by Nina Milne
‘The taller ones are coconut trees,’ Luca explained as he parked on the verge and they climbed out. ‘They provide shelter for the cocoa trees that have been planted between them. The trees are quite delicate and keeping them thriving is a huge part of Samar’s responsibility. They need to be protected from wind and sun, the soil needs to be fertilised correctly and any sign of damage or disease has to be dealt with quickly. Samar once said to me that he sees these trees like his marriage. He has been married for forty years...since he was seventeen.’
‘Wow.’ She contemplated the idea, and for a scant second she envied it.
‘Samar believes that marriages need work and effort to thrive and bear fruit. He says nowadays people give up too easily.’
Emily thought of her mother on marriage number five, of her own disastrous marriage to Howard. ‘The problem is that it takes two people to do the work. It can’t all be done by one person.’ Her mother had put so much effort into each relationship, made sure she always looked perfect, relegated Emily to the background, thrown herself into every husband’s hobbies, tried to support them all to no avail. And, irony of irony, Emily, having vowed she never would, had followed exactly in her mother’s footsteps.
‘Exactly. That’s why I stand by what I said yesterday. On your own you are in control, in a partnership you have to rely on someone else. Samar relies on these trees to respond to his care, he relies on the weather, on luck, on so many variables. Plus he has to put a lot in before he gets anything out. These trees don’t yield pods at all for a few years.’
‘What is their yield?’
‘A typical pod contains thirty to forty beans and there are about thirty pods per tree. It takes about four hundred dried beans to make one pound of cocoa.’
She stopped and looked at the trees, studied their shape, the clusters of pink and white flowers that dotted the branches and trunks, the green pods that dipped from the branches. She wanted to take photographs that emphasised their beauty, productivity and fragility, how susceptible they were to nature. That they needed care and nurture to flourish.
‘I wish I could get up closer. I mean, I can zoom in, but I want to actually touch the pods, get the texture and the feel. Do you reckon I can climb it?’
‘No.’ His voice held a hint of amusement. ‘The bark is soft and quite fragile. At harvest they use long-handled steel tools to reach and cut the pods so they don’t damage it.’
‘Hmm. Climbing is definitely out.’
‘Not necessarily. You can climb up and sit on my shoulders.’
She knew, with absolute certainty, he’d spoken without thinking, simply made a practical suggestion.
There was a silence and she eyed his shoulders, their breadth and strength, imagined sitting astride them, legs dangling over his chest, him steadying her by wrapping his hands around her calves, and she gulped, looked up at the tree and then across to him. Considered her options. If she refused it would be awkward. After all, she wouldn’t give it a thought if someone else had suggested it.
‘Fine. What’s the best way to do it?’
Luca inhaled a deep breath. ‘I’ll squat down...’ he suited action to word ‘...and you...hop on.’
This was the world’s worst idea but if either of them acknowledged that it would mean they didn’t have this attraction under control and she was damned if she’d admit that.
Before she could change her mind, she ‘hopped on’ and tried to ignore how that meant effectively wrapping her legs round his face. Tried not to notice the muscle of his shoulders, the easy grace with which he rose and balanced her weight.
Focus on the damn tree, Em. Pretend he is a chair, an inanimate object.
Not possible when she could sense the vital strength of him; he stood sturdy and strong, unbowed by her weight. His hands encircled her calves, his grip gentle but it steadied her, so she didn’t sway. Calves were not a sensory part of one’s body. They weren’t. Or surely they weren’t supposed to be. But her brain had clearly got it all mixed up because all she could feel was his hands on her, branding her.
Focus. On the tree, on the living, flourishing tree. Somehow Luca’s touch, the warmth and strength of him, seemed to make the tree come alive to her eye. Made the green more vibrant, the bark softer to her gentle touch, every sense heightened because of him. As she looked at the pod ripe and full of life, inhaled the tang of the fruit, the delicate scent of the flower, her head whirled. But she knew it wasn’t only the force of nature, it was something to do with Luca, and all she wanted was to slide down, feel the strength of his chest, stand toe to toe with him. To touch and hold and kiss him.
But she wouldn’t, couldn’t.
Aware that at some point she had stopped taking pictures, was simply balanced on him, she forced her voice to work. ‘I’m done. Thank you.’
Slowly he lowered himself to the ground and she scrambled off with as much dignity as she could, turned to face him and suddenly realised how close he was, and her heightened senses soared.
The sound of someone clearing their throat caused them both to turn, the moment broken as a woman stepped forward, an apologetic smile on her face.
She started to speak, the Indian language of familiar cadence to Emily, but she had never learnt it and now it was her turn to smile apologetically as she shook her head and turned her hands up.
The woman pointed to the camera round Emily’s neck and then at herself before putting her palms together and holding them up in a gesture that clearly indicated ‘please’.
‘Of course.’ Emily smiled her understanding and took a few pictures of the smiling woman, including one with Luca.
With another beaming smile the woman left and Emily turned to Luca, relieved that the interlude had hopefully eradicated the previous atmosphere. ‘I’ll develop the photos and give them to Samar.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better head back for tea and cakes.’
Fifteen minutes later they sat in a cool white-walled room, decorated with family pictures, some clearly from a previous era, garlanded in fragrant chains of flowers. Samar had introduced his wife, Shamini, a slender petite woman with grey-streaked black hair and a serene smile.
‘These are delicious,’ Emily said as she bit into the sweet, crumbly round laddu.
‘Thank you. I am pleased you like them.’
‘Was your tour successful?’ Samar questioned.
‘Definitely,’ Emily said, and sudden heat touched her cheeks at a memory of being astride Luca’s shoulders. ‘We met one of your employees, a woman called Priya. She asked for a photograph of her and Luca. I’ll get it developed and send it to you for her if that’s OK.’
‘Of course.’ Samar nodded. ‘I too have a request. If you have time whilst you are here and Luca can spare you, would you perhaps take on an additional job, take some photos of the farm for our website?’
Emily hesitated, glanced down at her plate, picked up her cup of tea and put it down again as doubts pervaded. ‘Um...to be honest that isn’t my speciality. The pictures I took today are more for inspiration and ideas for Luca’s ad campaign and...’ And in truth she didn’t want to do it, could see Howard’s slow head-shake, the incredulous rise of an eyebrow that she was even considering it. It was one thing suggesting a few pictures of Luca for a website, but this was...an actual job. Plus Luca hadn’t taken her up on her offer—true, he’d explained why but...somehow insidious doubt crept in and there was Howard’s voice now. ‘Stick to what you know.’
Countered, she realised, by the very real and present voice of Luca. ‘That sounds right up your street, Emily.’ He turned to the couple. ‘Emily took some wonderful photos already and earlier today she came up with some amazing ideas for my website. I think she’ll do a great job.’
Now she was torn, between her inner doubts and pleasure at the endorsement. ‘Of course, I’d like to help,’ she said.
‘Excellent.’
Now Shamini beamed at her. ‘And I too have a request. Would you be able to take a family portrait for us to put on our wall? We have four children and eight grandchildren and we have no picture of us all.’
‘No problem.’ That she could do.
‘Thank you. We will, of course, pay you.’
Emily shook her head. ‘For the website pictures, sure, but I will not accept payment for the family photo. I feel like you have paid me in cakes.’
‘I can go one better than that.’ Shamini clapped her hands together. ‘You and Luca come with Samar and me to the local dance tonight. There is a performance by a visiting dance troupe and then it becomes a bit of a party.’
‘Um...’ Emily exchanged a quick glance with Luca, read in his gaze that, not only would it be impolite to refuse, but an evening in company would be much safer than a dinner à deux. A whole village would surely act as an effective chaperone. ‘That sounds marvellous.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Would it be OK if I got started on the website pictures now?’
‘Good idea,’ Samar said. ‘As long as Luca can spare you?’
Luca rose to his feet. ‘No problem. I’ll meet you back at the resort and we can walk down to the dance, grab some food on the way.’
* * *
Later that evening, Luca looked up as Emily approached the entrance to the resort, noted the lithe grace of her walk, and to his own chagrin his heart pitter-pattered at the sight of a woman he had seen mere hours before.
‘How was your day?’
They asked the question at the same time and she smiled, a smile that stopped him in his tracks. ‘You go first,’ she said.
Luca hesitated. In truth he’d spent his afternoon looking for clues as to what Jodi had done whilst on Jalpura. He’d secured a meeting with Pradesh Patankar, the royal representative, in two days’ time. The exchange of emails had been brief and to the point and all related to Luca’s request to apply for royal endorsement of his chocolate. There was no indication from Pradesh that the Petrovelli name was familiar, but perhaps that meant nothing. Perhaps the royal representative had simply assumed it was a common name, or a coincidence. Next Luca had gone to the hostel where Jodi had stayed, followed up his previous calls, but he’d drawn a complete blank. The proprietor thought he had a vague memory of Jodi, but given the volume of visitors he couldn’t even be sure of that.
‘Luca?’
He heard the concern in Emily’s voice and blinked, erased the frown from his forehead. ‘Sorry. I was thinking about work. I caught up with the office. And I have a meeting set up with the royal representative to discuss the endorsement.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ Her smile of approbation deepened the sense of wrongness at not sharing the whole truth. And for a moment he was tempted to do just that, explain about Jodi, tell Emily of his worry for his sister. But that was the point, he wouldn’t only be sharing his worries, he’d be sharing Jodi’s business in the sure knowledge that Jodi would see that as a betrayal. Hell, Jodi would be mad enough that Luca was here on Jalpura, let alone if he involved Ava’s best friend in his capers.
‘How was your day?’
‘I took some shots for Samar’s website.’
He heard the flatness in her voice and frowned. ‘You don’t sound happy.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not. If I’m honest I kind of wish I hadn’t agreed or that...’
‘Or that I didn’t push you into it?’ he asked, and she nodded.
‘I’m sure you meant well but...’ He heard doubt as to his motives and he frowned.
‘I did mean well—you have taken so many pictures since we’ve been here and I’ve seen how much energy you put into them, how enthusiastic you are. I thought this was an opportunity for you. To try something different.’
‘I told you already that I don’t want or need to do that.’
He decided to try a different tack, still didn’t understand why she wouldn’t follow her dream. ‘Can I see the pictures?’
‘Um...sure...at some point... I guess. I haven’t had a chance to look at them, pick out the best ones, and you’d only be able to see them on a screen right now, which isn’t the same as—’
‘So you could show me them on your phone now.’
‘Well, yes. I can access them from my phone but...’
There was genuine discomfort in her stance now, her shoulders had drooped and one arm crossed her waist, her gaze averted from his, and he came to a halt, oblivious to the people who thronged round them.
Glancing round, he spotted a small low-walled courtyard and he made his way over and perched on the stone ledge. Reluctantly she followed, and he risked a smile. ‘That’s the first time I’ve understood the phrase dragging your feet,’ he observed. ‘What on earth is wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
Luca watched as she sat on the wall; her expression showed a worry that verged on fear and he frowned. Perhaps he should back off but this didn’t make sense, plus it occurred to him, ‘Ever since we got to Turin you must have taken hundreds of pictures but you haven’t shown me a single one. Apart from one of me.’
‘You haven’t asked,’ she countered, and then bit her lip as she realised the opening she’d given him.
One he instantly took. ‘I’m asking now.’
‘I’d rather show you the finished products. It makes more sense.’
‘I can just about see that if it’s for the ad campaign, but why can’t you show me the pictures of the cocoa farm? I’m interested.’
‘I can.’ Emily sighed. ‘Of course, I can.’ But he sensed the tension that still emanated from her body as she pulled out her phone and tapped a few buttons. ‘Here you go.’
She handed him the phone, and turned away, arms folded across her middle.
This really didn’t make sense; he’d expected her to want to show them to him, had looked forward to her enthusiasm, the gestures, the smile. If he were completely honest he would have welcomed the closeness, the tickle of her hair as she leant over to point something out.
Now he remembered her trepidation in the London café, but that had been when she was touting for the job. Then he had understood her worries. But surely not now; why would she fear his judgement now? Yet he could see doubt and fear in her brown eyes and in the tap of her foot and the slump of her shoulders.
He looked down at her phone; her fear was infectious and for a mad instant he was sure he’d see a mishmash of out-of-focus images on the screen. He studied the first photograph, a glorious picture of a woman next to a cocoa tree, reaching up to check one of the ripe pods. The woman wasn’t young yet her body, the slightly calloused tips to her fingers, showed the suppleness of a woman used to hard work. Somehow the wide smile on her face, the vivid colours of her sari, the browns and verdant colours of the trees, the intense blue of the sky, all combined to show joy in her work, and in the beauty of her surroundings.
Luca continued to scroll down, marvelled at how Emily had captured the essence of the farm, beauty combined with a place of work, growth and productivity. The lush ripeness of the pods, the sheer quirkiness of the coconuts, the wave of the tree fronds, the movement of people going about their tasks, the casual intimacy of two women laughing as they worked, the concentration on the face of a young man pruning a tree.
He turned to her, saw she hadn’t moved, her stillness rigid as if she braced herself for his verdict.
‘These are absolutely bloody brilliant,’ he said. ‘You’ve brought the farm to life for everyone to see. As an overview and in the detail. I can almost smell the trees, feel the sun on my face. I want to meet these people.’
Very slowly she relaxed, and he was rewarded with a tentative upturn of her lips, though her eyes still held scepticism, her frown one of disbelief. ‘You don’t have to be nice.’
‘I’m not being nice. I’m being truthful.’ H
e studied her expression. ‘Surely you can see how good they are.’
‘Honestly? No, I can’t. All I can see is what I may have done wrong, wrong perspective, angle, feel, colour... I’m terrified to show them to Samar. I don’t even want to show you anything I’ve done for the campaign. I think I’m just all ideas—all snap-snap-snap, all mouth and no follow through.’
Their conversation on the plane came back to him, her conviction that her metier was fashion photography and she didn’t have the talent or ability to move into a different sphere.
‘Look, I know I am not an expert, but I don’t need to be—I am the target audience. I promise those photos will appeal to anyone looking at Samar’s website. But I believe they are worth more even that that—I think you could do a photo documentary on Jalpura. On the life on this island. You said yourself it is a fascinating place—an independent Indian island with a royal family.’
‘I told you—’
‘I know what you told me, and I profoundly disagree.’ He eyed her closely. ‘What expert told you that you don’t have what it takes?’
She hesitated, then, ‘Howard.’
For one incredulous moment he stared at her. ‘Your ex-husband.’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes narrowed at his expression. ‘But he wasn’t my ex when he told me. It’s how we met—he agreed to do a critique, an assessment of my work. He told me the truth. He didn’t have to—he could have strung me along because he wanted to date me, but he didn’t. And the points made sense.’
‘Perhaps he believed what he said, but that doesn’t mean he is right.’
Emily looked at him. ‘He is a globally renowned photographer. He’s won every award there is.’
Luca waved his hand. ‘That still doesn’t make him infallible and you can’t trust that his opinion wasn’t coloured by his relationship with you.’
‘I get that, and I spent months trying to prove him wrong. In the end I gave up my career to be his assistant because I hoped I’d learn from him.’
‘And did you?’