Chapter 11
Morning Kate,
Something’s just arrived in the office you’re going to want to see. I’ll bring it to the photo shoot tomorrow.
C
Hi Charlie,
I hope it’s what I think it is!
Cab booked for St. Dunstan in the East. I WON’T BE LATE.
Kate
“Lean back a bit, Kate, that’s it, now gaze moodily into the distance for me.”
Kate braced herself against the stone church window frame and scowled.
She’d spent the last hour gamely trying to follow the photographer’s theatrical directions, even though she was never a fan of having her photograph taken.
She couldn’t argue with the venue choice, though; the church of St. Dunstan in the East’s Gothic ruins had taken her breath away, a secret garden sanctuary hidden in plain sight among London’s hustle and bustle.
Tori, the photographer, had insisted on a sunset shoot to capture the golden-hour magic, and beautiful though the backdrop was, her dramatic demands were doing nothing to enhance the magic.
So far she’d had Kate pose precariously on stone steps, on a wooden bench with her knees tucked under her chin, and with her back pressed against stone columns covered in creepers.
“Too moody, too moody!” Tori shouted. “Try to think enigmatic rather than murderous.”
“I’m trying my best,” Kate said through gritted teeth.
On Tori’s instruction she’d brought several outfit options and she’d had to try them all, wriggling in and out of her clothes behind a makeshift screen of silver light reflectors.
Thankfully, the later hour meant the place was pretty deserted, but all the same, flashing her knickers in public wasn’t Kate’s favorite pastime.
It didn’t help that Charlie was there too.
He’d ditched his suit jacket and turned back the cuffs of his sleeves, his tie loosened enough to pop the top button of his shirt, aviators on.
He was in end-of-the-working-day mode, as if he’d just strolled off the cover of GQ to lean against the wall and observe proceedings.
“Now perch beside the ledge there with your chin cupped in your hands,” Tori said, sweeping her waist-length silver hair over one shoulder.
Model turned photographer, she had the look of someone who’d summered on Ibiza for the last forty years, bohemian and barefoot, her sandals kicked off beside her camera gear.
Kate looked down. “There’s a headstone in the way,” she said, pretty sure romance authors weren’t the type to trample over graves for the sake of a good photo.
Tori lowered the camera. “It all adds to the sense of place,” she said. “Trust me, just swing your legs either side of it and bend forward, elbows on your knees.”
It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t feel natural. Kate gave it a go, but it was never going to be the shot that made the cut. It was on the edge of her tongue to say as much when Charlie moved to stand beside Tori.
“The light is especially nice right now over there by the palm tree,” he suggested, nodding toward a far corner.
Tori glanced across, her head on one side. “It could work.” Pointing both index fingers in that direction as a signal to Kate to haul ass, she skipped across the cobbles, the tiny mirrors scattered over her floor-length skirt shooting light refractions around her as she moved.
“Fun as this is to watch, I don’t think it’s what the publisher is looking for,” Charlie said, as they followed a little behind.
“You don’t say,” Kate said. “I feel as if I’m at an advanced yoga class.”
“I’ll make some calls, get them to add contortionist into your author bio.”
“Funny,” she snarked, as Tori beckoned her over to stand in a Gothic archway, her arms crossed and her shoulder leaning against the warm, mottled stone.
“That’s good,” Tori said, peering through a viewing rectangle of her own fingers.
Kate studied the intricate mandala tattoo covering the back of one of Tori’s hands and found herself wondering if body ink was something she might consider.
Maybe she would, now that she didn’t have anyone else’s opinion to take into account.
Tori fired off a volley of shots and then paused. “Show the camera a little love, Kate,” she said. “Smolder.”
Kate instantly frowned, making Tori shake her head. “Okay, so who do you love? Think of them.”
“My daughter?” Kate said, uncertain.
Tori all but growled. “Your husband, your lover, your fantasy. Someone who makes your heart race.”
Kate’s gaze auto-flickered to Charlie and then back to the camera, flustered.
“Better,” Tori said, camera flashing. “Much better. Whoever you’re thinking of, it’s working.”
Rolling the stiffness from her tense shoulders, Kate sat on the low wall beside Tori when she was finally done. Charlie perched on the photographer’s other side as they took a first glance through the shots. The earliest ones of the shoot were definitely no use.
“You look as if you’re in the dentist’s waiting room,” Tori sighed. “Shoulders around your ears, too tense.”
Kate was grateful when she skipped right through the poses with the headstone in shot, no doubt realizing she’d made the wrong call.
“These final ones, though…whoever you’re thinking about is a lucky guy.”
Tori glanced at Charlie. Kate did the same and found him studying the camera screen over the top of his sunnies.
Much as she didn’t enjoy having her photo taken, the last handful of shots were undeniably excellent.
The late-evening sun had picked up the green in her eyes, and her expression had shifted from uncomfortable to confident, a boldness that wasn’t generally there.
“Definitely less teenage,” Charlie said, clearing his throat. “Job done.”
Tori packed her equipment away with the speed of someone who could do it in their sleep, loading it all into a huge carpetbag with a blown kiss and a promise to send the images over in the next couple of days.
—
“So that was up there among the worst hours of my life,” Kate said when they were alone.
“You hid it well,” he said, side-eyeing her behind his aviators.
“I’m just amazed she got anything decent.”
He looked away. “Draped over a headstone is definitely an under-used angle for a romance writer.”
“Hilarious.” Kate pushed her hands under her thighs on the low wall and looked up at the blue sky, stark against the soaring granite-gray walls of the church, the birdsong louder than the low hum of the city. “This place is something else.”
He nodded, his eyes on the church tower. “Bombed in the Blitz, lost its roof.”
“It’s like a film set, a jungle oasis or something.”
“Is that who you thought about for the photo? Tarzan?”
She laughed, despite herself. “You got me.”
He reached down into his slim black-leather backpack. “You might want to close your eyes for this.”
“Oh,” she breathed. She’d forgotten he’d said he had something for her. Nervous awareness rendered her vulnerable when she closed her eyes, chewing the inside of her lip.
“Hold your hands out.”
He drew the moment out just long enough to make her consider peeping through her lashes, then placed the unmistakable solidity of a hardback book in her upturned hands.
Her eyes flew open and her heart quickened as her fingers curled around its gilt edges, a sigh of pure pleasure as she took in the full glory of the book for the first time.
“Oh my God, will you look at that,” she said, tracing her finger over the golden slopes and loops of her name. She didn’t even care that it wasn’t Dalloway anymore. “Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”
She didn’t overthink it, just let herself feel the moment of realization that this crazy, unexpected adventure was actually happening. Clutching the book against her chest, she could feel her heart pounding against the backboard.
“What do you think?” he said, his eyes on the novel, and then her face.
“Do you even need to ask?” she said. “I know I didn’t write it, but honestly, I feel incredibly protective about it already, if that makes any sense?”
“You have every right to feel proud,” he said. “You and the author are a team on this, the public face and the private face.” He pulled his mobile from his pocket. “At the risk of you draping yourself over the nearest headstone, shall I capture the moment?”
She turned to him and grinned, still pressing the book to her chest like a proud mama. This was one photo she didn’t mind posing for.
“Can I keep this?” she said, turning the book over in her hands. It was an advance copy, missing the back-cover blurb and author photo as yet, but peppered with early author endorsements from names that made her swoon.
“Of course, it’s yours,” he said. “There’s something else too. I chatted with the author a few days ago. They’re open to anonymous email contact with you, if it would help?”
“Really?” Kate said, taken aback, thinking of the numerous occasions when Fiona had reiterated the no-contact clause.
“Really. I can pass on your email if you’re open to it.”
“God, yes. I’d love that, I have a million questions.”
“I’m not saying you’ll get all the answers,” he cautioned.
“Anything is a help,” she said. “Did you see Rachel’s email this morning?”
The publishing team always copied Charlie and Fiona into emails they sent her, and this morning’s PR update had been particularly startling.
Charlie nodded. “How do you feel about it?”
Rachel’s exclamation-mark-laden message had filled her with the kind of fear usually reserved for leaning backward over a sheer drop.
“Oh, you know, full-on terrified,” she said.
“If it helps, I’ve talked to Glynn a couple of times, he’ll put you at ease as soon as you meet him. It’s one of those things that sounds more frightening than it is.”
“Like root canal, or a math exam?” she said, unconvinced. She’d read Rachel’s email aloud to Liv when it pinged in that morning and they’d both gone wide-eyed with panic at the sight of such a household name.
“Just think of it like a chat with an old friend,” he said.
“Sure, if my old friend happens to be a national treasure on live radio,” Kate said.
Rachel from PR had been bursting about landing her a spot on the nation’s most-listened-to Sunday-morning show.
It was a complete scoop on her part and no doubt earned her a good old pat on the back in the weekly meeting.
“I can meet you there if it would help?”
She shook her head. “I’m actually better on my own in terrifying situations,” she said. “I’ve been working on my author Q keeping some of the pages intentionally blank felt like the only way to make sure it held.
“I should get back,” she said, standing up. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
He slid his glasses back on, hiding his eyes.