and takes me out twice a year. And besides-' her voice dropped conspiratorially '-his old vests do make lovely floorcloths.'
She got no further. Daniel, wild-eyed, was hauling her firmly to her feet. He gave a brief nod to the angry woman.
'Excuse us, madam,' he said tersely. He strode off along the deck with Lee's hand clasped in his, moving so fast that she had to scurry to keep up with him. She found herself taken, perforce, onto the lower deck, which was almost deserted.
'Lee, you wretch!' Daniel exploded. 'What are you trying to do to me? If that story ever gets about-' He covered his eyes.
'It won't,' Lee assured him solemnly. 'I won't re peat a word of it, I promise. It'll be more fun to keep quiet and blackmail you with it. Oh, Daniel, wouldn't have missed the last five minutes for anything you could offer me.'
He started to expostulate but stopped as he looked down at her face, full of mischief. Into his mind came the face of the tense, reserved woman she'd been when they first met. He smiled tenderly.
'Ah, well,' he said, 'if my career crashes in ruins about me, I suppose we can live off your photography. I'm modern enough not to mind letting you support me.'
'You see?' she teased him. 'Being modern has some unexpected benefits.'
Daniel took a quick glance round to make sure there was no one near them before dropping his head to kiss her lightly just below the ear.
'Well, I always warned you, didn't I?' he murmured. 'You can't trust any of us.'
Phoebe's birthday party passed without incident, barring the awkward moment when Mark and Phoebe, seeking to snatch a hurried embrace in the kitchen, disturbed Lee and Daniel similarly occupied. The young lovers saw the humour in the situation; Lee's main worry was Sonya. But when they were getting ready for bed that night her daughter disposed of the problem in brisk fashion.
'Honestly, Mum, I may not be as brilliant as Phoebe, but I'm not dense. I knew all those meetings with Mr Raife weren't just to discuss Romeo and
Juliet.' She added mischievously, 'Not the teenage version, anyway.'
Lee pretended not to hear the last bit. 'You don't mind, do you, darling? I mean-about your father…?'
Sonya considered this for a moment. 'No, honestly I don't. He's a smashing dad, but that's between him and me.' With a gentleness that made her seem much older than her thirteen years, she added, 'He wasn't so smashing to you, was he?'
'We didn't get on too well,' Lee said cautiously. She was almost holding her breath, hardly daring to believe her luck that Sonya was going to understand.
'I've still got Dad. I won't lose him, Mum, just because you marry Mr Raife.'
'I haven't said I'll marry him,' Lee said hastily.
'But you will. Anyone can see you're potty about him. When you started going out with him your temper improved all of a sudden.'
Lee gave her a wry look, then remembered something. 'What did you mean about Romeo and Juliet?' she asked.
'Well, they are. Phoebe's got it badly, too, now. She's due to go to France next week, and she's been trying to get out of it but her father won't let her.'
Lee went to bed thoughtful. Increasingly she had the sensation that a storm was brewing between Daniel and his daughter. She would have preferred to stay on the sidelines, but that was hard because both the Raifes seemed determined to draw her in. Phoebe regarded her as a potential ally because of her job, and Daniel felt entitled to her support because he saw her as Phoebe's future stepmother.
Offering to take the pictures had been an impulsive gesture that she was half regretting because it was a step towards becoming involved. But she was committed now, and must go through with it.
On the day, Phoebe turned up with a loaded suitcase and Lee went through the contents with her. There were five outfits and the girl had original ideas about make-up for each one. Gillian arranged her hair in several different ways, from demure to flamboyant.
Lee shot roll after roll, carried high by the tide of euphoria at having this marvellous raw material fall into her hands. Phoebe seemed able to change the atmosphere by the turn of her head, the angle of her body or the expression on her face.
When they stopped for coffee she eagerly turned to Lee. 'Is it going well?' she demanded. 'Am I any good?'
Lee drew a cautious breath. 'You move beautifully,' she prevaricated. 'Did you learn that, or is it natural?'
'I took ballet lessons once. I've never wanted to be a swot. I've always done well at school because I can remember things easily, and I like pleasing Dad, but…I don't know…' She trailed off unhappily.
'It's not the same as liking it for its own sake, is it?'
'That's right! I want to be where there are lovely things and nice clothes and lights. I don't want to spend my youth poring over books, even if I am good at it.'
Some people might have thought Phoebe's ambitions trivial, but Lee was impressed by the girl's clearsightedness and her ability to analyse herself. Behind that lovely face was a lot of shrewdness-enough, Lee thought, to give Phoebe the right to decide her own career.
'Couldn't you just fail your exams?' asked Gillian, who'd been listening.
Phoebe shook her head. 'Poor Dad would never be able to hold up his head again. I couldn't do that to him, could I?'
'No,' Lee said firmly. 'You couldn't hurt him like that.'
'For his sake, I've got to show everyone that I can get to Oxford, and then get out of going.' She gave a little laugh and scratched her head in a manner that was uncannily reminiscent of her father. 'It's as simple as that,' she said ironically.
While Lee reloaded her camera Phoebe began to study the pictures on the walls. Some of them were Lee's best shots, including some covers for Harpers. Others were agency posters. Every model agency distributed large posters covered with tiny pictures of their clients, with details of size and colouring. Like all fashion photographers, Lee hung these up where she could refer to them quickly.
Phoebe stepped in front of a poster from Mulroy & Collitt and peered closely at one of the pictures. The caption underneath read 'Roxanne, 5' 8'. Blonde, green eyes'.
'That's the model I talked to the first day, isn't it?' she asked Lee, who'd come up behind her.
'That's right,' Lee said. 'She's one of the best.' Huge rolls of coloured paper were strung up between posts to provide a variety of backgrounds. Lee pulled the gold paper down until it touched the floor. Phoebe was clad in the white dress she'd worn to the college ball, decorated with gilt jewellery. The be] was a gilt chain, bracelets jangled on her wrists, an‹ her ears sported earrings so long that only someone with Phoebe's swan-like neck would have dared to wear them. Against the gold background, in the white dress, with her pale skin and flaming red hair, she was a gorgeous study in contrasts.
When she'd finished, Lee said, 'Phoebe, I want you to put on the jeans and shirt you were wearing when you came in. Scrub all the make-up off your face and do your hair in bunches.'
'Bunches? You mean like a little kid?' Phoebe demanded in horror.
'Trust me. I know what I'm doing.'
When Phoebe had changed, Lee set her against a green background and pointed the camera at her. A cheeky urchin laughed back, so different from the previous shot that it seemed impossible it could be the same person. Lee gave a sigh of pure professional pleasure.
When the session was finished Phoebe changed back into her ordinary clothes and followed Lee into the cubbyhole.
'Do you think they're going to be good, Lee?' she asked eagerly.
'Yes,' Lee said guardedly. 'I think they are.'
'Good enough for me to be a model?'
'That's, not a fair question,' she prevaricated.
'Why? Because you've promised my father that you won't encourage me?' Phoebe asked with disconcerting shrewdness.
'Well, you know how he feels.'
