The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,32

of the pot on the desk then offered it to her. ‘We’ll compare notes. Then we’ll scroll through to the next page and repeat the exercise.’

Uncertainty marred her face and she leaned forward towards the screen. He examined her profile as she studied the shots, chin tilted forward, careful concentration stilling her apart from her mobile mouth moving constantly as if she were talking to herself. It was rather endearing.

‘Ok, how are we doing?’ He tried to sound enthusiastic even though he hadn’t seen a single thing that was worth his attention.

She gave him a miserable frown. ‘They’re all a bit …’

‘A bit what?’ he prompted, a little kernel of hope kindled by her honesty. He wasn’t being unkind but he always thought it was wrong to give false praise. She was smart enough to realise that.

‘Dull. Nothingy. They’re just pictures.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Yup.’

She turned, her eyes widening. ‘Sorry.’

‘You’re right. They’re nothing special,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’

‘Well, you said it first.’

‘Yes, but you’re not supposed to—’

‘Agree? But if that’s the truth …?’

‘Yes, well aren’t you supposed to give me pointers or suggestions?’

‘I can help you improve, but not if the original composition has nothing to recommend it.’

‘So you’re saying I don’t have an eye for a composition?’

‘Not exactly. Just not in this case. Anyone could have taken these pictures with a bit of know-how and a camera as good as you’ve got.’

‘Great.’

‘On the plus side, technically they’re very competent.’ He could see her deflating in front of him. He hadn’t meant to dent her confidence; he’d wanted to stir her up.

‘It’s a question of what you want to take pictures of.’

‘I don’t know yet. That’s what I’m here to find out.’

‘No, I don’t mean that.’ He paused. ‘What made you take these pictures?’

She stared at him, and for a moment he felt exposed as those blue eyes roved over his face, a slight frown and a not entirely pleasant twist to her mouth. If he’d captured a picture of that expression now, he’d call the portrait disgust. ‘What drove you each time you clicked the shutter? What were you hoping to take? Why did you take them?’

He could almost see the comprehension click as her back straightened and her hand reached for the mouse, running the cursor over several of the pictures.

‘They were there.’ He heard the raw honesty and disillusionment in her voice. ‘I felt obliged. Hanami is a big deal. Especially to Haruka, and I thought it would be good for the exhibition. Japan is famous for sakura.’

‘And now what do you think of them?’

Her mouth pressed tight in mutinous defiance. ‘They’re not very good.’

‘They’re fine. Technically they’re good enough. You could sell them as stock shots.’

‘But they’re not very interesting,’ she sighed, and her shoulders drooped.

‘I think your heart wasn’t in it.’

She stared at the screen but he didn’t miss the tell-tale swallow.

‘I’m not trying to upset you.’

‘Who said I was upset?’ Her quick denial was high and tight.

God, he hated mentoring. He wasn’t cut out to deal with emotional women – emotional men either. Emotional anything. Life was easier when it was kept on a nice, even keel.

‘Let’s have a look at the next page.’

‘What’s the point? You’ve already told me I’m … technically competent.’ He winced as she sat ramrod straight in her chair, stiffness in her limbs.

‘Because I’m your mentor and it’s my job.’

He heard the mutter under her breath and the drawn out, ‘Riiiight.’

It irritated him. Did she know he was doing her a huge favour? This was not his idea of a fun way to spend a Saturday morning. If he’d had his way, he’d have taken his black coffee back to bed and stayed there for the rest of the morning.

With a glare, he picked up the mouse and leaned forward, irked even more when she deliberately moved backward out of range as if he were a leper or something. ‘I don’t have anything contagious, you know.’

She ignored him, her focus on the screen.

‘And I don’t hit on women unless they want me to.’

The glare she shot him would have shrivelled most men at thirty paces. Blimey, she really didn’t like him, he thought as he scrolled through the new page of pictures. Normally women flirted with him. Fiona seemed to find him repulsive and was impervious, except he hadn’t missed those quick, curious glances she sent his way when she thought he couldn’t see, as if she were searching for some kind of answer. Again it crossed his mind