Читать книгу The Forgotten Girl - Kerry Barrett - Страница 14

Chapter 4

I stared at her hand, which was digging into my arm through my mac. Her fingernails were bitten down, and there was a smear of mascara and eyeliner across the back of her hand. I tried not to recoil from the dirt.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I can help you.’

The girl let go, much to my relief.

‘Really?’ she said. She ran her fingers through her short hair and made it stick up at the front. ‘I’m just so desperate for a job, you see. I wrote this article and I think it’s really good – at least I thought it was really good. No one will be able to read it now.’

I shrugged.

‘Don’t you have a copy?’

‘No,’ the girl wailed.

I subtly glanced at my watch. Rosemary would be expecting those proofs and I really wanted time to have a chat with Frank’s assistant, George. I needed to get rid of this girl.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m the lowest of the low at Home & Hearth. I don’t get to decide who works there. But if you write another feature and send it to me, I’ll make sure Rosemary, the editor, sees it.’

The girl grabbed my arm again, this time in excitement.

‘Would you?’ she said. ‘Would you really do that?’

‘Sure,’ I said. I noticed for the first time how thin she was, and how she was shivering violently because she wasn’t wearing a coat. Again I felt a flash of sympathy for this funny-looking urchin girl.

‘Have you got any money?’ I asked.

The girl raised her chin and looked at me through defiant eyes.

‘Why do you ask?’

I was too embarrassed to say I felt sorry for her.

‘Thought you might have rushed out in a hurry, and forgotten your purse,’ I lied, nodding towards her. ‘No coat.’

‘Oh,’ she said. She let go of my arm – thank goodness – and smoothed down her damp dress. ‘Yes, I didn’t realise it was raining.’

I opened my black patent bag – my pride and joy – and dug about for my purse. I found a ten-shilling note and thrust it at her.

‘I’m really sorry about your article,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got to go and run an errand for my editor. There’s a cafe there…’ I pointed across the road to a narrow shopfront, nestled in between two offices. ‘…go and get yourself a coffee and warm up.’

She looked doubtful, but she took the note anyway.

‘I’ll pay you back,’ she said.

I nodded, even though I was fairly sure that would never happen.

‘Tell Bruno that you’re my friend and he might throw in a free slice of cake,’ I said.

She grinned at me.

‘What’s your name?’ she said.

‘Nancy Harrison.’

‘I’m Suze,’ she said. ‘Suzanne Williams.’

I smiled back.

‘Hi Suze,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I have to go.’

I patted her briefly on her soggy arm and headed towards Carnaby Street.

‘It was nice to meet you,’ Suze called, over her shoulder as she crossed the Soho cobbles to Bruno’s. ‘See you soon.’

‘Not likely,’ I muttered.

I dashed down the road towards Frank’s studio, pleased to have got away from the girl. I would miss the ten shillings but I couldn’t help thinking I’d got off likely as I climbed the many stairs to Frank’s attic and rapped on the door.

George answered and my stomach did the usual flutter it did every time I saw him. He had longish dark hair that curled over his collar at the back – Dad would call him a hippy even though he wasn’t – and a cheeky smile that he rewarded me with now.

‘Hoped Rosemary would send you,’ he said. ‘Frank’s in the darkroom, just sorting the prints out. Tea?’

I followed him inside, shrugging off my damp mac and hanging it on a hook behind the door. I spent so much time in Frank’s studio, I felt very at home there.

George made me a cup of tea and we sat on the battered sofa together, waiting for Frank to finish.

‘I just met someone who thought I could get her a job on Home & Hearth,’ I said.

George raised an eyebrow.

‘She thought you were Rosemary?’ he said. ‘I can see why someone would mix you two up…’

I gave him a friendly shove and he laughed.

‘She was hanging about outside the office,’ I said. ‘She’d brought an article to show us, but I knocked her and she dropped it in a puddle.’

‘Unlucky.’

I made a face.

‘I felt a bit bad, so I bought her a coffee,’ I said.

George laughed.

‘You’re such a sucker,’ he said. ‘You’re way too nice.’

I laughed too.

‘She might be an editor one day,’ I pointed out. ‘She might remember I was nice to her, and give me a job.’

George shook his head.

‘You’ll be the editor,’ he said. ‘You’re going places, Nancy Harrison.’

‘You’re right,’ I said, only half joking. ‘I’m going to be a big name in the magazine world. I’ll run my own mag, and maybe – just maybe – I’ll need a good photographer.’

George nodded mock-gravely.

‘I’ll think to myself, who do I know in the photography business,’ I said. ‘And I’ll remember George. And I’ll think, I know – I’ll ask George…’

I paused.

‘I’ll ask George, if he knows any good photographers.’

George threw his head back and laughed. I was pleased. I got a real thrill from making him laugh and he obviously felt the same about me. We were sitting closer together now, I noticed. His long thigh was touching my leg. I knew I should move away – I was engaged after all, even if George didn’t know that – but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to shift along.

We looked at each other for a moment – a long moment.

Then Frank threw open the door to the darkroom.

‘Prints,’ he announced. ‘Hi, kid.’

‘Hi Frank,’ I said, annoyed and relieved in equal measures that he’d interrupted me and George.

‘Fashion,’ he said, giving me a large envelope. ‘I’m pleased with them. Get Rosemary to call and tell me what she thinks.’

I nodded.

‘Did you bring me an issue?’

‘Oh yes,’ I said, I’d thrown it on a side table when I came in, so I fetched it now. Frank – who was in his forties with a bushy beard that he claimed he’d cultivated to make him look like a grown-up – held the issue at arm’s length and looked at the cover. It was a photograph of a pie, taken from above, on a dark-brown background.

‘Fucking dreadful,’ he said.

I grinned. I agreed entirely.

‘Why don’t you put people on the cover?’

I shrugged.

‘Not up to me,’ I said.

‘One day it will be up to you,’ George said.

‘One day,’ I laughed. I pulled on my mac again and picked up the envelope of prints.

‘I’ll get Rosemary to ring you,’ I said. ‘Bye George.’

George blew me a kiss and I floated on air all the way back to the office.

As I was walking past Bruno’s though, a shout made me look round.

‘Nancy,’ Bruno called from the door of the café. ‘Nancy! I need you.’

Oh god, had that Suze stolen something or caused a commotion? Heart sinking, I crossed the road.

‘Your friend,’ Bruno said, his Italian accent heavier than usual. ‘She is sick. You have to help her.’