Talking of which, it’s not hard to see where Sharni’s motivation is right now. Helen surreptitiously surveyed her friend. Sharni’s attention was fully on Derek and, consciously or otherwise, she had caught her lip between her teeth in a ridiculously sexy way. Poor Sharni, her parents were unlikely to let her marry anyone not of their choosing, never mind a forty-something divorcee. Even if he were interested. Helen got the impression that Derek had fallen for a pretty face before and was unlikely to make the same mistake twice.
Helen returned her attention to Derek and realised he had been talking for several minutes without her hearing a word.
Damn! I can’t afford to get this wrong. Helen knew she had to do well, to give her new career a kick-start. Career? Do I really see it as that? On what basis?
Focus! She told herself crossly and tried to concentrate on Derek’s words.
“So, is everybody clear?” Derek looked round the group. Sharni nodded eagerly, Dawn gave a single nod. Ben was smiling anxiously and Stuart casually lifted a hand in acknowledgement.
“Helen?” Derek turned his full gaze onto her.
“Sure, yes, totally clear,” Helen lied, certain that Sharni would fill her in.
“Okay, great.” Derek didn’t look convinced but declined to make an issue of it. Perhaps he, too, knew that Helen could ask Sharni who would be able to reproduce his speech verbatim.
“Right, then I suggest you get your equipment set up and find yourself a spot that you think will play to your strengths, as well as fit the magazine brief. You’ll each have ten minutes with Rosa, as we only have her for an hour, so make your time count. This is the running order: Dawn, Sharni, Stuart, Ben, Helen.”
Last. Great.
Helen could feel her pulse beating in her temples. Taking a deep breath she looked around the park without really seeing it.
How am I going to keep my nerves in check for a whole hour and, more to the point, how am I going to come up with anything unique with a model who will be bored stiff by the time she gets to me?
Putting her worries to the back of her mind, Helen dashed over to Sharni who was taking light readings under some trees.
“Happen I’ll get some great shots under here, seeing as I’m using me tripod,” Sharni said, as Helen caught up to her. “T’any rate that will give me an excuse to use it, without Derek tut-tutting at me.”
“Sharni, I wasn’t listening, what was he saying in his little speech just now? Help, please?” She put her hands together in supplication and opened her green eyes wide.
Sharni tore her scrutiny away from the light meter and grinned when she saw her friend’s expression. “Gazing at Ben were you?”
“Don’t be daft, I’m about to get married. I got to bed late last night and I’m finding it hard to focus this morning.”
“Sloshed? When today’s so important? That’s na like you.”
“No, I wasn’t drunk.” Helen thought about the previous night. Had she been drunk? “Well, maybe, but only because it was one of Daniel’s things, you know.”
Sharni thought she did know but kept her thoughts to herself.
“Derek was just reminding us of the brief from t’magazine: That they want a front cover to epitomise the joys of Summer in London,” Sharni used her prim voice to mimic Derek’s words. “You know, t’show how reet great it is to come play in the park, larking with friends and all that bollocks. As if London in’t a steaming heap of smog and grockles in August.”
Helen laughed at Sharni’s sour expression. “Just because you get the summer off and it irritates you to share it with everyone else!”
Sharni was a teacher at a Montessori school in Chelsea. It surprised Helen that her broad Yorkshire accent wasn’t considered a bar to her working in such an exclusive establishment, but she knew that Sharni had first class qualifications coming out her every pore. Obviously the ability to impart knowledge and enthusiasm to the little ones was more important than the fact that some of them didn’t always understand her. Sharni always said she loved teaching the kids words with flattened vowels and seeing the looks of horror on their parents’ faces when their little darlings dropped the r from bath and rhymed it with Cath.
“I’d say you’re bitter, but as I know you’re all up-skittled not t’have a proper job any time of year I’ll keep schtum. Anyway, go on, bugger off. You may be last but you’d still better have an idea what ye doin’ or Derek will ’ave your hide.”
She turned back to her meter readings with a fierce look of concentration, leaving Helen to admire and envy her flawless face.
It amused Helen how much Sharni’s perfect Asian features clashed with her Northern colloquial accent, which became more pronounced when she was stressed. And just when people were judging her on her dropped consonants and flattened vowels she let slip her vast intelligence by some casual observation. It was one of the things she loved about her friend - that she tore through people’s expectations every time she opened her mouth.
Standing immobile, temporarily flummoxed for what to do, Helen tried to drag her skittish mind back to the task in hand. How could you encapsulate a concept of fun, of social gatherings, warm sun on the skin, sitting outside the bars and cafes - all that came with a summer in London -in one shot? She thought back to her summers as a student, playing cricket in the park with those friends who stayed on in the capital. There had been plenty of fun but usually there had also been a fair amount of alcohol involved too and she guessed that wasn’t exactly the lifestyle image the magazine wanted.
More to the point, how do you convey all that with one young female model in Hyde Park at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning?
Helen wandered distractedly over to the lakeside, gazing at the trees reflected in the water, wishing her mind was as calm and still.
She heard Rosa’s arrival before she saw her as the chittering of her entourage preceded her across the quiet park. There were four people crowded around her, two on their phones talking with intensity and gesturing at unseen listeners. Helen tried to imagine who the other people were. At least one had the physique and demeanour of a personal bodyguard, which seemed excessive at this time of day. Helen looked around to see what could possibly threaten the model. To her surprise she saw a group of girls giggling and chattering excitedly, taking pictures of the approaching group with their smartphones. Helen turned again to look at the bustling group coming towards them.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Derek hurrying over. As he arrived, with unaccustomed speed, the group parted slightly and Helen swallowed a gasp. She hadn’t given much thought to who Rosa was; she just imagined the model was some friend of Derek’s who had agreed to help out. What she saw was a face that was as familiar to her as her own. More so, probably, as I’m not in the habit of gazing at my own image for 40 minutes at a time.
From posters on the tube to banners on buses Rosa was the face of London because she was the face of Selfridges. Helen wouldn’t have known her name was Rosa; she didn’t really pay much attention to fashion and Daniel disapproved of her buying gossip magazines, preferring her to read up on current affairs. But she knew the elegant, beautiful face.
Helen began to shake, aware of a gnawing emptiness in her stomach.
Thank God I didn’t know, I probably wouldn’t even have come, she admitted to herself, swallowing bile. How can I hope to get the perfect shot with her? How will I even manage to talk to her? She is going to think I’m dirt beneath her Jimmy Choos.
As the hour sped past, and Helen watched her fellow students spend their frantic ten minutes trying to get the perfect shot, her mind remained stubbornly blank. She still had no idea what she was going to do, when she saw Ben blush beetroot as Rosa gave him a peck on the cheek and a warm smile.
Even Rosa isn’t immune to Ben’s charms, Helen thought idly, while her brain refused to contemplate the willowy woman sashaying towards her. Even though they were on a tight schedule there was no urgency about her movement. Everything was elegance a
nd grace, as if she knew the world would wait.
She came to a standstill in front of Helen and held out her beautifully manicured hand. Helen’s mind stilled and became clear. Be yourself a voice whispered and, before the normal checks and balances could intervene, she held out her own less than manicured hand.
“Hi, I’m Helen. So lovely to meet you. Are you completely bored already?” She smiled, hoping to show her empathy for what seemed be a tedious life under all the glamour.
There was a terrible pause. Helen held her breath and felt the blood rise to her cheeks. What if she had made a terrible mistake? Then Rosa’s face lit up and she giggled. She was no longer a timeless beauty but a fellow twenty-something girl.
“Yes,” she admitted, “a little.” Then she blushed faintly. Helen was surprised to see the poise slip even for a moment.
Rosa looked past Helen to the rest of the Photography Group, all watching from a discreet distance. “Sorry, are they your friends? I don’t mean to be rude, they’re all lovely. Especially the young man.”
“Ben. Everyone loves Ben, he’s a darling.”
“Is he yours?” Rosa smiled archly at Helen and an idea began to form in Helen’s mind.
“No, not mine,” she said distractedly, trying to cling to the train of thought triggered by the archness of Rosa’s glance. Summer for her, and for many other women, meant romance. Bronzed skin, warm nights, the thrill of the chase and the lure of hope. As tangential as it seemed, Helen began to wonder if you could portray the joy of summer in an arch little smile of knowing and promise.
She quickly sketched out her idea to Rosa, thinking the model would be dismissive. Instead, Rosa looked thoughtful.
“Most people just say, do this, do that, stand here,” she said. “I feel like a mannequin.”
“How crazy,” Helen replied. “How can you hope to get the best out of a person if what’s in their head doesn’t match what’s in yours? Now, we need some cheeky thoughts. Can you do that, do you think?”
Rosa turned her head, looking around until she saw Ben. Helen became conscious of her audience and of Derek looking pointedly at his watch. She still hadn’t taken a single shot and half her allotted time had gone.
Rosa turned back to Helen. “Okay, I’m thinking cheeky thoughts.” She winked.
Aware of how little time she had left, Helen sprang into action, lifting her camera to her face.
“Okay, right, if you can look over my shoulder and think your naughty thoughts, of hot summer nights -- of anticipation and sweat -- that would be great.”
As images flitted through Rosa’s mind, presumably of Ben in flagrante, Helen snapped away, her fingers automatically adjusting the light and aperture settings. Inside a minute she had taken at least fifty shots, though she knew she probably only needed a couple. Rosa was a consummate pro, her face the perfect blend of yearning and desire.
Helen felt a surge of anticipation rise in her stomach, as she always did when she thought she might have taken a good shot. Resisting the urge to study the window on the back of the camera, to review her pictures now, she kept snapping until she was happy she had plenty of images to spare.
Helen lowered the camera and saw Rosa smiling at her, a genuine grin that reached her clear blue eyes.
“Thank you,” Helen said gratefully, “that was perfect.”
“No, thank you,” Rosa’s responded, “I enjoyed it.” She grinned cheekily, “and I wasn’t at all bored.”
The two girls walked over to the waiting audience. Rosa paused to exchange a few words with Derek before disappearing back into her protective entourage, who swept her away and on to her next appointment.
If I ever thought a life of fame and riches was for me, Helen mused, then I think maybe I’m cured of that particular ambition.
Once Rosa had gone Derek turned to face his students.
“Well done.” He beamed, surveying them like a proud father. “Rosa commented on how professional you all were.” He paused a moment, to savour the success, then rubbed his hands together briskly. “Right, back to business. I want you to go home now and review your shots. Your deadline is 5pm today to send me your three favourites by email.”
There was a hush as five pairs of eyes bored into his.
“That’s the business,” Derek said in response to their panicked expressions. “It’s a frantic, busy world and everyone wants something yesterday. You will learn to take fewer, more focused, shots as you won’t have time to pore over fifty images to decide on your favourite. That’s the danger of digital.”
Helen thought guiltily about the quantity of pictures she had taken. A surreptitious glance showed her she wasn’t the only one. Derek was right, the danger of digital was that you clicked and clicked, hoping to capture the perfect image by chance.
Reading her mind, Derek put on his pompous face and recited his favourite phrase.
“Anyone can be a lucky amateur. It takes skill, training, practice and confidence to be a talented professional. To take one shot and know already that it’s the right one.”
He looked around at his class and his eyes gleamed as he continued, “Think of the days of film photography. There were no second chances, no reviewing each image on the back of your camera. At most you had 36 images before you had to stop. A good photographer would only use one reel in a whole shoot. Something to think about.” He paused, to let his words sink in, like a vicar at the end of his sermon looking out righteously over his flock.
Then he clapped his hands together. “Right, go on, you have,” he consulted his watch, “six hours to impress me. Class dismissed.”
He sauntered off and Helen watched him go, fear growing within her. She couldn’t go back to the apartment to work, never mind that she had to start getting ready for the Award ceremony long before five o’clock.
“You look pale, you okay?” Helen looked up to see Ben; his eye’s deep blue with concern.
“Fine, I’m fine.” Inhaling deeply, she managed a wavering smile. She was feeling emotional again. She wanted to win the competition so much, to see her image on the magazine, to know that she was worth something in her own right.
“You don’t look fine. Come on, we’re all going to grab a quick coffee before we get started.” He gently took her camera from her lifeless hands and packed it away in her rucksack. Shouldering Helen’s bag alongside his, Ben hooked his arm through hers and led her gently on to catch up with the others.
“Goodness me but that was the most daunting thing I have ever been required to do,” Dawn declared as they sat around quietly discussing the events of the morning.
“Too bloody right!” Ben chuckled.
“You two seemed to be getting on real cosy,” Sharni teased Ben, laughing even harder as his face flushed beetroot.
“She rather liked you,” Helen confirmed, thinking about the lascivious look on Rosa’s face. “You might be in luck!”
“Don’t talk bollocks, Helen.” Ben blushed deeper. “Even if I were interested she’s way out of my league.”
“She’s just a normal person,” Helen said.
“Course she is,” Sharni laughed, “cos all normal girls have their face plastered over t’Tube.”
“Does anyone think they managed a winning image?” Dawn looked around.
They all shook their heads but Helen knew that secretly everyone thought they had at least one perfect shot. It was the disappointment when you saw the images on screen and hope was crushed which was the hardest part. She suspected that was why they were still in the coffee shop despite the deadline.
Remembering that her deadline was shorter than most, Helen sat up straight. “I’ve got to go, Daniel’s expecting me home by two.”
Sharni rolled her eyes but kept her mouth firmly closed.
“Where are you going to work?” Ben cut through the silence.
“I thought I’d head to the British Library. I’ve got my laptop in my bag.”
“You’re going to attempt to work in there o
n a Saturday? It’ll be wall-to-wall tourists.” It was the first comment from Stuart, who had maintained his usual aloof silence.
“I’ll have to,” Helen said, “I can’t work at the apartment.”
There was a pause; then Ben spoke again, his voice light. “You can come back to mine, if you want?” He covered her hand with his in mute support.
“No, I need to work fast, I’ll do that best alone. But thanks.”
She collected her bag from the heap in the corner and shouldered it before turning back to the group.
“Good luck, guys, may the best shot win!”
Helen’s stomach churned like a box of maggots as she fired up her laptop in as quiet a corner of the British Library as was available at the weekend. It was one of her favourite places to work, well worth the trip across town. She had often come as a student when she fancied a change of scene from the university library. Sometimes she came to be inspired, as if being surrounded by so much learning and wonder would somehow rub off.
Please let it rub off today, she thought as she fumbled with the memory card, getting it in the slot on the third attempt. Please let there be something here worth entering into Derek’s competition. Helen raised her eyes to the sunlight coming through the domed ceiling, trying not to curse audibly at the laptop as it told her to wait. She felt like she was waiting for the results of a job interview or a pregnancy test. So much was riding on this.
Aside from the £500 prize money the winner would also have the first credit to their name to put on their CV. Getting a magazine cover shot was impressive enough, but saying that you had taken pictures of Rosa, that was an extra boost to anyone’s career.
Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes Page 3
