lucinda made a final couple of tweaks to the bottles of cider. ‘Okay, that’s it. Snap away.’
‘Thank you.’ Emilie smiled, inordinately pleased with the compliment. She raised her camera to her eye and began clicking, totally focused on the task in hand. She blocked out all other thoughts except getting the best angle, the best lighting, the sharpest image, and capturing the essence of the desserts. She varied her shutter speeds, her filters, changed her lenses and angles and constantly adjusted the artificial lighting. Marcus made a worthy assistant as they moved the dishes around the table to vary the sense of depth and relevance.
Lucinda and Carrie spent the whole time gossiping about the dinner party Lucinda was hosting that evening, but Emilie knew Lucinda was watching her like a hawk from beneath her lashes, ready to swoop if she took a step out of line.
After the final shot, taken from her tripod balanced on the top of one of the chairs, she experienced a rush of exhilaration at having accomplished the task with ease and poise. But she knew she couldn’t take all the credit for the successful shoot. She resolved to treat Matt to a few pints of the local brew that night as they didn’t have to rush off to the next venue until later on the following day.
She was busy slotting her equipment into their protective cases when she felt someone’s presence behind her. Thinking it was Marcus, she spun round with a smile on her lips, which froze in situ when she saw it was Lucinda.
‘That was a very satisfactory shoot, Millie.’
‘Oh, I… Thank you, Lucinda. I hope I didn’t stray too far from the brief, but I wanted to do something a little less predictable. I was actually inspired by a visit to a local vineyard…’ she gushed.
‘Perhaps I could ask you to come by the house this evening? I have some friends coming down from London for a few drinks and canapés. Can I say seven p.m. sharp?’ And before the words had begun to sink into Emilie’s brain, Lucinda and Carrie were disappearing through the barn door back to the kitchen.
‘What just happened?’ she stammered to an amused Marcus who was stuffing his face with one of the Honey and Walnut Tarts.
‘Oh, look at you! Little Miss Lichfield with an invitation to the ball. It’s a surprise I have to admit, but well-deserved.’
‘Surely it’s a mistake?’ Emilie wasn’t sure she actually wanted to attend one of Lucinda’s intimate soirées, even if it was only the pre-dinner canapés.
‘Don’t think so. Lucinda doesn’t make mistakes. Look on it as a reward for an error-free shoot. I just knew you could pull this off – perhaps with a little help from your friend. Only another six shoots to go. Do you reckon you can keep it up?’ Marcus smiled, clearly delighted at her accomplishment. He grabbed her shoulders and hugged her into his chest, before holding her at arm’s length. ‘Come on. I’ll loan you my bathroom at the B&B so you can freshen up. Not sure I could stomach the Girl Guide gig you’ve got going on in that camper van – even with the company you’re keeping. We can talk outfits on the way.’
Emilie smiled at her new ally, grateful for his offer, then watched as he wrapped one of the still-warm Apple and Caramel Loaves in a large serviette and tucked it under his arm.
‘I really don’t know how you can resist sampling these delicious little beauties, Emilie. A girl cannot live on coffee and crisps alone. Whoever heard of a food photographer who doesn’t like food? What’s that word they use for people like you? Oh yes, you are an oxymoron, darling!’
‘Marcus!’ Emilie giggled and slapped his arm playfully.
On the way to the B&B, Marcus filled her in on the impressive guest list of invitees to Lucinda’s soirée – a stage actor and his model wife, a high-profile divorce lawyer and her High Court judge husband, an Italian wine merchant and his partner, as well as Lucinda’s friend Carrie and her husband.
Emilie wasn’t sure how she would fit in as a partnerless guest, but a curl of excitement looped around her stomach and she determined she would enjoy every minute. Alice would be so envious, never mind what Brad would say when the inevitable gossip circulated around the office at Dexter Carvill. It seemed that she hadn’t drawn the short straw after all.
Matt arrived to collect her from Marcus’s very elegant B&B. They drove up to the manor house chattering about a wonderful gastro pub he’d discovered that afternoon whilst he awaited his next instructions. He intended to spend the evening there in Emilie’s absence.
‘There’s so much to explore around here. Did I mention the whisky distillery just north of Truro? I’ve been meaning to pay them a visit ever since I came down in April.’
Matt’s passion for alcoholi
c beverages bubbled over as he concentrated on the winding road bordered by overhanging trees. ‘Then there’s the fabulous local mead made with fresh honey from the Cornish apiaries that are dotted around here. I’d love to meet the beekeepers and ask them about their recipes. Of course, you will have heard about Plymouth gin. One of the distilleries has been in operation for over two hundred years – and did you know that local folklore has it that the Pilgrim Fathers stopped off there in the Mayflower before sailing across to America? I can just imagine them ordering a few cases to keep them warm on their journey.’
They had arrived at the electric gates of The Risings, and Matt let out a low whistle. ‘Wow, what a place. Luxury lifestyle of the rich and famous, eh? Go on.’ He laughed. ‘I know you’re itching to take a few shots.’
‘Thanks, Matt.’
She grabbed her camera from the camper van’s kitchen counter behind her seat and clambered out, taking care not to tumble to the ground in her black velvet stilettos that matched the only dress she had brought with her. She levelled the lens, adjusted the focus and clicked. She couldn’t wait to email the shots to Alice and Dexter. Venice had some fabulous architecture but so too did England and the house was a particularly fine example of Georgian design, with gothic touches around the eaves, not to mention the autumnal beauty of the grounds.
‘Hey, come on, Cinderella. You don’t want to be late for the party!’ called Matt from the window as the gates swung back to reveal a gravelled driveway bordered by a twisted necklace of wrought-iron lamps.
She leapt back into the Satsuma Splittie and checked her make-up for the tenth time, patting her up-do with her palm.
‘What if Lucinda has changed her mind and regrets inviting me? I know it’s just drinks and canapés and not dinner, but don’t you think it’s a little strange that she asked me and not Marcus?’
‘No. Look, just enjoy yourself. Isn’t that what Marcus said? And you look gorgeous, by the way! You suit your hair up like that. All you have to do is smile and you’ll fit in with those celebrity schmoozers just fine!’
