Page 69 of Beyond Her Manner
Viola gulped, then nodded, feeling unsettled again.
“You must have done photoshoots before.”
“Yes, of course, in gorgeous dresses with my hair glammed up. It’s a far cry from this, being me.”
“Imagine you’re performing; exude the same confidence.”
She was performing, just not in her natural habitat. This was tantamount to faking.
Colin looked around the room at the lights set up by the other young man, who had been introduced as Matt, and made minor adjustments to their positions. “Something is missing,” he said, scratching his beard. “Can we get a fire lit? Add a bit of atmosphere?”
Viola looked to Gillian to ask for permission, only to realise it was her house. “Of course.”
After several failed attempts by James to get a fire going, Gillian took over, and in seconds a fire was roaring in the hearth,much to the surprise of everyone except Viola.
Taking a seat on the Chesterfield where Colin directed her, Viola was immediately pounced on by the make-up lady who made some finishing touches. She began to feel a little claustrophobic with the heat of the fire radiating onto her and hoped she wasn’t going to sweat through her shirt before the end of the shoot.
Colin crouched by the door, putting himself at eye level with his camera as he directed her on how to hold the cup and saucer. She realised she was pulling a fake half smile and tried to change it, only to fail miserably.
“Look natural, like you’ve lived here for hundreds of years. Not you obviously, your ancestors.”
Wondering if Colin would survive the comment, Viola’s eyes drifted to Gillian, who stood by the door. Fury darkened her face. As their eyes met, Gillian’s expression softened, making a smile form on Viola’s mouth.
“Yes, that’s it. Perfect.” Colin took several photographs and then stood behind James at a laptop where they whispered until Colin shouted, “Okay, everyone, let’s move to the next shot in the study.”
The small room, by Kingsford’s standards, housed a beautiful antique desk and shelves crammed with old books.
“Have you got some old family photographs we could use?” Colin asked, taking in the room. “Ideally sepia if you have any that old. They would look great on the desk.”
She didn’t. Her photographs extended to one of her mum taken shortly before her death, which sat on the mantelpiece in the drawing room. Whether there were some in her mum’s belongings in storage, she wouldn’t know until she was brave enough to go and sort through everything.
“I’ll be back in five,” Gillian said with an exasperated breath.
Viola’s stomach tightened. She hoped this wasn’t all too taxing for Gillian. She returned a few minutes later with ahandful of old framed photographs Viola recognised from her sitting room in the lodge. It probably wasn’t the time to ask after the identities of the sitters. Considering Gillian’s childhood issues, she assumed they were members of Jonathon’s family.
“Thank you, dear,” Colin said, selecting two that looked similar in age, one of a man and the other of a woman.
“I am not a four-legged woodland creature, so do not address me as such,” Gillian snapped. “The word is steeped in ageism and sexism, as are you, and it underscores your lack of respect. I’m not here to fit into whatever outdated assumptions you have about who deserves to be taken seriously. If you wish to address me, drop the ‘dear’ and use my name, Gillian, and speak to me with the respect you would give anyone else.”
Viola found her hands clapping together, but upon receiving a glare from Gillian she stopped her applause immediately. All Colin could muster was an awkward nod before quickly moving on to directing the shot.
He positioned Viola so that she was leaning back in the chair with her feet on the desk, reading a copy ofCountry Life. Gillian’s face was a picture. It wasn’t as if Viola wouldn’t clean the desk after. By the time they finished the set of shots, though, Gillian was nowhere to be seen.
When they reconvened in the great hall, Viola was relieved to see her sitting at the table. It wouldn’t have surprised her if she’d left.
“I don’t suppose you have a cap for that outfit,” Colin enquired. “Maybe a walking staff? Pet dog?”
“I have a cat — well, Gillian has a cat. I’m sure it will be around here somewhere.”
“Not quite the look we’re going for. What about a horse? You must have one of those,” Colin said, his tone implying a touch of impatience.
Viola turned to Gillian, eyebrows strained, silently asking for help.
“Let me guess —Gillianhas one of those,” Colin answered for her, his sarcasm as unwelcome as ever.
“Indeed,Gilliandoes,” Gillian replied coolly.
Realising this would require another change of trousers, Viola slipped away, returning five minutes later in her jodhpurs.
