Slowly Daisy made her way over to the corner where Father Christmas sat on a huge chair in his red suit teamed with shiny black buckle boots. She was patient with curious kids’ questions but managed to get a few really good shots as they had their turn with Father Christmas and when she wasdone she took her camera over to Doris and the journalist, who was formally introduced as Sally.
‘Let’s see what you’ve got?’ Sally, also disappointed the photographer couldn’t make it, viewed the shots once Daisy rested her camera on the counter, their backs to the rest of the shop. ‘I’m not a photographer myself, especially when it comes to children, but I do have an eye for what works.’
Daisy was getting worried when Sally had scrolled through most of them and not said much at all. ‘It’s fine if they’re no good,’ Daisy dismissed. ‘I just thought I’d try and help.’
Sally began to laugh. ‘You’re mistaking my silence for something else. These are great!’
‘Really?’
‘When Doris told me a local volunteered to take some pictures I thought it would be a friend of hers with their phone.I never expected anything like what you’ve shown me. You’ve got a real eye for detail. Your subjects are captured perfectly – some of the expressions on the kids’ faces are delightful. What about permissions?’
‘Doris did inform anyone coming in and I think she may have had them sign a waiver if they don’t mind their kids appearing in the media coverage.’
‘OK, you’re impressing me all the more.’Sally went through the shots again, stopping at any she really liked. ‘This one of the little girl is perfect, look at her face as she gazes at Father Christmas, and she’s clasping the book, the shelves behind her add a colour that … well it works, Daisy. What you’ve done with all these photographs is helped me to deliver the right message – it’s a quaint Cotswold bookshop, has a vast selectionof titles, but more than that it’s a place to come and enjoy.’ She lingered on the picture of two kids squeezed together on the brightly coloured chair, concentrating as they flipped through a book each, with the backdrop of books and twinkly lights. ‘Will you send them all to me via email?’
‘Of course.’ Daisy did her best to sound professional rather than too excited.
‘We’ll use them, the articleshould appear in a couple of days.’
Her heart thumped harder and when Doris went back behind the till, Sally pulled a business card from her bag and handed it to Daisy. ‘If you’re interested in more work as a freelancer, give me a call. We could use someone like you. You have talent and a knack with your subjects. Call me,’ she urged before she rushed off and left Daisy standing there open-mouthed.
She turned as Father Christmas appeared behind her. ‘Sounds like someone was impressed,’ he boomed, nodding to the door where Sally had just exited.
‘You don’t need to put the voice on for me, you know, I’m a grown adult.’ She grinned, because she’d suspected his true identity when she was busy with her camera, and now he was closer she knew for sure. She whispered to him, ‘I repaired those trousersmyself, remember?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, his voice still in character, although his eyes danced. ‘Mrs Claus sewed up my trousers after I tore them in the workshop trying to get all the presents into the sack.’ She saw him do a quick head tilt and she realised there must be a young pair of ears close by.
Daisy clocked the little girl doing her best to surreptitiouslyeavesdrop. Time to think fast. ‘I must be mistaken. They’re very much like a pair I worked on recently, although I’m sure Mrs Claus did a much better job than me.’ She sneaked off out to the back, leaving Joshua to deal with the kids, and collected her belongings.
She’d just put on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck ready to set off for the Butterbury Sewing Box when Joshua came behindthe curtain that masked the rear of the bookshop from the customers and pulled down his beard. ‘That was a close one, Mrs Claus.’
She prodded his bulging belly, for some reason it was difficult to resist. ‘What’s it made out of?’
‘It’s foam and it makes the costume really hot. Kind of a good thing when I’m up at the farm, it’s drafty inside the barn, but in here it’s a different story. I can’twait to take it all off, to be honest.’
Daisy ignored the flip in her tummy at the thought of those jockey shorts she’d seen, the muscular thighs. She cleared her throat. ‘You’re really good with the kids.’
‘You seem surprised.’ He checked the curtain was still closed and pulled his hat off for a bit of respite, running a hand through the peak of his fringe. ‘And you were pretty good with themtoo, I noticed.’
‘They’re fun to work with.’
‘So you’re thinking about the job offer from the journalist?’
‘It was hardly a job offer.’
His eyes pinned her to the spot and danced dangerously. ‘Yes, it was. The question is whether you’re going to go for it?’ He didn’t look away. ‘A photojournalism job in Butterbury … next stop the big smoke. You could go to London, hit the big time.’
She waswell aware of him standing so close, the way she could see the rise and fall of his breath even beneath the costume. And unsettled by his intuition, how much he had to know she wanted this, she took hold of his beard and lifted it back into position for him, never breaking eye contact. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Doris said you were amazing,’ Loretta told Daisy the moment she got back to the Butterbury SewingBox.
‘How would you know?’ Daisy hung her coat on a hook.
‘Doris called me the minute you left, extolling the virtues of Butterbury’s new photographer. May I see the pictures?’
‘I dropped my camera in at home, I’ll show you later. Where’s Ginny?’
‘We were quiet so she’s gone up to see your grandad.’
