Maximum Exposure (19 page)

Chapter Ten

The bicycle squeaked and bumped as they worked their way through the streets.

‘I’ll take it back in the morning and complain they should make them with round wheels, not square,’ said Ben, turning to humour in his awkwardness.

‘The fall hasn’t injected sense into you, then.’

There was so much he wanted to say. Above all, he needed to explain why he was here – but could he do that? After seeing the exhibition? Now that she was with him, he felt like a shy schoolboy. His arrival had hardly been cool.

The image of ‘Majik sleeping’ was burned onto his retina. The Majik of the photograph was unarguably exquisite. By comparison he felt sturdy, plain, and very, very Scottish. How could he compete with the attractiveness of the long, elegant limbs, the fine lines of the face, the beguiling seductiveness of the dark, dark eyes?

‘You didn’t warn me you were coming.’

‘I was worried you wouldn’t want to see me.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

Ben studiously watched the traffic, but he was conscious of her gaze on him. Directness. That was what was needed. ‘You’ve hardly been communicative since you disappeared.’

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘So I saw when I was at the museum.’

There was no break in her stride. ‘You’ve been there?’

‘It wasn’t what I was expecting, but there was no mistaking the photographer. I told you that you should show that snow scene, didn’t I? I’m pleased you chose the butcher, too. Quite took me back to the old days.’

‘Do you love Lizzie?’

She
wasn’t skirting round the topic. The wheel wobbled away from the pavement alarmingly as it hit a small obstruction in the road and he had to divert his attention to wrestle with it. ‘No. I don’t. I never did.’

‘We’re here.’ Daisy, ignoring him, looked in her handbag for a key and unlocked the front door to her apartment block. ‘You can leave the wreck at the bottom of the stairs.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I was going to go to my French class tonight but I’m late now anyway – so how about supper?’

Ben propped the bicycle up against the wall beneath the stairs, out of the way. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

‘Are you hungry or not?’

In truth, not. He was still feeling rather shaken, but he lied. ‘Starving.’

She led the way back outside. ‘Then let’s go.’

Had she heard his answer? About Lizzie? He was sure she had. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it now, in the street. Maybe she just didn’t want to talk about it, full stop.

On the way to the restaurant she was talkative – about the museum, about the change of pace, about how her French had improved, how she loved Nice and, especially, the area round about the town. She didn’t mention the Majik of her photographs and she didn’t ask about home. Significant omissions, thought Ben, half a step behind her, watching her thick dark hair bouncing on her shoulders and realising he was here with Daisy, just as he’d wanted to be. Deeper down, there was unutterable sadness that it wasn’t in the slightest how he’d hoped it would be.

Daisy ordered for both of them. Ben just wanted to get drunk, but he allowed her to go ahead. When the food came, he toyed with it, but the bottle emptied fast and he called for another. It didn’t seem to be having any effect on him.

What’s he doing here?

She was trying to keep cool and appear indifferent. He’d said something about Lizzie, about not loving her, about never having loved her, and she’d ignored it. How can you talk about things like that in the middle of the street? Where, in the framework of the life she had built for herself, did that comment fit? Ben’s dramatic appearance confused her. Everything had happened so fast – he’d almost literally landed at her feet from nowhere.

They talked inconsequentially. Ben described his travels through France, his food research for the book, the fact that he’d almost finished writing it all up.

‘Have you enjoyed it?’ she asked, spearing a piece of squid on her fork and admiring the pattern it made round the tines.

‘Enormously. It’s given me the urge to do more travelling. More food writing.’

‘That’s good.’
Crossroads.
She had met him at an intersection, that was all. There was to be no travelling along the same road. ‘Any news from home? Have you seen Shar?’

‘What, the soon-to-be-Lady Fleming?’

‘That one.’

‘There’s to be a big wedding just before Christmas. Six bridesmaids and two pageboys, so I’m told.’

Daisy laughed. ‘Well, good on her. Is Cosmo still happy?’

‘As happy as one of his Labradors with a bone, I believe.’

‘Great.’ She wanted to ask more about Lizzie, but was reluctant to scratch at that scab.

Ben, perhaps reading her mind in that moment of hesitation, said, ‘Lizzie’s got a new man, by the way. After your mother took your stuff away, she advertised for a new lodger and along came this man called Dave, a bearded academic.’

‘No!’

Ben raised one eyebrow. ‘Yes. Unlikely as it might seem, it turns out that marine life is not our Dave’s only area of expertise. He’s good at netting mermaids too.’

Daisy giggled. ‘It’s serious?’

‘Seems to be.’

‘Wow.’

Ben laid down his fork and said quietly, ‘She’d love to hear from you, Diz.’

She glanced at him briefly, but couldn’t hold his gaze. ‘I’ll call her. Soon.’

Neither of them ate much. Ben was downing quantities of wine. She switched to mineral water. ‘So Lizzie’s found love and you’re playing the wandering muse. What really brings you here, Ben?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘So, shoot. I’ve got all evening.’ She pushed her plate away, folded her serviette and laid it on the table, sat back, crossed her legs, and tried to appear calm, friendly, interested but not agog.

He told her about the travel book, about his journey through France, the adventures he’d had, the people he’d met, and the food he’d eaten. ‘I tried to keep the weight off by doing a bit of cycling here and there.’ He patted his stomach. Food or no food, he was looking fit, thought Daisy. ‘I never had an accident before though. Not till tonight.’

‘What happened? It looked as though you were on the wrong side of the road.’ Ben’s gaze held hers. His eyes, burnt almond, had an intensity she didn’t remember.
What’s he doing here?

‘I was thinking of other things,’ he admitted.

Stop,
she told her heart. She could feel the pulse of it right through her body.
Stop. You made a fool of yourself over Jack. It’s not going to happen again.
‘Not a good idea when you’re in a strange place,’ she teased.

‘Nope – and certainly not when you’ve just seen something that turns your world upside down.’

‘What do you mean?’ Now she was puzzled.

Ben emptied his glass again, refilled it, turned himself square to the table, and leaned forward, closer to her. ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘Once a young boy knew a young girl and she was sweet and skinny and liked to do all the things he liked to do. Her eyes were light grey and her hair was dark brown and she loved dancing and picking mushrooms in the woods and damming the streams in Highland glens.’

Daisy forgot to breathe.

‘She was funny and innocent, but her heart was held prisoner by her father, who wouldn’t let her think for herself, or make her own mistakes, or do what she wanted to do. It seemed to the boy that the father squashed the life out of her and although he longed to help, he knew in his heart that the only person who could really change things was the girl herself.’

Daisy closed her eyes. The story was painful.

‘Once he kissed this girl,’ Ben went on. ‘For a few minutes he thought he could turn her from a sleeping beauty into a real princess, but he overestimated his powers. For a few years he went away, and after a time he heard that another prince had stolen her heart from the fortress. He was pleased for her because he never really thought he could win her anyway, but a long time later he discovered that the prince had abandoned her and that she was now a very sad girl. He longed to become her prince, but it wasn’t as easy as that because the first prince had cast a spell on her and she thought that he still loved her.’

He paused to draw breath. ‘Do you like my story, Daisy?’

Daisy pursed her lips and shook her head. Her eyes were still closed. She couldn’t have spoken even if she’d wanted to because there was a lump in her throat the size of a grapefruit.

Ben’s voice was very soft as he went on. ‘Just when he was feeling very sad himself, a beautiful village girl came by and offered him a gift. He thought it was the gift of friendship, but when he unwrapped it he found that it also contained the gift of self-esteem. The village girl made him feel good about himself, in a way that he hadn’t felt good for a long time. He didn’t love her, but she was fun, and kind, and carefree. She told him that maybe when the girl with the grey eyes and the brown hair saw the boy with someone else, she might notice him at last.’

At these words Daisy’s eyes opened wide. She stared at Ben as he went on, ‘She was wrong. The girl just ran away.’

‘No.’ Daisy shook her head. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘The boy decided to follow the girl to find where she had hidden. His plan was to tell her, at last, how he felt. He didn’t find the girl, but he saw something she had done, something that told him she had changed – she had found a new man and made a new life for herself and he decided that probably she didn’t need him after all –’ he paused, then finished, ‘– and that was what turned his world upside down.’

Daisy gave a soft moan. Ben picked up the bottle and poured the last of the wine into his glass. ‘OK, tale over.’ His voice had returned to normal from the soft, mesmerising tones of the storyteller. ‘It’s a corny yarn anyway. But now you know why I was on the wrong side of the road.’ He drained his glass in one long, gulping draught and sat back. His expression was thoughtful as he watched her, maybe gauging her reaction to his confession.

For a full two minutes there was silence. Daisy’s mind was racing, turning over so many thoughts, so many possibilities, scenarios, and options; looking into a shadowy future, reviewing a murky past. She couldn’t find her voice and was finding it impossible to decide where her turbulent emotions were leading her.

At last he said, ‘Bugger it, Daisy, you’re a photographer. What do you call it when you hold the camera shutter open for a long time, letting the light in to reveal the tiniest specks of dust in the very darkest corners? Maximum exposure. That’s how I feel right now. I’ve opened the core of my being to maximum exposure and let you see the dust. Please tell me it’s been worth it.’

The sound, Daisy realised, was the noise of her chair scraping on the floor as she stood up.

‘I can’t do this Ben,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I can’t do this Ben,’
she said.
‘I’m so sorry.’

It wasn’t what Ben had wanted to hear.
‘You can reach her heart, Ben,’
Lizzie had said – and he’d been stupid enough to believe her. Lizzie, however, didn’t know about Majik and she hadn’t seen Daisy in this setting.

His mouth had gone very dry and his lips seemed to be numb. He wanted to speak, plead, beg, say something – anything – to keep her here, to change her mind. He’d come a long way for this and his instinct was to fight his corner. ‘Is it Majik?’ he asked.

‘Majik?’ She looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘Majik?’

‘The man in the photographs.’

‘Oh. That Majik.’

‘Are there a lot of them? Daisy?’

She was standing above him, looking down at him in a vague, unfocused way. He reached up a hand and touched her, gently, on her arm. She didn’t move, but looked down at his hand as if it was alien. He withdrew it and stood, moving round the table to get closer to her. She was rejecting him, but he didn’t know why. What did his pride matter? Fuck his pride. He had to get her to talk. Hesitantly, he reached out both his hands and took hold of hers. He felt them twitch in his grasp, as though she wanted to withdraw them, then they went still, passive. ‘Daisy? Look at me. Please sit, talk to me, tell me – has he hurt you? It’s all right. Just tell me.’

Around them, he was conscious of a brief lull in conversation. There must be an air of drama around them because he sensed that they were attracting attention. At least she hadn’t pushed him away. ‘Please sit, Diz. Here.’ He guided her back to her chair, then moved his own chair round the table, carefully, still maintaining contact. If he broke that delicate thread, even for an instant, he would lose her for ever. That was how it seemed to him. He could feel her pulse under his hand. It was very slow.

‘Talk to me, Daisy.’

From a nearby table there was a shout of laughter. The noise seemed to break Daisy’s trance and at last she looked at him.

‘I’m so sorry, Ben. Your story was –’ she hesitated, ‘– very moving. It’s making me feel more selfish than I can say, but for the first time in my life, I have to be honest, and true to myself.’

‘Of course. That’s good. Very good.’ The words were right but despite the warm evening, he had begun to feel chilled.

‘You’ve seen my pictures, Ben. You’ve guessed at some of what lies behind them, but you’re not quite correct. You see, when I came here, to Nice, I was about as low as it’s possible to be. I’d lost my job, I’d finally learned in the most public and humiliating way that there was no chance of ever getting Jack back in my life. My best friend was having an affair with my best mate, which left me pretty much out in the cold –’ Ben shook his head and started to say something, but she went on seamlessly, ‘– and to cap it all, Sharon had decided that staying at home to arrange her wedding was more of a priority than spending time with a friend who needed her.’

She snorted and pulled her hands away from Ben’s. He felt their absence like a pain. Her hands now reclaimed, she picked up her serviette and started twisting it into odd, screwed up shapes.

‘I was adrift and alone – but then some good things started to happen. I met a guy on the plane and, miraculously, he fixed me with a job. I revived my French. I found I could manage rather well on my own. The work I was producing was high quality. I even managed to re-engage with the real, creative me, the side of me that somehow I was never quite confident enough to believe in. I was free, at last, of my father’s constant carping. I didn’t need Jack to look after me.’ She glanced sideways at Ben. ‘Here there was only me. I had to do it all myself – and do you know what? I rather enjoy it. I
like
having to rely on myself. I’m proud of myself for the first time in my life. It’s a great feeling.’