The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,10
shoulders. ‘I was quite busy before I came, so I didn’t get a chance to do as much research as I’d have liked.’
‘You said you’re a blogger.’ While he’d been waiting in a coffee shop for her he’d dug out the emails, read her application, seen her photos, and visited her blog. He hadn’t expected to be impressed, but he was. ‘What does that entail, day to day? I took a peek at your site. You’re a busy bee.’
She blushed but gave a little laugh. ‘It grew … like Alice. Originally it started as me visiting places I was interested in and taking photographs and blogging about my trips but then people began to follow me. And then PR companies started inviting me to places. I even went to Copenhagen once on a press trip and now I’m asked to do things which has expanded the focus of my articles. So really it’s now more of a magazine site. Sometimes I have my readers vote on what I should do next – that was flipping Avril’s idea, which means they’re really invested.’ Her mouth crimped in amusement. ‘Sometimes I think they don’t like me very much … but it’s … really made me do things I’d never have done. Last month they had me abseiling down a church tower to raise money for charity and the month before I was driving around Silverstone in a Ferrari. Although, that turned out to be a lot of fun and not half as scary as I’d imagined. Then in the last few weeks I’ve been basket weaving, visited Castle Howard, and learned how to make sourdough bread.’
He nodded. ‘And who’s Avril? Your sister?’
Fiona snorted. ‘Ha! No. She would be insulted by that. She’s a very glamorous TV presenter that I met on that press trip in Copenhagen who, for some bizarre reason, has been determined to foster my career ever since. She’s totally forceful and I have to meet her at least once a month. It’s her fault I’m here. If there were an Olympic gold in nagging, she’d win it hands down. But,’ she sobered, ‘she, that trip, and my friends Kate and Eva, they really … well, they helped me.’
‘How?’ Now he was interested. There was a story here. He kept up a brisk pace with the occasional glance her way, so as not to scare her off.
Her laugh was tinged with the high pitch of nerves. ‘Before … before that trip, I kind of hid from real life. Lived my life online rather than mixing with people.’
He deliberately didn’t comment, waiting for her to continue to fill the silence in the natural way that people always did. The technique had served him well over the years when he was trying to get to the essence of someone when he had to photograph them. Those unguarded moments when they revealed truths about themselves were pure gold if he could press the shutter at exactly the right moment. Luckily for him he had excellent reflexes.
Unlike most people, Fiona didn’t elaborate. Instead she closed in on herself, as if the introspection had brought with it unhappy memories.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s part of my technique to get my portrait subjects to open up.’
‘I’m not one of your subjects,’ she said, her voice sharp. ‘And I have no desire to be.’
A pangolin rather than a hedgehog, he mused, finding himself fascinated by the way she’d hunched into her coat – a hideous hairy thing that ought to be tossed in the nearest skip – and how her shoulders gained a stooped curve. Much as he wanted to take a photograph, he refrained.
‘That’s a refreshing change,’ he said lightly. ‘Most people are desperate for me to take their picture and, more often than not, for free. And others fancy being my muse.’ It was, he supposed, the photographer’s equivalent of a groupie.
She unbent a little and one side of her mouth lifted. ‘I definitely don’t. It must be irritating though.’
‘A touch. No one wants to pay for anything these days – music, books, art, films.’
‘The downside of technology, but the upside is that it’s given me a living.’
‘I think more than technology has played a part. You must be good at what you do; there are thousands of people out there with blogs.’
Her response was a shrug that irritated him. ‘There’s nothing worse than false modesty,’ he accused, and he was annoyed when she stared at him. ‘What? I know my worth. You