An Image Of You. Liz Fielding

      Lukas had his hands on the table in front of him, his fingers laced together, his expression that of a man behaving with the utmost valour. George reached out and patted them kindly. Leaning forward, in a confidential tone she said, ‘Do you know the very last thing Pa said to me yesterday? He said, “George, keep Mr Lukas happy.” So don’t you worry yourself a bit. It will be a relief to share a tent with you. I shall feel completely safe.’ And that too was the truth, she thought grimly, firmly suppressing a shiver at the thought of being alone in a tent in the bush. Anything would be better than that. And she was sure that she would be perfectly safe from any unwanted attentions. There seemed little likelihood of Lukas making a pass at her. ‘Oh, look. Here’s breakfast.’ She gazed at a plate piled high with more than she normally ate in a week for breakfast. ‘Yummy,’ she said, hoping the dismay she felt was not evident in her voice.

      Lukas had obviously decided against a cooked breakfast. Instead he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, giving George a chance to study his face as she nibbled a slice of bacon. In repose he looked younger, less dangerous. And his eyelashes were scandalously long. It was a pity he wasted so much time on pointless work: calendars, pin-up girls, beauty competitions. A photographer with his talent and reputation could do a great deal of good with his camera.

      ‘When you’ve finished we’ll get off.’ He hadn’t opened his eyes and he made her jump. She wondered uneasily if he had been aware of her appraisal.

      ‘So soon? I would have liked to see a little of Nairobi.’

      ‘I’m not in the guided-tour business and this isn’t a holiday, Miss … George. If you’re going to be my assistant you had better accept that right now.’ He had stopped being polite, lifting heavy lids slightly to see the effect his words were having on her. ‘Preferably without having to be told twice.’

      He had apparently decided that he was stuck with her. But he didn’t like it. And she was ridiculously glad he didn’t like it. But she kept her smile inside. She abandoned her effort to eat another sausage.

      ‘I’ll get my bags, then.’ He stood up and she waited for him to offer to collect them for her. He didn’t.

      ‘I’ll be waiting in the jeep. Don’t be long.’

      ‘No. At least I don’t suppose it will take long to phone home, will it? I did promise Pa I would let him know I had arrived safely.’ Some devil was driving her to annoy him, and she was unable to resist this last gibe.

      Lukas placed his hands on the table and leaned across at her, his face very close to hers. She had time to notice that his eyes were grey, flecked curiously with blue, and they were surrounded by small white lines from being screwed up against the sun. It seemed unlikely that they were laughter-lines. A small muscle worked in his jaw.

      ‘Miss Bainbridge,’ he said heavily, ‘I have wasted enough time today coming to Nairobi to fetch you. I’m going straight back. And if you are going to work for me, so are you. If your father wants to know that you arrived safely he will have to telephone the airline.’

      George knew that she had gone too far. She wanted Lukas embarrassed, she wanted him unhappy. Angry she could do without.

      ‘I’m …’ But he was in full flow and not about to be stopped.

      ‘When I am working on location I work twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. And when I work, everybody works.’ He let his words sink in. Then he continued with obvious relish, ‘As my assistant you will be at my beck and call every moment of your waking life—and your sleeping one if I decide I need you in the night. So perhaps you had better decide where your priorities lie right now. I haven’t the time to run back and forth to Nairobi so that you can telephone your father.’ He stood up. ‘I thought the man had more sense …’ he muttered.

      She fumed inwardly. ‘It’s just as well we’ll be sharing a tent, then,’ she replied sharply. ‘I can ask your permission when I need to use the lavatory.’

      His eyes narrowed and, realising that she had let her disguise slip, she giggled and hiccuped. ‘But I’d better not tell Pa. He might not understand.’

      Like a drowning man, he clutched at the offered straw. ‘You’re right. He might not. Look, why don’t you just stay in Nairobi for a few days? Have a look around. There’s a lot to see. Just enjoy yourself. No one will blame you; it’s well known that I’ve a short fuse. You could just say I was impossible to work for. There are plenty of people who would believe you.’ He sounded genuinely sympathetic. He almost smiled. ‘You can see how difficult it’s going to be. That’s the reason I prefer a male assistant. It will be very rough going, you know.’

      Cruelly she snatched this straw from his grasp. ‘Now, Mr Lukas …’

      ‘Lukas, just Lukas!’ he appealed.

      ‘Oh, yes. Like “just George”.’ She giggled, again. ‘Now Lukas, you remember what I said. Pa said I was to keep you happy. And keep you happy I will. However will you manage if you don’t have someone to hold your light meter? I’ll just go and get my bags, and then we can be off.’

      ‘Hold my light meter …?’ For a moment she thought he was going to explode. Instead he straightened and with a shrug said, ‘I’ll meet you out front.’

      And he was waiting impatiently behind the wheel when she returned. She threw her bags into the back and jumped up beside him. He stared in horror at the floppy hat she had added to her outfit with what, modesty thrown to the four winds, she believed to be a touch of genius. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again in a hard line.

      ‘Well? What are we waiting for?’ she asked with a happy smile. ‘I thought you were in a hurry.’

      He made no reply, started the jeep and executed a vicious U-turn before skidding away from the Norfolk Hotel.

      They had travelled several miles before he spoke. ‘That is a terrible hat.’

      George touched the offending headgear. ‘Oh. Do you think so? It’s just to keep the sun off. This is hardly Ascot, is it?’

      He gave her a sideways glance, taking in her motley attire, and grinned. ‘Hardly. And I certainly wouldn’t want you to get sunstroke. At least the other girls won’t feel threatened.’

      ‘Girls?’ she repeated, refusing to get angry over his careless personal remark. After all, she told herself, she didn’t care what he thought of her.

      ‘They’re highly strung creatures. They don’t like competition from non-professionals.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What girls?’

      Lukas stared at her. ‘The models. There are three of them. Kelly, Amber and Peach.’ He sighed. ‘For the calendar. Your father’s calendar.’

      ‘Calendar.’ She breathed the word. It wasn’t a question, because she knew now the full extent of her father’s punishment. And half an hour ago she could have escaped. But not now. Now she was headed towards some unknown camp with Lukas. She had a few traveller’s cheques, but no return air ticket, no way of getting home without throwing herself upon her father’s mercy. And that she was not about to do. She was trapped and she would have to make the most of it.

      ‘Yes, calendar. Didn’t your father tell you?’

      She shook her head. ‘He was having a little joke with me. He has quite a sense of humour.’

      Lukas glanced at her and almost smiled. ‘Yes, I’d agree with that. So, tell me what you know about photography. What you’ve done.’ He added, a little grimly, ‘If anything.’

      She didn’t answer immediately, couldn’t trust herself to, and she dug her nails into the palms of her hand to stop herself saying exactly what she thought. Lukas, it seemed, was in no hurry; his expression was unreadable as he waited for her to collect her thoughts. She sat desperately trying to think of something clever to say as Nairobi dipped below the skyline behind them and they