Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (4 page)

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 and 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.