Whisked Away by the Italian Tycoon

‘I hope your evening was productive?’ he asked.

‘It was, thank you.’ She’d elected to work in her hotel room the previous night; by tacit consent neither of them had wished to spend the evening together, had no wish to risk a repeat of the kiss. ‘I’ve put together some ideas for the ad campaign and then I sorted out my photos of Turin.’ She gave a sudden smile. ‘Could I be any more boring?’

‘That is not boring. What do you do with all the photographs? You must have taken hundreds of images.’

‘I go through, keep the best, in case I need them in the future. If I ever get asked to do a photo shoot in Turin they’ll be helpful.’

‘What made you choose fashion photography? I can see that you are very good at what you do but over the past days you have taken pictures of food and buildings and people, but not once have you shown any interest in actual fashion. Or gone shopping, or even window-shopped in any of the boutiques.’

His perception surprised her; the fact that he had even noticed gave her a jolt. Howard had always been focused on himself; his only concern with Emily had been how she reflected on him. Her mother’s priority was always herself or her current ‘love’. ‘I didn’t really choose it. I kind of fell into it. I’ve always enjoyed photography.’ Her camera had been like a security blanket, a way of making invisibility a positive. She’d grown up constantly being told to ‘not get in the way’, ‘not be noticed’ by her mother. At her annual visits to her father’s she’d had no idea how to fit in, had felt redundant, embarrassed, had wanted to be invisible. Taking photographs gave her something to do and she’d figured out that most people liked having their picture taken. And so she’d taken family photos of her dad and his second wife and their happy brood of children, all the time aware of the irony that, as the photographer, she wasn’t in the snaps. A fitting representation of her role in her father’s life.

‘But becoming a fashion photographer was sheer dumb luck. I was at a party and the host asked if I could take some informal photos. I took one of a model and she loved it; I thought it was the booze talking but next day she called me up, told me she’d used her clout to get me a job. It all went from there. So fashion chose me really.’

‘But you could have changed course if you wished.’

‘It’s not that easy.’ She had wanted to. Had wanted to do more serious photography, the type that documented real life. The sort of work Howard did, that genuinely made a difference, showed the world the ravages of war, the injustices of poverty. That was how she and Howard had first got together. She’d somehow found the courage to approach him at a party, asked for a critique, been in super-fangirl mode. Had been stunned when he’d agreed, hadn’t even cared that he’d said it was the least he could do for the daughter of a photographic icon like Marigold Turner.

‘Why not?’ Luca’s blunt question interrupted her trip down memory lane. ‘Why is it not easy?’

‘It turns out my talents are better suited to the fashion industry.’ Ironic but apparently true, according to Howard, and whilst her ex had many flaws Emily had understood and accepted his original critique as spot on.

‘How do you know that?’

Emily glanced away, could still remember the nervous anticipation before she’d met Howard to discuss his ‘verdict’—that she simply didn’t have what it took, her style was too light and frothy. ‘More serious stuff requires a versatility, a technique, an eye I don’t have.’

Luca frowned. ‘Did someone tell you that?’

‘Yes, but I agree with them.’

Howard had explained it. ‘You are good at what you do, Emily, in the same way an actor who is good at comedy will not be able to play Hamlet. But you should not despair, and I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Let me make it up to you with dinner.’

And so it had begun.

‘Photography isn’t only about the type of camera or the lighting or the lens, it’s about an instinct, an eye and a God-given talent. You can practise and practise and practise, but those things give you the edge. It’s probably the same in the world of chocolate—not everyone can come up with the types of recipes you can. However hard they practise.’

‘I get that. There are some chocolatiers born with an ability to taste and mix and judge that you can’t learn. But that doesn’t mean everyone will love their chocolate, because it’s a matter of taste. And each person is unique—photography is not like a game of tennis where someone has to win. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t be able to use your talent for any type of photography. Your photographs show emotion and convey mood.’

For a second she was carried away by the force of his words, remembered vaguely that once she’d thought the same. Had held out hope that Howard might have been wrong, a hope that had eroded during the course of her marriage, under the onslaught of Howard’s continued critiques, that had worsened when she’d given up her own job to be his assistant.

Until she’d accepted the truth—Howard had been right from the start—she didn’t have what it took.

She shook her head. ‘There is no point raising unrealistic expectations, trying to dream your dreams into reality. It’s important to be realistic. I am happy with the talent I have. And I’d like to use that talent to do a good job for you.’ She injected finality into her tone; she’d made her decision and she would stick to it. All her life she’d been surrounded by people of immense talent, top of their field; it had been hard to accept that she wouldn’t do the same. But she had come to terms with it—decided the fact she had any talent for photography was amazing in itself; there was no need to aspire to be of Howard’s calibre. ‘Speaking of which, what is the plan in Jalpura?’

His gaze flicked away from her for an instant. ‘I’ve arranged to visit the cocoa-bean farm, so you can have a tour, and we’ll need to scout some locations.’

Emily studied his face, sensed a certain flatness to his voice and wondered where his usual enthusiasm had go

ne. ‘I’ve already done some research into locations. There’s a place where the sunsets are spectacular, and also some incredibly lush gardens and, of course, the palace. I was wondering about introducing a hint of royalty into the campaign seeing as Jalpura has a royal family.’

‘That sounds great—and as though you are completely on top of it all.’

Yet again the words lacked depth, a genuine interest, and she wondered why. This project was Luca’s idea, yet he looked as if his mind was focused elsewhere. Not her business. ‘Speaking of which,’ she said brightly, ‘I’ll get on with a bit more research.’

* * *

The rest of the flight was uneventful and Luca was grateful that Emily seemed content to crack on with some work, hoped she didn’t notice his distraction as they approached Jalpura. Where he hoped to find answers. As they landed, went through customs and climbed into a taxi his determination grew. He would discover what had happened to Jodi.

Once they arrived at the resort, Luca looked around. He’d chosen the place because of its proximity to Jodi’s last known location, a youth hostel she’d told him she’d stayed at. Though this was a far cry from a hostel. Instead of a conventional hotel a selection of thatched cottages, all side by side, surrounded an opaque turquoise swimming pool, fringed with palm trees. The air was scented with flowers and the whole place emanated an atmosphere of tranquillity.