Maximum Exposure (15 page)

PART 2

Chapter One

Edinburgh airport was busy. Where was everyone going? Would she find the right check-in? Daisy, entering the airport through the automatic sliding doors, was fretting.

Tickets – yes. Passport – safe. Euros – yup. Credit card – check. Certain she had everything she needed, she arrived early at the airport, was third in the queue and checked through in record quick time. Sharon was right – there was nothing to it. Hovering uncertainly at the bookshop upstairs, she decided to go through Security before shopping. That way she could relax. She’d agreed to meet Sharon in the departure lounge rather than at the check-in, because Sir Cosmo Fleming had insisted that he would deliver his new paramour to the airport himself.

‘He’d take you too, Dais, but he’s going on to the architectural salvage yard in Leith to flog an old door and some ironmongery that’s been lying around in his stables, so the back of the Volvo’ll be full. Sorry.’ She pulled a face – apologetic, but still, a kind of you’ve-got-to-understand-I’m-in-his-life-now face. ‘I’ll be there in plenty of time, don’t worry. But you’ll be more comfortable air-side. You can just relax.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better if we …’

‘Don’t
worry
, Daisy.’

She had worried, but she didn’t want Sharon to think of her as completely hopeless. She was determined that this was going to be the start of her new life. The old, disorganised Daisy would be banished.

In the departure lounge there was an air of expectancy. Everyone was on the move, going somewhere different. Excited by the atmosphere, she wandered around, observing. There were businessmen and women, easily spotted with their smart dark suits, briefcases, and mobile phones, holidaymakers like herself, and a rowdy group of girls, headed off to the sun for a hen weekend, judging by the outrageous accessories they were sporting. She pressed her face up against one of the huge glass windows that overlooked the runways. The sky was heavily overcast and it was raining lightly. Small rivulets of rainwater trickled down the window and splashed onto the tarmac below. She could see them forming puddles that reflected the grey skies above. A plane outside the window started pushing back, ready to join the queue for take off. Soon she’d be on one too, heading off to the sun. She shivered in excited anticipation and checked the departure boards for the tenth time. Still an hour and a half to go. Too early to worry about Sharon, but she couldn’t quite quell her anxiety all the same.

Calm down Daisy. Just enjoy yourself.

She queued for a newspaper and a coffee, settled comfortably, unfolded her
Guardian
, and scanned the jobs pages. Did she want to carry on working for a paper or do something else? She glanced at her watch. There was only an hour to go now. Where was Sharon? Maybe she should call her to check. She pulled her mobile out of her bag and switched it on. It rang at once. Please dial 121. She accessed her voice mail.

‘Daisy? Hi, it’s Sharon at seven thirty. Thought I’d call really early to give you some notice. Listen, something’s come up and I’m not going to be able to come with you. Sorry. Call me back and I’ll explain.’

Not able to come with you.
Stunned, Daisy replayed the message to be sure she had heard Sharon correctly.
Not able to come with you ... not able ... come ... not...
The words boomeranged around her skull until she could feel the beginnings of a migraine.

What could have happened? Had she had an accident? Come down with food poisoning? Had someone died? If she’d picked up Sharon’s message first thing she’d at least have been able to make a decision about going, but now she was checked through, more or less committed.

Not able to come with you.
Her hands trembling, she dialled Sharon’s number.

‘Hi, Sharon here.’

‘Sharon. Are you all right?’

‘Oh hi, Daisy. Listen, I’m really sorry to let you down. Honestly. But you’ll never guess what’s happened.’

‘What?’

‘He’s proposed.’ Sharon’s voice was ecstatic. ‘Cosmo has proposed to me! I was so stunned, honest, I never saw that coming. But he took me out for dinner last night, really romantic, he took me to Tom Kitchen’s in Edinburgh, and we walked down to the sea afterwards, under the stars, it was so beautiful, you just can’t imagine. Well what could I say? I know it’s been a bit of a whirlwind but of course I had to accept. He’s such a dear. I’m so lucky, aren’t I? And just think, Daisy,’ she prattled on, oblivious to Daisy’s astonished silence, ‘I’ll be Lady Sharon Fleming. What about that? Huh?’ She paused at last.

Daisy couldn’t speak. She was too stunned.

‘Daisy? You still there?’

She gulped. ‘Yes. Sure. I’m … congratulations. But …’

‘Of course Cosmo said I should just come away with you anyway, he’s so unselfish, the sweetheart. But how could I? I mean, at a time like this. There’s so much to think about, so many plans to be made, the announcements, telling my family, an engagement party, wedding plans … I mean, you can see it would be impossible, can’t you?’

‘Couldn’t it have waited a couple of weeks?’ Daisy asked timidly.

‘Well no, not really Dais. How could it? I mean, you can see … impossible … need to get on … must talk to Lady Fleming … so exciting … can’t wait … Daisy? Are you there?’

‘Oh, sorry. I was just –’ Just shattered at being abandoned like this? Just pissed off with Sharon? Just depressed that no one,
but no one
, seemed to want to spend time with her? ‘– just thinking. I’m at the airport. In the departure lounge. I’ve only just checked my phone.’

‘Really? Well, go, girl, go. You’ll love it. Great little hotel. Lovely place. You can’t go wrong.’ Sharon’s excitement was still evident. ‘I’m really sorry I won’t be there, Dais. Honest. I was looking forward to a bit of sunshine, French grub, and vin du table, lots of it. But hey, to be honest, I got a better offer.’ She laughed. ‘Listen, have a great time. Send me a postcard. And when you get back, I’ll tell you all about the wedding plans.’

‘Right.’ Daisy’s head was spinning. She should have known better than to have trusted Sharon, however nice she’d seemed recently. Sharon had thrown Tiny Ted in the river. She should never have relied on Sharon for anything.

‘Bye, Dais. Sorry again. Honest.’

She rang off.

Honest? That was hardly a word Daisy would use to describe Sharon Eddy. She didn’t blame Sharon for accepting Cosmo’s offer – but couldn’t she have put off the arrangements just for one week, instead of abandoning her here?

‘Sorry!’

A passer-by knocked over her coffee and dashed off to his gate with a glance of apology and a shrug of the shoulders. Daisy watched the stain spread over her
Guardian
. If there were any media jobs in the pages, they’d be obliterated now. Maybe it was a sign. It didn’t matter. What did? She picked up the dripping pages and crumpled them into a ball, walked slowly to the waste bin and tossed the paper in. Her hands felt sticky and dirty.

She couldn’t go back to the cottage, not with Ben and Lizzie there, and there was nowhere else she could go. She stared at the bin sightlessly. Around her, people were moving to a gate, boarding. What was she to do? Go on her own? The thought was terrifying. Automatically, her hand went to her pocket for the comforting snout of Tiny Ted before halting at the seam as she remembered. Tiny Ted was long gone, cast into the fast-flowing waters of the Hailes by Sharon Eddy, her one-time colleague and so-called friend.

The options went round and round in her mind. She could simply wait here, miss her flight, go and explain, get her bags back. But then what? Slink back to the cottage? Spend the time suffering her parents’ censure? Go to a bed and breakfast in some retro seaside town? She’d still be on her own and she’d still be miserable.

She straightened up. What was she so worried about? She had a hotel room booked. It was only two weeks, for heaven’s sake. She could sit on the beach, enjoy the sun, read books, chill out. No one would know her. What did it matter? She might even enjoy it. And did she need a toy bear for comfort? Even one she’d treasured since childhood? She checked the departure board. The flight to Nice was delayed and she had another hour to wait. Picking up her bag, she stood up. She didn’t have a plan. She’d just have a look at the shops, maybe see if the newsagent had a guide book to the south of France or take a look at the duty free. It would all be fine.

Cameras. There they were. Rows of them. Neatly lined on shelves behind glass windows. Little cameras, pocket cameras, video cameras, cameras to sneer at, and cameras to die for. Black ones, silver ones, pink ones. Cameras with tiny built in zoom lenses and cameras with sophisticated interchangeable professional gear. Automatic cameras. Cameras with the capacity for infinite manual control.

Daisy, forgetting her situation, was transported with delight. Peering at the array of equipment on offer, she realised that she couldn’t even remember the last time she had been in a camera shop. For the best part of a decade, she’d been supplied with all her photographic needs. The equipment she’d used at the paper had hardly been state of the art, but it had been adequate. Now it occurred to her that the digital camera she had in her pocket was probably more suited to taking the odd snap on a drunken night out than anything affording the slightest bit of professional self respect.

‘Can I help you?’

The young assistant had come up on her shoulder as she peered at a fantastic-looking piece of high technology. Riveted by the camera, it took her a few seconds to focus on the youth’s face. Youth? Heavens, he looked as though he was barely out of school. His skin had the kind of spottiness she associated with teenagers struggling with the emergence of adult hormones. His lank hair looked unwashed and greasy. Didn’t they vet their staff?

‘Can you tell me about this one?’ She indicated the most expensive camera she’d seen on display.

‘Yeah, sure, that’s more aimed at the professional,’ he started. ‘It’s a bit complicated. Perhaps I could start by showing you this …’

Something in Daisy’s head exploded. She had lost the love of her life. She had become estranged from her best friend. She had completely messed up a relationship that might have become really special. She had lost her job. She’d been abandoned at the airport on her way to a country where she knew no one and could hardly speak the language. And to cap it all, she was being
patronised
by this spotty twit.

‘And that’s precisely why I’m interested in it,’ she said, holding back her anger and focusing perversely on the camera, which was way more expensive than she’d been considering. ‘So if you’d kindly allow me to look at it.’

It should never have happened. If he’d been just a little more respectful it never would have happened, but somehow, half an hour later, Daisy walked out of the shop the proud owner of an extremely expensive bit of kit and with a credit card that was taking the strain of the heavier side of three thousand pounds. She’d been in a daze when she’d gone in. When she came out, she was excited to the point of euphoria and by the time she looked at the departures board, she realised with a shock that she had just a few minutes to get to her gate. She rushed onto the plane in a complete funk. What had she done? She was totally without means of support and she’d blown a goodly part of her redundancy money on a camera. Was that a mature, grown-up thing to do?

She gazed distractedly out of the window as they soared heavenwards through the cloud. The land below them disappeared and they emerged into a space filled with bright sunshine. It was the first time Daisy had seen the sun for some days. It was an uplifting moment. All at once she was in another world, a world full of hope and light, and who knows, maybe joy. Miraculously, the sunshine transformed her mood. It was just plastic. It wasn’t real money. She could justify it – after all, she was a photographer and what kind of a photographer didn’t have a decent camera?

‘Would you like a drink, madam?’

She glanced at her watch. It was just past midday. ‘It’s a bit early,’ she said dubiously, thinking desperately that a glass of wine would actually slip down rather nicely.

‘I will if you will.’ The voice came from the man in the aisle seat.

Daisy looked at him across the empty seat between them. He looked like a businessman. He was probably around sixty, was dressed in a lightweight business suit, with a crisp white shirt and an extremely bright silk tie. His hair was grey but abundant and his eyes, behind silver-rimmed glasses, were amused and friendly. He was smiling at her.

‘I’ve just lost my job,’ Daisy said, apropos of nothing at all. She hadn’t meant to. It just came out.

‘Then it’s on me.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean … I can buy my own … I wasn’t asking –’ she blurted out, embarrassed.

He laughed. ‘Shall we have champagne?’

‘Oh I …’

‘Don’t you like champagne?

‘I love it, but –’

‘No buts. I insist. Now,’ he went on when the bottles were in front of them and the cabin crew had moved on, ‘are you going to tell me about it?’

So Daisy Irvine found herself telling her story to a complete stranger and discovering that the experience was oddly comforting.

Chapter Two

The hotel, near the station, seemed to be fine. It was comparatively new and nicely decorated, the room was clean and she had a nice view of the street, with all its comings and goings. The sea was just ten minutes’ walk away, the station ten in the other direction, and Nice’s picturesque old town was a brief walk to the east – but there were snags. The walls were paper thin, the rubbish collection took place every night at one, the street cleaners followed along at two, and at six in the morning the hotel took its deliveries for the day. To compound all this, the bedroom doors were heavier than the walls and were self closing, which resulted not only in constant banging, but also an alarming kind of juddering and shaking of what seemed to be the whole fabric of the building. Two days later Daisy was at screaming point and after three she was ready to murder someone.

‘Please, have you got another room? A quieter one?’

The girl on Reception was polite, but unmoved. She shrugged and spread her hands helplessly. ‘Sorry. Ze hotel, he ees very busy. Ze rooms zey are all full.’

‘At the back? Do you have a room at the back?’ If she was insistent enough, perhaps the girl would find something. ‘Could you look again please?’

A shake of the head. ‘Sorry, madame.
Complet
.’

Daisy was close to tears. She couldn’t stay here another night. She didn’t know what to do. She had to get out, do something, go somewhere. Turning, she pushed open the door and felt the full heat of the sun blasting into her face. She’d walk around, go into other hotels, find somewhere, anywhere.

The business card was in her pocket. She felt it while she was trying to pull out a tissue to blow her nose. Not that she was crying, of course, her eyes must be watering because she was so tired.

Daniel Bryce, Art Dealer
.

The man on the plane. She’d slipped his card in her pocket while they were chatting. ‘Give me a call. I’ll be in Nice for a week or two,’ he’d said. In her nervousness and her excitement at exploring the town, she’d forgotten about it. He’d been nice. Genuinely sympathetic. He didn’t have to give her his card. It would have been easy to say
au revoir
when they left the plane. On an impulse, she found her mobile and dialled the number.

‘Hi Daniel. It’s Daisy Irvine here. From the plane? I hope you don’t mind me calling.’

‘Daisy! Hello. You still in town? Enjoying yourself?’

‘Yes. No.’ That sounded confused. ‘I mean, yes, I’m here.’

‘But you’re not enjoying yourself.’

‘Not really,’ she confessed. ‘The hotel’s very noisy and I’m not getting much sleep –’ Her voice tailed away. For goodness’ sake, Daisy, she chided herself, don’t be such a drip. Why would anyone want to talk to such a misery? ‘I love Nice, though,’ she added hastily, trying to sound more cheerful, ‘and I’ve seen lots of things. Anyway, I thought I’d say hi.’

‘Hi. Got time for breakfast?’

‘Sure. Lovely. Thanks.’

They met at a small café near the sea front. He wasn’t alone. He was with a small, shiny-eyed, balding man dressed very stylishly in the palest of grey suits. Daniel said, ‘Daisy,’ and kissed her three times on the cheeks, before introducing him. ‘This is Monsieur Lefèvre.’

This time, it was her hand that was taken and kissed, in a charming gesture of old-world courtesy. ‘
Enchanté’
.

‘So, you’re not enjoying Nice?’

‘It’s lovely.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d love to get to know it better. But,’ she shrugged. She’d told Daniel about her job, she didn’t need to explain again.

‘Work? I’ve been thinking about that. In fact, I was talking to M. Lefèvre when you called.’

The little man beamed at her. ‘I was sayeeng to M. Bryce zat I do a lot of work for ze new Musée Jaune near the Matisse Museum. Eet ees a collection of objéts – objects – not paintings. Vessels, céramiques, glass, jewellery, paper, metalwork. Fantastique.’ He spread his hands expressively, his dark eyes darting from Daniel to Daisy and back. ‘Beautiful objéts. A private collection. The objéts, they are owned by a wealthy woman, an Américaine.’ He leaned forward, his arms in front of him on the table, his head just a foot from Daisy’s. ‘Zey need a
photographe
. A photographer, you say. Just to record ze objects, you understand. Eet ees not glamourous work. Set up ze object,
cleek
,’ he held an imaginary camera in front of his eyes and pressed the shutter, ‘put eet away, zen out with ze next one,
cleek
. Of course, ze light, eet must be
parfait
and zat ees not so easy, I sink? But you can do zat, yes?’

He looked at her expectantly. Daisy, seeing the fabulous objects in her mind’s eye, set pristine and beautiful in a room of perfect white, took a moment to catch up. ‘Me? But I …’

Daniel said, ‘Why not? What’s to stop you?’

‘But I … I don’t have anywhere to stay. I don’t have many clothes with me.’ Excuses tumbled out. It was so unexpected, so sudden, so terribly outside her comfort zone. Her French was poor. She had a return ticket for Saturday. She should go home because …

Why? Why go home? The sun was blissfully warm. Just yards away was the Mediterranean, its vivid blue the exact colour of the tour operator’s propaganda. What was there to draw her home?

‘The contract would be for the summer, Daisy. It’s a matter of recording the collection and once that’s done, the job may be complete. Of course, you’d need to see the Director, Madame Prenier, for an interview, but I imagine if my friend here recommends you, it’s a formality.’

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her lips moved as she thought about it all, screwing up first to one side, then the other. She looked at Daniel. Then at Monsieur Lefèvre. It was unreal. If Sharon had been here, this would never have happened. But what did she have to lose? She smiled. Her mouth relaxed, she felt alive in an excited, nervous, ridiculous kind of way. Her world had just opened up and she had no idea what lay in front of her.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Just ... wow.’