Part 12 (1/2)

'I didn't think you were serious.'

'Of course I'm serious. I'd write it myself only I haven't got time. What day?'

'Oh. Well...' I was thrilled. 'Any day, really-except Friday, as that's the day I go filming.'

'How about next Tuesday then?'

I glanced at my calendar. 'Tuesday would be great. Could we make it after four though, as I've got my last appointment at two thirty.'

'That's fine.' Lily scribbled it down. 'I'll tell India Carr to come up here at four thirty, then I'll get the photographer to give you a call. Now who shall I get? Let's see...' She bounced the end of her pen against her teeth. 'Johnny van der Veldt? Hmm, I think he's away. Jake Green? Too pricey. Hamish Ca.s.sell? No-he's been working for Vogue, the treacherous little beast.'

I stopped folding the chairs. 'You want a photographer?'

'Yes, sorry, I was just thinking aloud. Don't worry,' she put her diary away. 'The picture editor will sort it out.' I looked at her. 'We'll be off then-my driver's waiting-and I've got to get this little baby into her bed.' She snapped on Jennifer's diamante-studded lead, then smiled. 'See you next week.'

'Can I make a suggestion, Lily?' She turned round. 'For a photographer?'

'Yes, okay.'

Adrenaline surged through my veins like fire. 'How about... David White?'

'David White?' she repeated. She blinked twice.

'Ye-es.'

'You mean D.J. White? That David White?'

'Erm, yes,' I said uncertainly. 'Him.'

'This one?' She'd picked up my copy of the Guardian G2 section. On the front was a photo of a Pakistani boy-he looked no more than five years old-working at a carpet loom. In the top right-hand corner I read, Photo: D.J. White. 'But he's a photojournalist,' said Lily. 'This is the kind of thing he does.'

'Oh. Yes, of course. Oh well-never mind. I don't know much about photographers, actually,' I said. 'In fact I don't know anything about them at all, but I just happened to have heard his name recently so I thought, you know, why not mention him just in case it was a helpful suggestion and-'

'But it is!' Lily exclaimed. 'It's a very helpful suggestion, actually. In fact-it's absolutely brilliant. Yes. D.J. White, distinguished photojournalist, doing portraits for a fas.h.i.+on mag. That might give it a bit of an edge. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I like it. D.J. White doing the glossies. Very edgy. Did I tell you you're a genius, Miranda?' she added casually.

'Er, you did, actually.'

'Good.' She swept out. 'Because you are.'

CHAPTER 6.

But was it the same David White? The next morning, heart pounding, I phoned the two other photographers of the same name. Although they sounded slightly suspicious at being contacted, they both told me that, no, they'd never lived in Brighton.

'It is him,' I said to Herman as I replaced the handset after the second call. 'It's got to be. He's the right one. The White one,' I quipped frivolously. I felt curiously happy.

'So you engineered the introduction,' said Daisy when she phoned me on her way to work ten minutes later. I could hear her heels snapping on the pavement. 'That was bold.'

'I just decided to go for it, in case he was the same one and, as it turns out, he must be.'

'It'll make the whole thing much easier,' she said above the rumble of the traffic. 'The fact that he's got to take your picture first will mean that there'll be a connection between you, which is far less awkward than phoning him up cold. Can you get any more info on him before Tuesday?'

'I've looked at his website and there's no personal stuff. It just says that he was born in 1967-which fits, age-wise; that he trained at the City Poly, and that he worked for Reuters for ten years before going freelance.'

'And how do you feel about meeting him?' Meeting him. My stomach did a somersault.

'Sick. But I also feel strangely cheerful,' I added. 'Excited, almost.'

'That's because you know you're doing the right thing.'

I wondered what the consequences of doing the right thing might be-they could well be catastrophic-but I couldn't worry about that now. 'And what about Nigel?' I asked. I could hear the shrill beeps of the pelican crossing.

'He came back from Bonn last night. Obviously I didn't want to have any delicate discussions with him then, as he was tired. But I will. Soon,' she said. 'Definitely. I've just got to get him in the right mood.'

'Hmm. Of course.'

'But I'm not going to ask him this weekend as he's decided to have a barbecue while the weather holds-in fact, will you come? That's my main reason for ringing.'

'Yes, okay then.' I saw the postman walk by.

'Anyway, I'd better go. I've got a wedding to organize,' she added dismally. 'The reception's at the Savoy. A hundred for a sit-down. Six bridesmaids. Honeymoon in Galapagos. See you on Sat.u.r.day night.'

I pulled three envelopes from the bra.s.s jaw of the letter-box. There was a council-tax demand and the Animal Crackers filming schedule, and finally the form I'd been promised by the police. I quickly filled it in, then posted it. How long was it now? Six weeks. I looked in my hand mirror-the bruising had gone and these days my ribs only ached if I coughed. I'd been very lucky in some ways, I thought-unlike David, who would bear his scars for the rest of his life.

I spent the morning with a shy hamster in Hampstead-the little boy was upset because it didn't like being handled-then I went to see a distressed budgie called Tweetie in Crouch Hill. It had plucked so many feathers from its chest it looked oven-ready.

'Is he trying to commit suicide?' the elderly man asked, visibly upset.

'No, he's just rather unhappy.' Another tiny yellow plume fluttered down.

'But he's got a nice big cage there, and a cuttlefish, and lots of toys.'

'Yes. But there's something he needs much more than any of those things.'

'What's that then?' He looked mystified.

'Another budgie. Budgies should never be kept on their own. In the wild they're flock birds, so they need company.'

'Oh,' he said, mystified. 'I didn't know.'

'So I strongly recommend that you get him a friend as soon as possible and I'll be very surprised if he doesn't cheer up.'

'Right.'

'But please let me know what happens.'

'Yes. I will. I'll get myself down to the pet shop today. Now I must pay you.' He got out his wallet.