by Julie Caplin
Fiona scrolled back through the shots she’d taken. Plenty of cherry blossom. That’s what people would expect to see in an exhibition on Japan. Stuff Gabe Burnett! It was a good job she’d come today. Like Setsuko said, an overnight storm could rip the blossom away from the trees and she might not get the chance again. And at least she knew she could manage by herself if he continued to be elusive. She didn’t need Gabe.
Chapter 7
Gabe woke solo in bed with a hangover and the taste of regret in his mouth. All of which was bad enough without an ultra-polite text from Haruka requesting a phone call that pinged onto his mobile the moment he opened bleary eyes. Polite was not good. Polite meant restrained anger. Disapproval. Disappointment. She couldn’t possibly know he’d played hooky yesterday. Or maybe she could. She seemed to have a sixth sense about these things and she’d never approved of Yumi, even less so since she’d got married.
He shook his head and cleared away the empty bottle and wine glasses from the table in the lounge. The view from the balcony in the kitchen out over the city was blurred this morning and his head hurt like it should. He deserved it. Haruka was right; he should ignore Yumi’s texts. And yesterday he shouldn’t have called her. And he shouldn’t have offered to take her to dinner when he heard she was in Tokyo shopping, and he definitely shouldn’t have brought her here for a night cap.
He closed his eyes picturing her slim body, draped in the jade-green silk dress, curled up on his sofa, her clever cat eyes watching him over the wine glass like prey. Except at the end of the evening she hadn’t pounced; a text had brought her back into line and with a satisfied smile and a feline sway of hips she turned her tail on him, pecked him on the cheek, before sauntering to the lift and to the waiting cab below without a backward glance while on the phone to her husband. Why did he keep doing this? Habit? When he’d first met Yumi, it had been her vulnerability and an overriding desire to protect her that had drawn him to her. It had made him feel that he could be a better person. He’d had too many fleeting relationships in London that meant nothing, and with Yumi he’d felt that she needed him and that he could look after her. It had also helped that out of a score of suitors, she’d chosen him. Together their careers had blossomed and they’d become the golden couple of both London and Tokyo media circles. He picked up his ringing phone, his arm heavy with a bone-deep weariness that seemed a constant companion.
‘Haruka san,’ he tried to sound cheerful. ‘You wanted me.’
She let loose a torrent of Japanese; he might not have understood it all but he got the gist. She was furious with him. He was letting everyone down. He was supposed to be mentoring Fiona – he noticed with a sinking heart that she was no longer ‘the English girl’. Haruka had taken her under her wing. Now there was no getting out of his duties.
‘I’ll be there within the hour. Yes, I’ll take her to the studio today. Yes, Haruka. And tomorrow I will take her into Tokyo.’
***
Fiona didn’t seem particularly pleased to see him. In fact, she looked a little embarrassed and resigned, as if she knew she was the consolation prize, and when they arrived at the studio door, her shoulders were so hunched her neck had disappeared. For the second time, she reminded him of a turtle seeking refuge in its shell.
The studio and his apartment he rented from the Kobashis was only a few streets away from the teashop. Haruka owned this building and tended to things when he was away, including the dust and the bills. When he was here, she rarely intruded and never without a specific invitation, for which he was very grateful. This was his private space. A place where he could brood and take refuge from the rest of the world.
He bristled slightly as Fiona followed him up the stairs, irritated that he would have to share the space today. Then, mindful of Haruka’s scold and her husband’s honour, he forced himself to at least try and be pleasant to the poor girl. It was one day, for goodness’ sake. Had he really turned into that much of a misery? He led the way into the main room, a deliberately minimalist, wide-open, airy space so that visitors, when there were any, focused on the handful of pictures on the wall. Five in total. Two on two walls and one, in all its solitary glory, on the third wall. The last wall was taken up by a set of the traditional shoji doors leading through to his photo lab, as he liked to call it.
Fiona’s attention was immediately drawn to the single picture on the far wall and without saying a word, she walked forward to stand ten paces in front of it. A wry smile touched his mouth. He’d taken that picture over seven years ago – an elfin Yumi with big dark eyes, dressed in gossamer silk, blowing a dandelion clock, as if she held the mystery of time in her hand. The picture had gained him international acclaim and won numerous awards. It had also earned him a fortune and continued to do so, thanks to the numerous prints and posters that were sold around the world but particularly in Asia.
And now she was married. To someone else. And he felt empty inside.
‘It’s bigger than I thought it would be,’ Fiona said. ‘This is the original?’
‘Sure is,’ he drawled.
‘I thought it would be surrounded by infra-red beams and heavy-duty alarms,’ she said, turning her head as if she expected to find some hidden, hi-tech security.
He shrugged, eying the glossy black and white print in the simple black frame. ‘People can buy it for a couple hundred yen. It’s not worth stealing.’
Fiona turned sharp eyes his way and saw too much.
He hated that the image could be bought so cheaply. A popular image, it earned the cash. He shouldn’t complain since it enabled him to do pretty much as he pleased these days. Well, most of the time. He gave his watch a surreptitious check. A couple of hours, that was all he had to give up.
Fiona turned and surveyed the other pictures, taking her time, stalking around the room with those long-legged strides, visiting and studying each picture like the perfect student. Although, he had to give her some credit. She wasn’t fawning over him or pandering to his ego. He left her to her silent, careful contemplation and pulled open the doors to fire up the computer and monitors in the other room.
‘When you’re done, come through and we’ll take a look at what you’ve got,’ he called as he switched on the coffee machine. ‘You want a drink?’
‘I’d love a coffee,’ she said, appearing in the doorway, examining the space with interest and checking out all the equipment spread across one large bench at the back of the room: scanner, two twenty-four-inch screens and a high-definition printer.
‘Do you ever develop film?’
‘Not for a while but I’ve got a developing room,’ he jerked his head towards the little doorway tucked in the corner and the square shape that bit into the room.
‘There?’ she pointed.
He nodded, realising that he’d got out of the habit of pointing to things, instead using his head to indicate things more often than not. ‘That’s considered very rude in Japan.’
She pulled her hand back. ‘What, pointing?’
‘Yes, and blowing your nose. Japanese people think using a tissue is pretty disgusting.’
‘I’ll remember that. Good job I don’t get hayfever.’
‘Haruka took you to her beloved sakura yesterday, I gather.’
‘Yes.’ Her lips compressed and he read in them the silent condemnation; guilt paid another unwanted visit.
‘Sorry I let you down yesterday. But you must have got some great pictures. The blossom is spectacular.’ Although he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a conscious effort to seek it out, to take part in the Japanese ritual of hanami.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You didn’t need to,’ he said dryly. ‘And Haruka made her views quite clear this morning.’
Anger flashed in Fiona’s eyes. ‘That’s nothing to do with me. I never said a word. I was quite happy to spend the day with her and her family. They’re lovely people.’ He could see from the wistful smile that lightened her face that she
genuinely liked them. For some reason it pleased him that she could appreciate what special people they were.
In a softer voice he said, ‘Let’s see what you’ve got then.’
He held out his hand to take her camera from her. ‘Nice job. I had one of these once. Now I use a Canon. I find it’s better for still life but this is good for outdoor work. Landscapes and the like.’
‘You don’t like landscapes?’
‘Not my bag. I find there’s too much tweaking, making the sky bluer, the grass greener. It’s not real. It feels like people are cheating. It’s not true to the image.’
Fiona tilted her head as if considering his words, her mouth twisting slightly to one side. He could almost see her running through the concept and turning it over in her head to examine the different permutations. It had been a long time since anyone had paid this much attention to what he said. There was a lot of nodding and yessing but now he’d reached a certain level of success, there were very few people that actually ever challenged or thought about what he said. When he’d taught many years ago, students had been keen to discuss and dissect his ideas and views; it had been refreshing being surrounded by all that youthful enthusiasm. Fiona was like that, he realised, although she had the sort of maturity that made her think carefully before she spoke. He watched her with unexpected anticipation as to what her verdict would be.
‘I think you’re right. I was at Borderless yesterday, the digital lab, with Mayu.’
‘Ah, the enfant terrible,’ he said with a wry smile. Mayu was an endless source of fun and entertainment, so steadfast in her rebellion, so sure she was doing things differently and challenging the world but also just like every other teenager the world over.
‘She’s fun.’
‘She certainly is,’ he agreed. ‘What did you think of the place?’
‘Fascinating and a bit mind blowing. Clever, and I’m glad I went but it’s not really my bag. A bit too show-offy and look-at-me.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’ she asked, her tone a shade defensive.
‘That’s exactly what I think about the place. I prefer understated.’
‘Oh.’ Her face resumed its gravity.
‘You were going to say something?’ For once he was interested. ‘About Borderless?’
‘No, it was a thought I had there. You were talking about landscapes being doctored and while I was at Borderless, everyone was desperately trying to take pictures rather than live in the moment. It made me think that the perfect photograph should be the capture of a moment.’ She frowned. ‘Does that sound pretentious?’
‘No,’ he stepped back, unnerved by how closely her words echoed his own philosophy, and again how long it had been since he’d consciously thought about this sort of thing. ‘No, not all.
‘Did you capture many moments yesterday?’
Her face turned gloomy and she sighed, her cheeks puffing out. ‘No, turns out I’m not that inspired by cherry blossom.’
He let out a gasp and a theatrical clutch at his throat. ‘Sacrilege. Don’t let Haruka hear you say that.’
She batted his arm, suddenly relaxing. ‘I loved the blossom, it was beautiful. The park was lovely but … I don’t know. I took loads of photos but nothing I’m really proud of. There was one … possibly.’ She lifted her shoulders in a defeated shrug.
Now it was Gabe’s turn to tilt his head and study her. He’d heard plenty of students and fellow photographers declaring with false modesty that their work wasn’t very good, wanting someone to soothe their ego and tell them that on the contrary it was excellent, but Fiona’s honesty resonated in her words.
‘Well let’s take a look and let me be the judge.’
With sure, steady fingers Fiona removed the SD card from her camera but then he saw her stiffen, seeming awkward as she held it out to him, as if she didn’t want to touch him.
‘Let’s go through them,’ he said, resigning himself to a couple of hours of sheer boredom.
‘They’re really not very good,’ she said.
He gave her a narrow-eyed stare and his best teacher frown. ‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to let me be the judge of that.’
She lapsed into silence, fidgeting with her hands in her lap and he immediately felt like an overbearing twat. He hadn’t needed to do that.
‘And beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ he added.
He scanned through the shots, making a note of the numbers of some of them but he could see that they were just pictures of cherry blossom. Well enough executed if you liked that sort of thing, which he absolutely didn’t. Dull. Dull. Dull.
‘Make a note of the ones you like,’ he said, his mind wandering elsewhere. Pulling himself together, he invited her to share the screen and yanked a pen out of the pot on the desk then offered it to her. ‘We’ll compare notes. Then we’ll scroll through to the next page and repeat the exercise.’
Uncertainty marred her face and she leaned forward towards the screen. He examined her profile as she studied the shots, chin tilted forward, careful concentration stilling her apart from her mobile mouth moving constantly as if she were talking to herself. It was rather endearing.
‘Ok, how are we doing?’ He tried to sound enthusiastic even though he hadn’t seen a single thing that was worth his attention.
She gave him a miserable frown. ‘They’re all a bit …’
‘A bit what?’ he prompted, a little kernel of hope kindled by her honesty. He wasn’t being unkind but he always thought it was wrong to give false praise. She was smart enough to realise that.
‘Dull. Nothingy. They’re just pictures.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘Yup.’
She turned, her eyes widening. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re right. They’re nothing special,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
‘Well, you said it first.’
‘Yes, but you’re not supposed to—’
‘Agree? But if that’s the truth …?’
‘Yes, well aren’t you supposed to give me pointers or suggestions?’
‘I can help you improve, but not if the original composition has nothing to recommend it.’
‘So you’re saying I don’t have an eye for a composition?’
‘Not exactly. Just not in this case. Anyone could have taken these pictures with a bit of know-how and a camera as good as you’ve got.’
‘Great.’
‘On the plus side, technically they’re very competent.’ He could see her deflating in front of him. He hadn’t meant to dent her confidence; he’d wanted to stir her up.
‘It’s a question of what you want to take pictures of.’
‘I don’t know yet. That’s what I’m here to find out.’
‘No, I don’t mean that.’ He paused. ‘What made you take these pictures?’
She stared at him, and for a moment he felt exposed as those blue eyes roved over his face, a slight frown and a not entirely pleasant twist to her mouth. If he’d captured a picture of that expression now, he’d call the portrait disgust. ‘What drove you each time you clicked the shutter? What were you hoping to take? Why did you take them?’
He could almost see the comprehension click as her back straightened and her hand reached for the mouse, running the cursor over several of the pictures.
‘They were there.’ He heard the raw honesty and disillusionment in her voice. ‘I felt obliged. Hanami is a big deal. Especially to Haruka, and I thought it would be good for the exhibition. Japan is famous for sakura.’
‘And now what do you think of them?’
Her mouth pressed tight in mutinous defiance. ‘They’re not very good.’
‘They’re fine. Technically they’re good enough. You could sell them as stock shots.’
‘But they’re not very interesting,’ she sighed, and her shoulders drooped.
‘I think your heart wasn’t in it.’
She stared at the screen but he didn’t miss the tel
l-tale swallow.
‘I’m not trying to upset you.’
‘Who said I was upset?’ Her quick denial was high and tight.
God, he hated mentoring. He wasn’t cut out to deal with emotional women – emotional men either. Emotional anything. Life was easier when it was kept on a nice, even keel.
‘Let’s have a look at the next page.’
‘What’s the point? You’ve already told me I’m … technically competent.’ He winced as she sat ramrod straight in her chair, stiffness in her limbs.
‘Because I’m your mentor and it’s my job.’
He heard the mutter under her breath and the drawn out, ‘Riiiight.’
It irritated him. Did she know he was doing her a huge favour? This was not his idea of a fun way to spend a Saturday morning. If he’d had his way, he’d have taken his black coffee back to bed and stayed there for the rest of the morning.
With a glare, he picked up the mouse and leaned forward, irked even more when she deliberately moved backward out of range as if he were a leper or something. ‘I don’t have anything contagious, you know.’
She ignored him, her focus on the screen.
‘And I don’t hit on women unless they want me to.’
The glare she shot him would have shrivelled most men at thirty paces. Blimey, she really didn’t like him, he thought as he scrolled through the new page of pictures. Normally women flirted with him. Fiona seemed to find him repulsive and was impervious, except he hadn’t missed those quick, curious glances she sent his way when she thought he couldn’t see, as if she were searching for some kind of answer. Again it crossed his mind that he’d met her before. Each time she secretly glanced at him, an uncanny prickle ran down his spine.
‘Haruka wanted me to take that one.’ Fiona blurted out as he clicked on a shot of the three generations of women. ‘Do you think I could print a copy out today? I’d like to give it to her.’
