That Certain Something

by Clare Ashton

  Cate gathered herself and put down the camera.

  ‘Here. Let’s cover you up.’ She lifted the young woman’s T-shirt and tucked it beneath her belt. The sight of the revealed bright red face made her laugh. ‘We need to get you down before you explode.’

  She put her hands beneath the woman’s arms and supported her head on her shoulder while the woman wriggled free. With a crack from a branch and a thud on the ground the curious photographer landed back on earth. She groaned and held her stomach. When the blood had receded from the photographer’s cheeks, Cate was taken aback by what a pretty face she had. She was fine-featured with beautiful lips. Large brown irises and inky eyelashes made her appear like a small helpless animal rather than a beast of the paparazzi. She was a few years younger than Cate, early twenties she guessed.

  ‘You caught my camera,’ the young woman said. Her voice was strained with discomfort but she sounded surprised. She stretched out across the grass.

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Cate snatched up the camera and the photographer was still too winded to complain. ‘I’m not mean enough to leave you hanging in a tree, but I can’t let you take candid shots of my neighbours. Let’s see what you were up to.’

  Cate flicked back through the pictures on the camera screen. The first were blurred photos of leaves and branches and a little bit of squirrel. A few had caught the minister’s house but were too indistinct to be intrusive.

  But the next captured the maid covering her head and ducking out of the room. She was wincing and cowering. Cate flicked back to reveal a sequence in reverse that looked like the minister drawing his hand away from the employee. Then Cate halted at a clear photo. The minister’s hand was thrust back and his face had such cruel intent that it was impossible to misinterpret the scene.

  Cate regarded the young woman. ‘Do you know what you have here?’

  ‘Did I get it?’ She looked both worried and excited. When Cate turned the camera screen to her, joy lit up her face.

  ‘Got the bastard,’ she said.

  Cate considered her. ‘What is your intention with these?’

  ‘Sell them to every single newspaper. I want everyone to know what a hypocritical shit that so-called respectable minister is.’

  ‘Really?’ Cate said, wondering at such a vehement response. ‘So what is your argument with him?’

  The young woman’s expression soured into one of distaste. ‘He turns down every single asylum request from gay people. He wants to cap immigration numbers to countries he knows are tyrannical and all in the name of maintaining British values. I want people to know what his values really are.’

  Cate flicked her gaze between the passionate woman sitting on the ground and the camera screen as she clicked back through the grainy images. She saw the angry exchange from end to beginning with the minister stepping through the door. Then the shots switched to a bright sharp picture of children.

  Cate stepped back with the change of scene. The background was cloudy skies and grey concrete high-rise flats. Three small children stood on a pile of rubble dressed in old clothes, drained of colour from countless washes. But their expressions sparkled. Cate wondered what the photographer must have said to make their faces beam with such glee. Their rosy cheeks were a splash of colour in the barren setting, which resonated with flashes of red poppies growing in the rubble beyond.

  Cate peeked at the earnest young woman on the grass, her face still vivid with passion and determination.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Cate asked gently.

  ‘Pia. Pia Benitez-Smith.’

  Cate smiled. ‘Well, Pia Benitez-Smith. I think you’re a very talented photographer, and one whose heart is in the right place.’

  Cate was about to hand over the camera, but noticed that Pia’s demeanor had changed. She appeared vulnerable all of a sudden. Her eyes were wide and her features soft with awe. The change from the ferocious photographer spitting out words against the minister was perplexing. Cate knelt down. Pia’s shocked stare followed her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Cate said, reaching out to hold her face.

  She touched her cheek with the very tip of her fingers. The sensation of Pia’s soft warm skin thrilled her senses. Her fingertips tingled. The pleasure hummed through her arms and fluttered deep inside. She couldn’t move. She was like a statue, albeit one whose heart beat quick and whose blood ran hot.

  ‘I’m fine thank you,’ Pia said, blinking over those huge eyes. Deepest, hazel eyes, with blackest pupils engulfing them. Cate found herself being drawn closer, enthralled by the dark pools, wanting to peer deeper and deeper. For a moment their gazes locked and the young woman stared back with the same intense consumption. It felt like Pia could see right through her: every atom, every secret, every moment of Cate’s life.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Pia whispered.

  Cate twitched back. ‘Good,’ she said flushing. The moment was broken. She laughed away her embarrassment at their intimacy and withdrew her hand. ‘Yes, good.’ And she thrust the camera towards Pia.

  Cate brushed away blades of grass from her knees and stood up. ‘Now. You’d better hurry and send off those pictures, if you want to catch the dailies.’

  Pia still stared at her with a wide open mouth.

  Cate coughed to clear her throat. ‘And much as though I applaud your exposure of the right honorable minister, and hope very much that his wife kicks him out and takes care of the servants, please do not let me catch you here again.’ She tried to sound serious but her mouth wouldn’t stop lifting in amusement.

  ‘Good luck Pia Benitez-Smith.’ Cate turned and left the garden, and all the while she felt the young woman’s eyes on her back.

  Chapter 3.

  It had all happened so quickly that Pia stared in shock after the beautiful woman. She’d had trouble enough paying intelligent attention while her tummy recovered from its painful throttling. She’d put what little energy she had left into not checking the woman up and down. But when she’d said her name in those velvet tones, complimented her work and started to reach out to touch her, Pia’s mind had blanked into submission.

  The woman had mesmerised her. At that moment she could have commanded Pia to rob a bank and she would have complied. As it was she stared, oblivious to time and place, everything a blur, all except the woman with the sun shining through her hair and the voice that could stun a rampaging elephant into submission.

  And it was with the same brainless expression that Pia watched her walk away. The woman’s hips swayed as she wandered through the green shade of the garden. She became smaller and smaller, left the confines of the railings and disappeared into a doorway on the corner of the square. Pia didn’t know how long she stared, but it dawned on her that she’d effectively followed the woman home. She snapped her head around, not wanting to stalk.

  What was her name? She hadn’t even asked her name.

  Pia checked the camera for the last photograph the woman had seen. It was the one she’d taken of children as she walked past the tower blocks that morning. She’d heard their giggling as they rambled about on an old pile of chippings and concrete blocks. A few metres away, their mother grappled with a small baby in a pram that wanted its feet rather than its bottom in a nappy.

  ‘Excuse me. Could I take a photo of your kids?’ Pia had asked.

  ‘What for?’ the woman said over her shoulder.

  ‘I’m trying to get a photograph for an exhibition. It’s called Beauty in Unexpected Places. Your kids look so happy playing on the rubble. I thought they were beautiful.’

  ‘Ha! Those little buggers? Yeah, knock yourself out love.’ And the woman had returned her attention to the baby who’d pulled the nappy over its face.

  Pia’d had one chance to take a photograph before the children noticed her. They’d glanced up, their engrossed and genuine smiles still lingering on their faces, and she’d snapped the scene. It had captured their essence and she didn’t need to take any more.

  Pia felt p
ride warm her belly as she thought of the beautiful woman admiring her work and, without thinking, gazed towards the building she’d entered.

  ‘Wow,’ Pia whispered, numbed by the whole encounter.

  The sensation of the cold hard camera in her hands worked its way into her consciousness.

  ‘Shit, I need to send these off.’

  She flicked forward through the pictures, watching the scene that she’d missed. The photo the woman had shown had been the best one. She had a good eye. With a rising sense of excitement Pia transferred the image to her phone. There was no time for cropping or adjusting the image back home. She fumbled an email to her agent and selected send with trembling fingers.

  Pia got to her feet and breathed out. She paced under the trees, not knowing what to do. She rubbed her hands together hoping the agent would find a buyer or two, happy to expose the minister. At least a minute passed and Pia began to get twitchy and wondered if she should call. She held the phone in her hands, squeezing it and drumming her fingers on the screen.

  A jolt of excitement sparked though her when the phone vibrated.

  ‘Hi. Did you get it?’ Pia babbled into the phone.

  ‘Pia, this is gold,’ her old agent rasped. ‘It’s a bit late in the day, but do you want to hold out for an exclusive buyer on this?’

  Pia paced the garden in short agitated steps. ‘No. Get it into as many papers, news channels, anywhere that you can.’

  ‘Are you sure? You could get a few thousand for this if you played it right.’

  ‘I just want it out there.’

  Her agent remained quiet on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Please,’ Pia said.

  ‘You know,’ her agent started, ‘you and your mum would find several thousand very helpful.’

  Pia hesitated for a fraction of a second at the thought of her mother. ‘Perhaps. But it might not sell at all if we play it badly. I want it out now.’

  ‘All right. All right. I’m on it.’ And her agent rang off.

  Pia slumped onto a bench and held her phone. She willed her agent to call back, despite a matter of seconds passing.

  A text message buzzed. ‘Give me time. Have a drink or something. I know you’re waiting by your phone.’

  Pia chuckled at the message. Her agent knew her too well. A little more relaxed, she turned her attention to her camera. She flicked forward through the scene and analysed each photo for any redeemable qualities. Test shot. Blurred. Inferior version of the sent photo. Nice picture of a tree and sky, and a portrait of a squirrel peering down from the safety of a familiar branch.

  Pia coughed out a wry laugh. ‘You little...’

  ‘You’re still here.’

  The honeyed voice was unmistakeable and Pia jumped up.

  ‘Hi,’ Pia said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so glad to see you again. I didn’t ask your name or thank you.’

  It was fortunate that she hadn’t had time to think before speaking, because when she focussed on the woman all coherent thought left her.

  The woman smiled. ‘Catherine. Or Cate. Please call me Cate.’

  Pia vaguely registered the name. But she was far more attentive to her dress and what it covered, or didn’t, at least not very well. She wore a white silk dress held up by a single wide strap around the shoulder that left her upper chest bare even of jewellery. The soft material cradled her breasts and Pia didn’t need a second glance to know that Cate didn’t wear a bra. It was more revealing in a way, more suggestive, than being naked, and as Pia surveyed the thin material she was left in no doubt as to the shapeliness of Cate’s legs.

  Pia heard a cough and found Cate staring at her, as if expecting a response.

  ‘Muh?’ Pia said.

  Cate frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  Pia blushed as Cate bent down and stared at her. She watched Cate’s eyes flick between hers and her forehead crease in concern. Her irises shimmered between grey and blue and Pia’s lips opened in awe.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t bump your head when you fell?’ Cate asked.

  Pia watched the creases on Cate’s forehead deepen and admired the shape of her eyebrows: two perfect arches that curved in the middle in a question. Pia opened her mouth, but the facility of speech was still absent. She shook her head, slowly and deliberately.

  ‘Do you live nearby? Can I take you home?’ Cate said, her eyebrows now crinkling with puzzlement.

  Pia shook her head, a dozy smile on her face.

  Cate glanced at the thin golden watch on her bare arm and frowned at Pia. ‘I think I should take you to sit down somewhere. I need to check that you’re all right.’

  Without fully registering why Cate was concerned, Pia let her arm slide into hers and was led away in a pleasant haze.

  -

  Pia followed Cate into the Roof Garden Restaurant high above the old Kensington department store. Cate stood with serene poise, holding her black clutch bag, as they waited to be seated.

  Pia wondered if she looked as shifty and scruffy as she suspected, and she fidgeted with the strap on her rucksack. She felt as if she’d been pulled backwards through a hedge, except it had been a tree. She stood out, incongruous in the crisp white restaurant with its floral wallpaper accents and modern bar. Even the linen tablecloths were without blemish. At least the restaurant was quiet with only one or two tables of well-dressed early evening diners.

  Cate turned back to her. ‘Are you OK? They shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Pia said, trying to sound at ease. ‘I’ve never thought of coming up here. Too posh for me.’

  Cate’s lips curled in amusement. ‘You are showing quite a bit of cheek coming in here tonight.’

  ‘Really?’ And then Pia realised what Cate had meant as she registered the feeling of exposure on her left buttock. She whipped her hand around to cover her bottom.

  Cate laughed. ‘It’s fine. Your T-shirt almost hides it. Almost.’

  A young man dressed in black from head to toe recognised Cate and escorted them to a table by the long window spanning the length of the room. Pia half heard Cate order a glass of sparkling water for Pia and a coffee for herself.

  ‘Take a seat madam. It won’t be a moment,’ the waiter said, but Pia was too choked by the view to respond. She was a life-long admirer of London and the panorama took her breath away. She could see over the pointed and curling red-grey rooftops of the great houses of Kensington, to the dome of the Albert Hall. The luscious green trees of the parks broke through the skyline and in the distance the Gherkin and London Eye peeked back at her.

  She caught Cate smiling. ‘It’s good isn’t it?’

  ‘Amazing.’ Pia wished she could snap away with her camera.

  ‘Sit down and have a drink.’ Cate pointed to the glass the unobtrusive waiter had left. ‘I want you to rest and check that you’re all right.’

  No sooner had Pia planted her bottom in the chair, her phone buzzed. She snatched it up.

  ‘It’s my agent,’ she said, grinning at Cate. ‘The photo’s been picked up by The Guardian.’

  ‘I bet it has. Congratulations. That’s quite a scoop.’

  Pia shuffled around in her chair, full of excitement. Another text vibrated her phone.

  ‘Oh, the Beeb are going to use it too.’ Pia couldn’t contain her elation, but sat still when she noticed Cate appeared serious.

  ‘You didn’t go for an exclusive?’

  Pia shook her head ‘No. I want that photo to be printed everywhere.’

  Cate nodded. ‘Yes of course you do.’ She leaned forward in amused conspiracy. ‘Are you really paparazzi? You don’t strike me as the usual type.’

  ‘Actually I’m a bit crap at it,’ admitted Pia. ‘It’s not what I do full-time. Well not the exposé type of work.’

  Cate raised an eyebrow. ‘So what do you do when you’re not hanging around Kensington Square?’

  Pia smiled. ‘Freelance photography a
t the moment. I’ve been taking pictures at local events and flogging them to any rag that’ll have them. Sometimes I get lucky and see a celeb out and about, but taking pictures of people skulking around in sunglasses isn’t my favourite job.’

  ‘What is then?’

  Pia leaned forward so that she was only a foot away from Cate. ‘I love taking candid photos, capturing people’s natural expressions,’ She looked away to think of a way to explain what thrilled her about it. ‘When it’s an unguarded instant of joy or when something moves them you see who they really are for a moment.’ She turned back to Cate and could see she had her full attention. Pia shrugged. ‘But catching famous people messing up like the rest of us; that’s not fun for me. I like to capture people’s honest moments, but honestly.’

  ‘But spying on someone like the immigration minister is fine?’

  Pia sniggered. ‘Yes. I don’t mind uncovering someone being nasty, especially if they’re being dishonest or hypocritical.’

  Cate’s expression flickered between approval and another emotion that she covered too quickly for Pia to discern. She blinked and her features relaxed into a soft amused expression. Her eyes never left Pia’s and shifted between grey and green as a shadow stroked across her face.

  ‘Do you think you are good at reading people?’ Cate said.

  ‘From their expressions? What they’re thinking?’ Pia asked.

  Cate nodded.

  ‘My dad says I am. He says I have an artist’s eye. I’m always people-watching and wondering who they are, what they do for a living and what they’re talking about. I get a lot of practice observing.’ She shrugged. ‘But then Mama says I see what I want to see.’ And she giggled.

  ‘And what do you see Pia Benitez-Smith?’ Cate sat up in her chair, inviting observation.

  Pia hesitated, surprised by the raw question. She considered for a moment whether she should be polite, and then decided to answer with her customary honesty. ‘I see a beautiful woman who is considered and intelligent, and kind to strangers who fall out of trees.’