What the Lightning Sees: Part One (4 page)

“Don’t say that,” I said, disturbed by the label.

“What? That you’re rich? Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s not me.”

“Jesus, most people would be shouting it from the rooftops. You should be proud of yourself. I know I am. What you did with Energy Trade was amazing. Stop being so shy about it.”

“I’ve been lucky,” I muttered. Beth was my greatest champion, but even her praise made me uncomfortable. My father was the same. My feet were firmly on the ground and that’s where I was determined for them to stay.

“A little. Most of all you’ve worked hard, you’ve got a brilliant brain and you have some kind of chip in here,” she said tapping her head. “It gives you great ideas and the ability to follow through with them. Jeez, and you say I beat myself up.”

Beth always saw the best in people. I swear she’d find the good in a serial killer. “What are you cooking?”

“You’re not so talented at subtly changing the subject though.” She grinned at me.

“Whatever.”

The following Monday, I was back at Rallegra.

“I saw your photographs in a gallery over the weekend. You kept that quiet,” Robert said. It was good to catch up with him again. I’d not spent much time with any of my friends since I started Energy Trade.

“You did? The one in Chelsea?”

“You have your pictures in more than one? You dark horse.”

“Just two. They don’t sell very well, but for some reason the owners still like to have them.” Photography helped me relax. I didn’t do it to make money, and I certainly didn’t tell my friends that they were in galleries. It was no big deal.

“From what I saw, they were selling just fine. You make me sick, you know that?”

I drew my eyebrows together. “Sick?”

“Yeah, you piss me off. The way you pick up a camera for fun and suddenly you’ve got galleries wanting to sell your work. You set up a company and the next thing you know, you’re selling it for millions. And you couldn’t keep the women away, even before you had money.”

“Dude, right place, right time. What can I say?” He made it sound like I had the Midas touch, but I’d been lucky and I enjoyed what I did.

“I have no idea how you have any friends because you make all of us look bad. Oh, that’s right, because on top of it all, you’re a really good guy. Piss off, I’m sick of your handsome face.”

I chuckled. “Okay, I’m out of here. I only came in to drop off your coffee, Mr. Bossman. I’ll see you in five.”

I wandered into the room we’d used for Monday’s meeting and found Haven sitting in the spot where I sat last week.

“Good morning,” I said, unsure of what sort of reaction I would get from her.

“Hi, Harry. How are you?”

Okay, she was making an effort. That was promising. “I’m all good thanks. You?”

I watched her. Her hair was still severe and she was still dressed as if she were in mourning, but the light bounced off her cheekbones in a way I hadn’t noticed before. She would probably photograph really well. Her lips were naturally pouty—

“Harry?” She broke my internal train of thought and I realised I hadn’t been listening to her while looking at her.

“Sorry, what?” I asked.

“We’ve been given the green light to go to the first day of Sandy’s filming on Thursday. So it would be great if we could have a meeting—you, Jenny and me after this to agree on our approach?”

I nodded. “Oh, and thanks for the coffee.”

“I’m really sorry I overreacted.” She seemed worried and searched my face for a reaction. “I was stressed and I have a lot riding on this interview. I took it out on you. I hear you’re really talented and I’m really excited to be working with you.”

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. She was a useless suck up, but I appreciated the effort. “Shall we call a truce?” I asked.

She quickly responded, “That would be great and I promise to keep my bitchy side medicated and unconscious in future.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” I said, teasing her. “I can handle a little bitchy.” It was true. I liked that she was obviously passionate about what she did. She just didn’t manage to channel it in the right way.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she cocked her head at me as people started to file in.

Haven

Harry had been good to his word—he didn’t seem to be holding any grudges and I was grateful.

“So, remember, let me do the talking. She’s volatile and I don’t want to upset her,” I reminded Harry as we headed to the building that we’d been told to.

“You think
I’d
piss her off.” He smirked at me.

Shit. I hadn’t meant it like that. “No, not at all. I’m sure she will love you. Better than me, in any event. I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

“So you keep saying.”

We showed our passes to the security guard and he let us through a door. “Follow signs for stage two,” he grunted.

We went down a dark corridor, which led us into what looked like a huge airport hangar with lots of scaffolding and people bunched at one end. My belly was fluttering with the unfamiliar. I’d never been on a film set before, and I didn’t know what to expect. I really hoped Sandy liked me. It would make interviewing her a lot easier.

“Come on,” Harry said.

I’d stopped dead. I took a deep breath and headed toward the people. The set started to come into view. I couldn’t quite make out what or where it was supposed to be. Was it an office or a call centre?
A squeal broke my concentration and I searched for the source and saw Sandy Fox with her hands thrown up in the air, staring in my direction.

“Oh my god!” she squealed again and started running toward me. She couldn’t be that excited to see me. I turned to Harry, who wore a shit-eating grin and was holding his arms out, ready to catch her.
What the fuck?

Sandy launched herself at Harry and he spun her around.

“Hey kiddo,” he said as he hugged her and winked at me over her shoulder.

I should have fucking known.

“Harry, I’m so excited to see you. It’s been too long,” Sandy said as she clung to him.

It was like I was in a movie.
Nothing was making sense. All I could do was roll my eyes at the pair of them.

When he finally put her down, she grabbed his hand.

“Kiddo, this is Haven. She’s the journalist from Rallegra.”

“Hey, Haven.”

“Hi, Sandy, it’s a pleasure to—”

“You know you’re not allowed to call me kiddo anymore. You promised.” Sandy pushed out her lips in an exaggerated pout. I rolled my eyes.

“Well, if you promise not to be a brat, I won’t.” He ruffled her hair. They seemed very familiar with each other.

“When have I ever been a brat?” she asked.

“Every time you drink?” Harry replied.

She threw her head back and laughed. I felt uncomfortable, like I was intruding on a private conversation. Should I give them some space to catch up? They were completely ignoring me. Where could I go?

“How’s Dave?” Harry asked.

“He’s dating some guy and neglecting me.” She pouted again.

“I’m sure you have more than enough attention from your many admirers.”

“None are as handsome as you, Harry,” Sandy whined as she pulled on his hand, getting him to follow her across to the set.

“You’ll go blind if you keep rolling your eyes like that,” he whispered to me as he followed her. “Come on.”

As we got nearer to the action, the director scooped Sandy up and we were ushered over to a couple of chairs at the edge of the cameras and lighting equipment.

“So you know her, huh?” I asked Harry, desperate to understand the extent of their relationship.

“A little.” His eyes were fixed on the scene in front of him.

“I should have guessed. Go to school with her brother?”

“No.” He wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

“You haven’t slept with her, have you?” I was almost certain that he had.

“Nope.” Was he being deliberately obtuse? He was starting to irritate me.

“Why are you even working at this magazine? You clearly don’t need the money. Shouldn’t you be interning at an investment bank or something?”

“I know you find it difficult, but will you just try not to be bitchy for thirty minutes? If you had any sense, you would be doubly nice to me now that you know I know Sandy.”

Was he saying he could make things awkward if I didn’t suck up to him? “You’re blackmailing me?” I asked him.

He sighed. “Jesus, you’re hard work.”

“I’m the one trying to keep it professional. You clearly have a personal relationship with the subject of this article,” I said. It’s like I’d pressed a button I couldn’t turn off. I’d slotted into giving him grief and I couldn’t row back.

“You think consistently insulting me is professional?”

I didn’t. I needed to stop. I had to unpress my bitch button. I couldn’t work out what had started it. Did I resent his charmed life? The way everyone seemed to eat out of the palm of his hand? The way women began tittering around him. Check, check and check. I wasn’t normally this bad. At least I didn’t mean to be. The problem was that he seemed like a nice guy, and despite calling me on my shit, he didn’t seem to hold it against me. I pushed back my stray hairs into my bun.

“I’m sorry if you thought—”

“Stop it with your half-assed apologies. There’s nothing worse than the non-apology apology. Either apologise and mean it, or don’t bother. Don’t try and be clever and half apologise and think I won’t notice—like on the Post-It. I’m not dumb. Say sorry and we can all move on, but don’t dare say you’re sorry
if I thought
you were a bitch. It’s a cop out. You
were
a bitch.”

I pushed my lips together. I’d always found apologizing hard until I discovered a way of apologising without
actually
apologising. No one had ever noticed before, or they never told me they had. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Harry uncrossed his too-long legs and stood, clearly wanting to make every inch between us count.

He was right. I was going to have to try to be nice to him. I couldn’t have him turning Sandy against me, and I didn’t want him not to like me.

“Okay. I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

He slid his hands into his pockets and nodded.

I pulled out my laptop and started to take some notes. If I focused on the article, at least I would have less opportunity to be mean to Harry. I guess he couldn’t help it if he came from a privileged background any more than I could help not coming from one. I would try and make more of an effort with him.

There was lots more to take in than I expected. I had thought I’d be tucked away in a dressing room, waiting for a break in filming, but being on set was fascinating. There seemed to be a lot of people not doing much but staring intently at Sandy and her co-stars as they ran through what seemed to be the same scene again and again and again. We were too far away to hear what they were saying, and no one had given us headphones. I checked to see if there was a free seat closer to the action.

“Do you think they would mind if we moved forward?” I asked Harry.