Lying for the Camera

Lying for the Camera: chapter three

“Hold it there. Just a bit more. Eyes on me. Focus, Hattie.”

She fixed her gaze on Tom and tried to concentrate, but it was easier said than done, what with the carpenter hammering nails into a board just inches from her head.

Hattie hadn’t known quite what to expect of the shoot but it certainly wasn’t this. Tom had whisked her off to a crumbling stately home on the Northumbrian coast where it rained every single day and the windows didn’t shut properly. She’d been cold for the past forty-eight hours and not just because of the ridiculous outfits she’d been given to wear.

Today, he’d set up one of the most dilapidated rooms with all kinds of DIY tools and traps for her to fall into. Earlier, she’d been attached to the wall while the electrician worked in the space around her. Hattie had barely dared breathe for fear of electrocution. It wasn’t until after they’d finished the photos that she’d realised none of the cables were live. Right now she was lying on a trestle table while a wooden box was built around her. She had a horrid feeling it was a coffin. And the hammer which flashed past at the edge of her vision definitely sounded real as it thudded into the nail. She flinched.

“That’s it. Give me more. Eyes ahead.”

The hammer caught her hair as it banged down. Hattie screeched.

Tom put down the camera and sighed. “Take a break.”

She let out a long sigh of relief.

“You okay?” He came over and held out a hand to help her up.

She sat up cautiously and checked that all her limbs were still attached. “I think so.”

He nodded. “Good. Have a coffee. We’ll start again in ten minutes.”

Tom went to talk to the lighting guy. Hattie slid off the table, grabbed a cardigan to put over the ridiculously flimsy nightdress she’d been given to wear, and went in search of something more sustaining than a coffee.

In the kitchen, she blagged a huge mug of strong tea and a bacon sandwich off the chef. She took a grateful sip of the hot drink and cradled the mug in her hands, grateful for the warmth. Presumably Tom had chosen this location because it was falling down. Personally, Hattie preferred accommodation with reliable hot water and windows that actually kept the cold air outside. She’d complained about the chiffon nightie but Tom had merely shrugged and said that he wanted to see her goosebumps.

Huh. It was all right for him, wearing three fleeces and a scarf. She’d like to see him wandering half naked around Croxfield Hall’s draughty corridors. Well, okay, she’d just like to see him half naked. Or fully naked. She wasn’t fussy. Unlike Tom, who was proving irritatingly good at resisting her.

He still fancied her. She was sure she wasn’t reading the signals that badly wrong. But they were already two days into her week-long contract and so far he’d all but avoided her. Even when he was shooting, his instructions were brief and impersonal. She’d done her best to flirt with him, but it was hard work when he was so determinedly not giving her anything back.

Hattie wasn’t one to give up on a challenge. He’d said there would be no shagging. He must have known she’d go all out to prove him wrong. She just had to find the right moment to catch him.

“We’re waiting.”

Hattie turned to grin at the object of her desire. “I’ll be there in a second. Want half?” She lavishly squeezed tomato ketchup on the salty bacon and soft white bread that the chef had put out, then cut the sandwich in half and held out the plate towards Tom.

“Thanks.” He took the plate and picked up his half neatly.

Hattie took a large bite. Tom shook his head and waved in the direction of her bosom. She looked down.