by Liz Fielding
There was a small reprint of the front-page photograph from the week before.
Horrified, George whispered, ‘For goodness’ sake don’t let him see this!’
Michael grinned. ‘Keep it as a souvenir if you like.’
‘Keep what as a souvenir?’ George jumped at the sound of his voice. She looked up to a pair of slate eyes regarding her with extreme disfavour, as his bed was rolled into place alongside Michael. ‘So. You’ve added Michael to your long list of conquests.’
‘You’ll have to ask him that.’ She folded the paper and tucked it into her bag. ‘How’s your head?’
‘Sore.’ He reached under his sheet. ‘The doc said I was to give you this.’ He held out her bra. She made a move to rescue it but he twitched it out of reach and tucked it under his pillow. ‘He also said I was to thank you.’
‘No, Lukas. Don’t do that. It was all my fault.’
‘That’s what I told the doc. God, I feel sick.’ George moved swiftly, grabbing a bowl from the bedside, and held his head, while he retched painfully. He lay back on the pillow, beads of sweat standing out on his brow and she moistened a tissue from the water-jug and wiped his mouth.
‘I’m sorry, Lukas.’
‘Are you? Why? You got exactly what you wanted, and now you can go home to Bob.’ His mouth turned down with distaste. ‘Or was it Alan, or Tatty or Jay?’ He lay back listlessly. ‘Or all of them?’
‘I’ll leave you to work that one out. How long do they say you have to stay here?’
Lukas shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
Walter stood up. ‘We’d better get off, George. I’ve arrangements to make.’
‘I’ll get a paper from somewhere,’ Lukas yelled defiantly after them.
Walter’s eyebrows rose in enquiry and without a word George handed the paper over to him.
‘Are you really a radical feminist?’
‘I once demonstrated at a beauty contest. If that makes me one, I suppose the answer is yes. The photograph is from last Wednesday’s daily edition. You can’t tell from that, but it was a march in support of the homeless.’
‘I can see why you might want to keep it from Lukas.’
George smiled. ‘Oh, no, he knows about those.’ Walter’s eyebrows shot up in comic surprise. ‘It was the bit about sharing his tent. He wouldn’t want it to get about.’
‘Perhaps not. Although I should have thought he was immune to this sort of thing by now. He would be more concerned about you, I should think.’ He handed her back the paper. ‘I don’t know what happened last night, George, and it’s probably better if I don’t, but Lukas didn’t just fall over and crack his head and his ankle. Did he?’
‘I thought you didn’t want to know, Walter? Shall we get along? We’ve a lot to do. Did you get the motorbike?’
Walter checked, appeared to reconsider his response and nodded. ‘The devil’s own job we had getting it over the river, too, on a trailer.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better phone your father and tell him what’s happened.’
George shook her head. ‘No. Don’t do that. As far as the world is concerned, if this photograph sees the light of day, Lukas took it.’
‘Yes.’ He smiled with sudden understanding. ‘Boss.’
* * *
The girls were told what had been decided and agreed to keep quiet. Kelly was shown the newspaper gossip piece by the boyfriend and threatened with dire consequences in the shape of bugs in her bed if she passed on any other little items of news. She stared at it in dismay and George felt quite sorry for her. ‘I didn’t say all that, George. I didn’t know you were a feminist thingy, so how could I?’
‘No, of course not. Just try not to mention me at all. That would be safest.’
‘Right. Oh. I forgot. Your horse won!’ She produced a wad of notes and handed them over to an amazed George.
‘What on earth am I going to do with all this?’ she asked. ‘I can’t take it out of the country.’
‘You could hire a proper photographer,’ Peach offered.
‘Let’s get this motorbike shot done,’ Walter butted in. ‘Then we can all go home.’ The others took their cue from him. Except for Peach, who sat astride the gleaming black machine, with a sulk that a three-year-old could have been proud of. George ignored it, concentrating on getting the lighting and angles perfect. Then she fired off a few shots, watching Peach carefully through the lens, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to resist the film. Gradually the pout became sultry and exactly what she wanted. She pressed the auto release and the motor-wind did the work.
‘That’s a wrap,’ George shouted and caught a touch of approval in Walter’s smile.
‘Lukas couldn’t have got her to look like that,’ he said, helping her with the dreaded tripod.
‘No,’ George agreed. ‘I shouldn’t think Peach has ever been photographed by a woman before. I’ve seen her work with Lukas. She’s been told by someone to make love through the lens. It’s all right as far as it goes, but it’s not real. Now, what she felt today was real.’ She grinned. ‘I guess I’m just not her type.’
She felt suddenly bleak. Right at this moment, she thought, I don’t feel like anybody’s type.
Chapter Nine
By the time they had finished it was too late to start packing up camp. Walter drove up to Nairobi with the last of the films and to arrange their flights for the following day. He returned late to find George waiting up for him.
‘How is he?’
‘Looks a lot better than this morning,’ Walter reported. ‘They had him out of bed in a chair. He still feels sick from time to time, but if you hadn’t told me how long he had been unconscious I’d have said they’d have let him out tomorrow.’
George let out a long sigh of relief. ‘You told him we were all going home tonight?’
Walter helped himself to a drink. ‘No. I said tomorrow. He’s capable of working out the logistics for himself. He was as mad as hell that no one had come in to see him.’ He looked up and smiled at her. ‘No. That’s not quite true. He was as mad as hell you hadn’t gone in to see him.’
‘Don’t be silly, Walter.’ There was no reason he would want to see her except to tell her what he thought of her. And she already knew that.
‘Who’s being silly? When I presented your apologies for not coming, because you were too busy, his exact words were … unprintable.’
She made a determined effort at a smile. ‘That I will believe. I’ll get off to bed now. We’ve an early start in the morning.’
‘He had managed to get hold of a newspaper, by the way. He says to tell you that he’s planning to issue a further bulletin. George?’ She paused and looked back. ‘Whatever happened to your spectacles?’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
She didn’t sleep. Instead she lay wondering what she would be doing if Lukas hadn’t seen the newspaper. She had meant to retrieve the wretched thing and burn it, but the truth of the matter was that she had forgotten all about it. She glanced across at the empty bed. Would she be lying in his arms over there right now, instead of having a Simone de Beauvoir paperback for company? It was no substitute, she decided.
Furiously she grabbed her book, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Her throat ached with tears she was refusing to shed and her eyes were continually drawn towards the empty space in her life. She had wanted him so much. Still wanted him. She groaned, hating herself for her weakness.
Morning came as a blessed relief. With the daylight she could leave the stuffy confines of the tent and start packing the equipment prior to breaking camp.
‘Where’s Kelly?’ she asked, as she helped herself from the coffee-pot in the mess tent. She couldn’t face more than a piece of fruit, but the others, Kelly apart, were enjoying the usual cooked breakfast.
‘She felt a bit sick. I told her to stay put for now,’ Suzy said.
‘How does she look?’ George asked, with a sinking feeling.
‘Not too bad, alth
ough it’s difficult to tell in those tents. Everything looks green.’
‘She’ll be all right in a bit,’ Peach remarked, casually. ‘Take her some dry toast. That’s about all you can do for morning sickness.’
George’s hand shook on the coffee-pot. ‘Morning sickness?’
Peach stood up and stretched. ‘She’ll be doing corsets for the mail order catalogues next year.’
Having dropped her bombshell, she wandered off. ‘What a little bitch,’ Suzy directed after her, then looked at George. ‘Leave her in peace. I’ll pack up her things for her.’
‘Naughty girl. She wouldn’t have come if Lukas had known,’ Walter remarked.
‘Perhaps that’s why she didn’t tell him,’ George said sharply. ‘What would a man know about sacrificing a career to have a baby?’ She pulled herself up short as she saw the glint of humour in his eye.
‘The newspaper gossips have it right, then. A feminist to the core. I can see why you and Lukas might fight.’
‘That’s not why we fight, Walter.’
Too late she saw the knowing look. ‘No, my dear. I didn’t think it was for a minute.’
* * *
She slept for most of the long haul home. It was getting to be something of a habit, she thought as she struggled to wake in the grey light over London, gathering her belongings together. The others were wide awake and excited. For them the job was finished and they were off to conquer new horizons. George just felt flat.
Henry was waiting at the barrier for her. ‘That’s a lovely tan, miss. Had a good time, have you?’
George opened her mouth to tell him exactly what sort of a time she’d had. Then she closed it again. ‘Lovely, thank you, Henry.’ She looked around. ‘Anyone need a lift into London?’ she asked.
Kelly had already disappeared in the arms of her beloved John. Peach was being wrapped gently in a fur by a man old enough to be her father. Or possibly even her grandfather, George thought rattily.
‘I’m going the other way, but thanks,’ Mark said. ‘See you.’
George was left with Amber and Suzy, who asked to be dropped at Waterloo. Henry took their luggage and led the way to her father’s Rolls.
Once the two women had been dropped at the station Henry turned to George.
‘Where now, miss? Paddington?’
‘Yes, please, Henry.’
The chauffeur took an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. ‘Sir Charles asked me to give you this. I didn’t think you’d want to open it in front of the other ladies.’
George took the envelope. ‘That bad?’
‘I really couldn’t say, Miss George.’
She nodded and ripped the envelope open. There was a note from her father, a chequebook and her credit cards. There was also a newspaper clipping. With trembling fingers she read the note.
Dear George, I suppose it was too much to hope that you could keep out of the newspapers, even at six thousand miles. I assume that you’ll have a perfectly reasonable explanation as always, but if you want me to polish up the shotgun just let me know. As you’ve done everything I asked I am restoring your finances to your own hands. Come and see me as soon as you feel fit to start work. I haven’t been idle while you’ve been away and we’ve a lot to discuss. Love, Pa.
A tear splashed on to the paper and the ink puddled and ran and then soaked in.
The little house in Paddington was cold and dark. George shivered as she stepped into the hall and over a pile of letters on the mat. As she bent to pick them up she saw the note propped on the hall table. It was from Bob.
‘Blimey, miss, it’s a bit parky in here.’ Henry flicked the light-switch. ‘Might be a fuse,’ he said doubtfully.
‘No. We’ve been cut off.’ She handed him Bob’s note and he drew a shocked breath over his teeth. ‘It was my fault, Henry. He said he’d stopped gambling, but I should never have given him the money to pay the bill. It was just asking for trouble.’ Her letter, urging him to contact Bishop in an emergency, was one of those unopened in her hand. ‘He’ll be back, full of apologies, as soon as he’s won a few pounds.’
‘You can’t stay here, George.’
The unexpected use of her name by the ultra-correct Henry almost undid her. The temptation to run to Odney, to hide and lick her wounds in the warmth of home, was intense. But she shook her head.
‘I’ll be all right. I’ll sort the bill out and the place will soon warm up.’ He was doubtful, but she wouldn’t be moved and reluctantly he brought in her bags. ‘Tell Pa I’ll come to the office in a day or two. As soon as I’ve caught up with things.’
He nodded and finally left. George toured the house. Apart from dust and dirty dishes and an unbelievable amount of rubbish, it seemed to be in one piece. What it really needed was a spring clean, and for that she needed hot water. She changed into warmer clothes and wrapped up against the biting wind, set off to organise the reconnection of her electricity supply, and lay in stocks of cleaning stuff.
It took two days to work from the top of the house downwards. She was giving the hall mirror a final shine when the phone rang. She lifted the receiver.
‘Georgette Bainbridge.’
‘George?’ Her father’s surprised voice asked.
‘Hello, Pa.’
‘It is you. Are you feeling quite well? I’ve never heard you address yourself by your proper name before.’
‘Oh! Did I? Couldn’t have been thinking.’ Colour flooded into her cheeks. More likely she had been thinking too much.
‘Hmm. When are you coming to see me about this project of yours? I thought you’d be hammering at my door by now,’ he teased gently. ‘And I’d really quite like to see you. Can you make it this afternoon?’
She caught sight of her reflection in the newly shone mirror and shuddered. Two days of scrubbing and polishing and window cleaning had left the house looking wonderful and George looking a wreck. Her face was yellow and colourless under the tan, and dark rings around her eyes screamed that she wasn’t sleeping. She pushed the strands of hair from her face and sighed. ‘I think I could do with another day.’
‘You are all right? I didn’t take any notice of that silly newspaper clipping, George. I only sent it in case you hadn’t already seen it. And as for today’s little offering …’
‘There’s been another one?’ A ridiculous kick of adrenalin set her heart pounding.
‘You haven’t seen it?’ Her father laughed. ‘Well, if I seriously thought you’d taken part in some wild native betrothal dance, I should be having a few words with Lukas about his intentions.’ He paused. ‘I must say, though, that the photograph is quite convincing.’ He waited, clearly expecting some response and she forced herself to chuckle.
‘Really? I must buy a copy, it sounds highly entertaining. And I should steer clear of Lukas. He was very angry that you dumped me on him, mainly, I think, because the only available space for me was in his tent.’
Her father gave a short laugh. ‘He must be losing his grip. The Lukas I know would have been more than happy in such circumstances.’
‘Shall we just say that I didn’t go out of my way to tempt him?’ Her firm control of her voice was beginning to slip and she changed the subject. ‘Can we meet tomorrow? Take me out to tea. I’ve dreamed of it.’
‘The Ritz? Four o’clock.’
‘Lovely.’ She hung up slowly and re-examined her face in the mirror. If her father saw her looking like that he might have second thoughts about what she was doing in the tent of a ‘playboy bachelor’ in the middle of the bush.
‘Well, George,’ she said to herself ‘you look a mess. Better not let it get to be a habit.’
The phone rang again almost immediately.
‘George?’
George smiled as she recognised Kelly’s voice. ‘Hello, Kelly. How are you?’
‘Oh, great. Really great. But I wanted you to know it wasn’t me. John won’t tell me who gave him that picture, but I didn’t know anything
about it. Really, I didn’t.’
‘Kelly, please calm down. I know you couldn’t possibly have passed the story on to John. There’s only one person who could have done that.’ It took a while to reassure her, but finally, after promising to keep in touch, Kelly hung up. George stood looking at the phone, daring it to ring again. Half expecting Lukas to ring to find out if she enjoyed his little joke. Horribly disappointed when he didn’t.
She spent part of the afternoon having a sauna and a facial. Then she allowed the stylist to cluck and tut over her hair while a manicurist did what she could with her hands. The following morning she toured the boutiques and treated herself to some new clothes. Real, fresh-from-the-shop clothes. She had forgotten how they felt.
Her father’s amazement at the sight of a perfectly groomed daughter, in a new clinging moss-toned print dress, was repayment enough for the trouble she had taken.
‘I have to admit to an anxious moment or two about what you might consider a suitable outfit for afternoon tea,’ he confessed. ‘I should get cross with you more often. You look wonderful.’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘A bit tired perhaps.’
‘I’ve been spring cleaning the house,’ she said. ‘It was a bit of a mess.’
‘It looks as if you’ve been spring cleaning yourself, too,’ he remarked. George started at his perception.
‘Yes. I suppose I have. I was a bit of a mess too.’
He waited to see if she would go on, but she had nothing more to say on that score and he gave his attention to afternoon tea. But as she sipped the Earl Grey out of the delicate china she remembered sipping strong sweet tea out of a cracked cup, with Lukas laughing at her, and she knew where she would rather be.
‘George? Are you listening?’ She dragged herself back to the present.
Sorry, Pa. I was miles away. What were you saying?’
‘Walter brought the transparencies to show me. They’re very good. He told me how you helped out when Lukas took that knock.’ He smiled. ‘He was very impressed.’