That Certain Something

by Clare Ashton

  The words were debilitating. Every time they surfaced her blood would chill. Her arms shook with tension. She snapped her hands away and stood straight.

  ‘Enough,’ she chastised. ‘Enough of this.’

  She lifted her chin and stared at her image. Filling her lungs and pulling back her shoulders, she forced herself back into whom she was meant to be. She spread her lips into a polite smile, which she’d been wearing since the wedding, and turned on a heel to leave the room.

  Through two sets of doors, the seclusion and silence changed into clamour and chaos. Men in overalls hung a company logo above the reception desk and employees carried computers to offices. A group harangued the receptionist and Rafe and Ed bickered in the centre of the room.

  Rafe spotted Cate as soon as she entered. The firm diplomatic expression that he wore in disagreements flickered into anxiety and he drew away from Ed.

  ‘I’m not finished Rafe,’ Ed said.

  Cate saw him force patience and he resumed the conversation as Cate drew towards them.

  ‘Honestly, where did you find the child photographer?’ Ed continued. ‘Lovely little thing, but is she always going to be this flakey?’

  Cate flushed, realising they talked of Pia. She held her breath and prayed her heartbeat would subside as she approached them.

  ‘Like I said,’ Rafe retaliated, ‘have a look at her portfolio. I don’t think you’ll be questioning her talent after that. It knocked my socks off.’

  ‘It’s all very well taking pretty photographs, but I need her to be in the right place at the right time, and right now I’m buggered if I know where she is.’

  Rafe turned exasperated as Cate joined them.

  ‘Ah Cate,’ Ed said. ‘Thought you’d gone AWOL like a certain other recruit. You don’t happen to know where young Pia is do you?’

  Cate shook her head and hoped her voice was controlled. ‘Perhaps she’s gone home if she was feeling unwell.’

  ‘She’d better be at death’s door. I won’t excuse her disappearing like this Rafe.’ Ed threw a warning glance his way. ‘I need to brief her and I won’t hesitate to kick her perfect little behind out of the office if she slopes in late tomorrow.’

  Ed turned to leave and guilt shivered through Cate. She’d broken Pia’s heart, and now she was losing her a dream job.

  ‘Ed, please,’ Cate said.

  Ed swirled around. ‘Heavens, not you as well?’ She frowned when Cate failed to continue. ‘Well? Pray tell me why I should keep Pia?’

  Cate had been about to say how moved she’d been by Pia’s photograph of joyful children playing on rough ground. It had showed the finesse of a much more seasoned photographer and talent of only a few. But she realised she should never have seen that shot. She should never have met Pia before that day. Nothing about Pia Benitez-Smith should have touched her deeply. Words of any use failed her.

  ‘Give her a chance please,’ she stuttered. ‘If Rafe says she’s good.’

  Ed raised an eyebrow and her expression exuded disappointment. ‘Hardly convincing Ms Gillespie.’ And Ed resumed her unimpressed exit.

  Rafe blew out a long lungful of relief. ‘Thanks for backing me up.’

  Cate pinched her lips into a smile of acknowledgement.

  He peered at her, apprehensive. ‘Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for hours.’

  ‘I had to make some phone calls.’ She tried to reassure him. ‘It was chaos here so I thought I’d clear up a few loose ends out of the office.’

  He stared at her with the same concerned expression. ‘Is there anything I need to know?’

  Cate glanced down out of reflex but, resolved that there was little more to be gained, peered up. ‘There’s nothing else Rafe.’

  She reached out and enticed his large fingers into hers. ‘Let’s go somewhere quieter.’ And she led him away.

  Chapter 11.

  ‘Arse,’ Pia said. She hadn’t even opened her eyes. ‘Arse,’ she repeated.

  Pia sprang up in bed and rubbed her eyes. It was early morning and the rising sun shone bright through the thin curtains of her bedroom. The red numbers on the digital clock showed an hour much earlier than she needed to be awake.

  ‘Oh God.’ She hung her head in her hands. ‘Why was I such a tit?’ Her cheeks became hot behind her fingers as she blushed at the scene in front of her new colleague, Catherine Hammond.

  ‘Why couldn’t I have been a bit more cool about it? Just a little bit.’ She peeped out between her fingers not sure she could face her own reflection in the bedroom mirror today, let alone the woman she had been spurned by, her new husband and an intimidating boss.

  The small slice of room she could see between her fingers revealed her bedside table and phone. She snatched it up and brought up a browser. Whereas Cate Gillespie had been a fruitless search, Cate Hammond yielded far more interesting results.

  The woman featured in the top entries was without a doubt Pia’s Cate. The first article included a glorious photo of Cate beaming with joy at the British Press Awards. She had won Investigative Journalist of the Year. Scrolling down, Pia found an entry on Wikipedia and feasted on the information on Cate’s double first at Cambridge, her quick succession of posts at increasingly prestigious newspapers and her reputation as a determined and scrupulous journalist.

  Pia blushed and sank into the bed as she read on. She remembered her indignation at Cate and felt a little foolish and more than a little inadequate as she read of Cate’s accomplishments. The last article she read announced her engagement to the billionaire Rafe Gillespie, by all accounts a suitable match.

  She tapped off the phone and sagged into the mattress. ‘Bugger.’ She closed her eyes and wished she was someone else and somewhere else, but the confrontation with Cate tortured her by replaying in her head. A little time later, the beep of her alarm broke her self-induced torment, and she reluctantly slid out of bed.

  ‘OK. Time to face the music.’ And she dragged herself to work.

  -

  The office was a different place this morning. A glossy sign for Bennet, big, bold and blue, hung above reception. Curving white chairs reclined around the waiting area and the side offices chattered with activity. This was all no doubt achieved through the boundless energy of Rafe, who indeed bounded over to Pia at that moment.

  ‘Pia! Good to see you.’ He put a strong arm around her shoulder and squeezed her under his wing. ‘I was worried about you, rushing off like that.’ Beneath his flopping, salon-cut fringe he looked genuine in his concern.

  A pang of guilt and embarrassment shot through her. It was no wonder that Cate had chosen him. He was handsome; even a devout dyke like Pia could tell that. Tall, amiable, charismatic, bit of an idiot, but very rich and successful. Small, pretty novice photographers from Brixton, with a propensity for accidents with trees, weren’t that much competition.

  ‘I’m fine now, thanks,’ she said, and she tried to smile.

  ‘Great! Let’s get you to Edith. There’s work to do.’ He squeezed her tight and accompanied her the whole way. His chest was firm against her shoulder and he enveloped her in his warmth. His male smell was mixed with spice and musk deodorant and a strike of jealousy reminded Pia that this was how Cate must feel in his arms. An image of them naked together flashed in her mind, Cate’s soft breasts against his muscular torso. She imagined Cate responding to his touch. She could hear her breathless arousal, the memory of it still vivid. It made her nauseous and she was glowering by the time Rafe delivered her to Ed’s office.

  Ed and Cate sat around the desk laughing.

  ‘Ah shortarse. About time. Sit,’ Ed said, amusement still vibrating in her voice.

  Cate’s expression dropped. She attempted a smile but looked at Ed as if to avoid further acknowledgement.

  ‘Right,’ said Ed. ‘I’ve got the chaps and chapesses trawling the news feeds and agencies for suitable fluff to fill the first edition. But what the hell am I going to do with a rookie photographer an
d an award-winning writer?’

  Pia blanched, already feeling inadequate.

  ‘Don’t knock Pia,’ Cate said. ‘She’s a bloody good photographer. Remember that Michael Haywood photograph last week?’

  ‘What, the immigration minister sacked for assault, or “On Yer Bike Mike” as The Sun put it?’

  ‘The very one.’

  ‘That was you? You’re P. Smith?’ Ed’s eyebrows shot above her glasses. ‘Well, brava shortarse. I’m impressed.’

  Pia nodded and her lips twitched at the compliment, but Ed didn’t let her bask in the acknowledgement long.

  ‘This, however,’ Ed continued, ‘is going to be more tricky. I hate to admit it, but Rafe the gentleman editor may have hit upon a good idea with you two.’ Cate frowned mock disapproval at Ed. ‘I think you’d make a great team for some of the more substantial editorial pieces. So buddy up and swap telephone numbers. You’re going to be spending some time together.’

  Pia shuffled, uncomfortable in her chair.

  ‘I would have briefed you both yesterday, but one of you had an attack of the vapours.’ Ed glared. ‘So. Is everything all right now?’ Ed stared at Pia like a formidable headmistress and Pia had no choice but to nod. Ed turned the look on Cate and elicited the same reaction.

  ‘Good.’ Ed leaned forward onto her desk. ‘I want you two down at the London Fashion Show today. Not one I’d usually cover, but word has it that the design team for David Quick has had a hissy fit and walked out.’ She sighed. ‘All because he wants to use the odd large-size woman to model the collection. And by large-size he means slim to normal.’ She rolled her eyes skywards. ‘God forbid that they show clothes on someone who might wear them. Hate to think what they’d do if they were from the right age group too. But anyway, with a temporary design team running the show it should be even more chaotic than usual and a perfect chance for some backstage gossip.’

  She flung two passes at them over the desk and continued.

  ‘So you.’ She squinted at Pia. ‘I want people with thighs rather than sticks, please. And pictures of Judi Dench or that Mirren woman looking gorgeous in the audience. That should keep everyone happy. Cate, please schmooze and ooze and extract some juicy details please. Someone’s bound to be misbehaving. Everything clear?’

  ‘Crystal clear,’ Cate said.

  ‘Any questions?’

  Pia shook her head.

  ‘Good. You need to prove yourselves. Now, go stir.’

  And Ed turned her attention to photographs on her desk and didn’t glance up to see them out.

  -

  They walked in silence down Fleet Street. Cate glided with perfect posture. She wore a pale, slim-fitting dress that wouldn’t have been out of place on the catwalk. A small black bag swung over her arm and her face was half-hidden behind sunglasses that sealed the exclusive look. Pia shuffled alongside, wondering if she should have borrowed something other than her jeans and T-shirt. Her large shoulder bag for her cameras and lenses clunked by her side.

  She peeped at the elegant woman beside her. The more she learned of Cate and saw her in the light of day, the more Pia felt out of her league. But the hurt still wouldn’t heal.

  Cate peered down at Pia, a gentle expression on her face. ‘We can talk, if you like.’

  ‘I’d rather we didn’t,’ Pia muttered, her pout returning in an instant.

  Cate stopped. She reached out and curled her fingers around Pia’s arm. ‘I really think we need to Pia.’

  Pia snatched her arm away like a child in a tantrum.

  ‘Look,’ Pia snapped. ‘I know it was just a last fling for you, OK. So I’d prefer not to go over it. I’d rather we stuck to work things.’

  Pia stared at the pavement but, from the corner of her eyes, she could see Cate watching her. Her expression was pregnant with emotion and thought, but she didn’t reply.

  ‘Just work things please.’ She peeked up and attempted to make it less personal. ‘This job means a lot to me. I already made a tit of myself yesterday in front of Ed. I don’t want it to happen again. She’s judging me on what I do today.’

  Cate still held her arm. Pia hadn’t felt the slightest waver in her grip and still she watched from behind those sunglasses.

  ‘Can we just get to Somerset House?’ Pia said. ‘Please.’

  She saw Cate nod and her arm fell away limp. They started to walk, and the sound of their footsteps was a welcome break from the silence.

  The set for the fashion show occupied the entire grand court of Somerset House. The catwalk was hidden inside a daunting black temporary building with mirrored sides. Pia snapped pictures of journalists, models, show audience, all checking their appearance in the reflections.

  Cate led them around to an entrance reserved for crew and models, and as soon as they entered the air exploded with music, anguish, screams and laughter. A large man in a black T-shirt examined their passes and nodded over to the backstage area.

  It seemed like chaos to Pia. Stations for hair and makeup were a flurry of activity. Three people at a time transformed a thin, pretty woman with healthy, enviable locks into a black-eyed zombie with dry bird’s nest hair. Assistants rifled through jangling clothes hangers and thrust rails across the floor to the next desperate colleague.

  ‘If you wanted the credit for using fat fucking models,’ someone shouted above the clamour, ‘why the fuck didn’t you make fat fucking clothes?’ Pia turned round to see a statuesque woman hurling a thread of a dress across the room.

  A small man, rubbing his forehead, emerged from the crowd.

  ‘Oh darling!’ he said when he saw Cate. ‘It’s such a disaster.’ They embraced without touching and the man kissed the air by Cate’s cheeks three times. ‘Thank God this is the rehearsal.’

  Pia watched as Cate slipped into conversation. She smiled at the right times, made the right compliments to stroke his ego, was admired when he stood back to adore the outfit she’d chosen. They were joined by a well-dressed woman, barely able to lift her jewellery-laden arms, who showered them with pleasantries and empty flattery.

  It was a distant world. Pia watched Cate as if she were in a film. She was a different character from the woman she’d first met. Cate tilted her head and laughed with her mouth open wide at jokes Pia didn’t understand. Cate glanced back to Pia to beckon her into the auditorium and Pia obliged without a word.

  Pia lost count of the number of times Cate waved across the assembling audience to the shriek of recognition from someone recognisable by everyone. Pia snapped away at the crowd, capturing the rising sense of excitement. Public figures from every sphere peppered the photos.

  A renowned actress took her seat without fuss and responded to shouts of greeting with humble waves. Pia zoomed in and grinned as she captured the distinguished actress holding glasses to her eyes with one hand and her phone distant from her face with the other. In an instant, delight wrinkled the actress’s face, in the way that everyone loved. Pia saw her mouth form the words: ‘Oh my dear. How lovely to see you’. She threw her arms around a woman’s shoulders and when Pia zoomed back she saw that the other woman was Cate.

  Through the lens she saw Cate lean back in a chair and roll her eyes. The actress grinned and patted her knee. They huddled together, chuckling in private, and without realising Pia took photo after photo. Cate leaning forward with her hair caressing her face. Cate peering up, her breasts soft and visible down her dress. Now laughing without restraint, with that beautiful smile that creased around her eyes.

  Pia checked the last photo and zoomed in on the camera screen. That was the smile. That was the one. Her body filled with warmth, glimpsing again that wonderful woman from a perfect night. She twisted the camera round and admired the shape of Cate’s high cheekbones augmented by her spontaneous joy. Pia didn’t think she’d ever seen such an attractive combination of mature, elegant beauty and soft youthfulness in a woman.

  Cold reality sank inside her, leaving an emptiness from admiring somet
hing that wasn’t hers. ‘We’re in different circles,’ she whispered. She flicked through the photos once more, mournfully admiring Cate’s unattainable grace.

  ‘The show’s about to start.’

  Cate’s voice made her jump and Pia snatched the camera to her chest.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ Cate asked.

  ‘Fine.’ Pia was short and still clutched her camera.

  Cate regarded her for a moment. ‘Pia, I’m not checking up on you. I wondered if you needed anything. I’d better go and get my place and take notes.’ And without a smile she left.

  Pia kicked herself for overreacting and being rude. Cate’s interruption had been a timely reminder to change the camera for one with a more suitable lens.

  The show was starting. Someone killed the lights and the arena plunged into darkness. The audience murmured. People shuffled and whispered, disconcerted when the spotlights didn’t come on.

  The opening to Carmina Burana, O Fortuna blasted out of the speakers and reverberated around the arena. The pitch black still shrouded everyone and Pia thought she could hear someone screaming when the music subsided to a whisper.

  A dim glow appeared at the back of the stage. The whispering of the choir accompanied slender models with hollow faces. They tip-toed unsure down the catwalk. The dim runway lights twinkled alight with their passing footsteps.

  Pia started to shoot with her zoom lens from the pit below the catwalk. The tentative choir grew louder as more models crept along the runway. The tension in the crowd was palpable. People whispered, in between admiration and anxiety, and all the time the music built to a crescendo.

  The sudden crash of the bass drum thundered around the arena. Full stage lights struck like lightening. The crowd gasped, but drew breath sharper still when twelve full-bodied women marched onto the stage.

  Six-foot models with six-inch heels stormed the runway with attitude. They were models with hips, thighs, shoulders that could lift a woman and breasts that could smother her. Not even the zombie look could diminish their presence. Pia kept snapping, grinning like an idiot as the powerful women blasted onto the catwalk.