Whilst Lily concentrated, Olivia passed around bottled water and muesli bars and Ian studied the window on the back of his camera as he clicked through shot after shot. As his humour seemed to have improved, Honor hovered nearer and he tilted the camera so that she could see the shots in miniature in the viewing pane. ‘These are going to be good.’
And, all at once, she understood ‘the camera loves him’. It somehow honed the planes of Martyn’s face, made his eyes glow like marcasite and emphasised every muscle. He really did look like the personification of a Manga animation. Honor had always had a soft spot for the dark clear lines of Manga men — odd how she’d ended up with tawny-haired Stef because she could almost have written the order for Martyn herself, right down to the deep dark eyes. The massive stone wall was the perfect backdrop, especially the dramatic shots from below with the castle towering over him like a giant chess piece. ‘Jeez,’ she said, inadequately.
‘They’ll look fabulous in monochrome. The clients will wet themselves.’
‘You’ve done a great job.’ She could see why the crew forgave him his grouchiness if he got results like these.
Above the elastic waist of Martyn’s grey trunks, Lily was putting the finishing touches to the transfer tattoo, a pair of intensely staring, slanting eyes beneath curling brows, maybe man or maybe beast.
‘Ooh, wicked,’ breathed Leon.
Olivia passed Martyn a different pair of jeans and he stepped into them but pulled them up only loosely as Lily squeaked, ‘Watch the tatt!’ Then she brought out a spray.
Martyn frowned. ‘I suppose that’s cold?’
She pulled a face. ‘It was warm this morning, when I wrapped it in foil but . . .’
He sighed and lifted his arms and she began to spray him with water. ‘Fucking cold,’ Honor heard him say. Lily replied with something reproving and he laughed, choking on the spray. Then he closed his eyes and Lily sprayed vigorously over his head until his hair dripped and hung in his face.
Ian rose to new heights of enthusiasm. ‘Leon, get out of shot! I want his hair exactly like that. All right, Martyn, face the wall, drop the jeans a bit then pull them up slowly as you turn your head back towards me, looking over your shoulder.’
Each time he did so, Honor could hear the spitting of the shutter taking continuous shots and Lily breathing, ‘Oh my God, oh my God, watch that tatt . . .’ Down, up. Down, up. By the time she’d watched it a few times, the tight cheeks of Martyn’s ass under those tattooed glowing eyes were etched into her brain and she was pretty sure she’d dream about them that night.
Then, suddenly, it was over.
Lists were compared for a final time. Lily removed the tattoo with more alcohol wipes and then Martyn towelled himself dry and climbed back into his own clothes.
And it was as if he had been released from a serious-spell.
He began to chat and smile and the tension he’d fed on all morning evaporated. The crew relaxed, packing the equipment back into the van with end-of-assignment laughter.
‘So, you up for lunch at the hotel with us, Martyn?’ chimed Lily. ‘Even Ian’s staying today.’
Martyn smiled but shook his head. ‘Honor and I have plans.’
‘OK.’ Lily somehow managed to make her carefree smile for Martyn become, by the time it got to Honor, a glare that quite plainly accused her of pushing in and spoiling crew camaraderie.
‘I don’t really mind—’ began Honor.
Martyn took her hand and squeezed it. ‘No, you’ve been patient but I can see the way you’ve been lusting after the castle all morning. Let’s wallow in the history stuff.’
‘Oh, you like history.’ Lily sounded as if she’d just uncovered a filthy secret.
‘I was a history major.’ Honor tried not to sound apologetic. ‘Actually,’ she turned to Martyn, ‘I’m a real fool for social history and would rather look around the town. I’ll never do the castle justice in just half a day, anyway.’ She wondered if Martyn realised that he’d kept hold of her hand.
Once back at the hotel, the turnaround was rapid. Martyn washed, retrieved his wallet and keys, shook Ian’s hand, kissed Lily’s cheek and gave her a hug, waved at the rest of the crew, ‘Thanks, guys!’ grabbed Honor’s hand again and strode out across the hotel vestibule and into the street outside.
It felt like an escape.
‘You really didn’t want to eat with the crew?’ she asked.
‘Not today,’ he said, frankly. ‘A coffee-shop lunch OK for you?’
‘Sure.’
‘Let’s find the oldest looking place we can, with sloping floors and a ceiling I bang my head on. Then it can count as part of your history tour.’
She laughed and allowed him to tow her into exactly that sort of coffee shop, down by the monument, where a teenage girl, who blinked when she got a look at Martyn, showed them to a titchy circular table for two under the rake of a staircase, as all the other tables were filled elbow-to-elbow with holidaymakers and day trippers.
