Daniel and Daughter

'Well, they are. Phoebe's got it badly, too, now. She's due to go to France next week, and she's been trying to get out of it but her father won't let her.'

Lee went to bed thoughtful. Increasingly she had the sensation that a storm was brewing between Daniel and his daughter. She would have preferred to stay on the sidelines, but that was hard because both the Raifes seemed determined to draw her in. Phoebe regarded her as a potential ally because of her job, and Daniel felt entitled to her support because he saw her as Phoebe's future stepmother.

Offering to take the pictures had been an impulsive gesture that she was half regretting because it was a step towards becoming involved. But she was committed now, and must go through with it.

On the day, Phoebe turned up with a loaded suitcase and Lee went through the contents with her. There were five outfits and the girl had original ideas about make-up for each one. Gillian arranged her hair in several different ways, from demure to flamboyant.

Lee shot roll after roll, carried high by the tide of euphoria at having this marvellous raw material fall into her hands. Phoebe seemed able to change the atmosphere by the turn of her head, the angle of her body or the expression on her face.

When they stopped for coffee she eagerly turned to Lee. 'Is it going well?' she demanded. 'Am I any good?'

Lee drew a cautious breath. 'You move beautifully,' she prevaricated. 'Did you learn that, or is it natural?'

'I took ballet lessons once. I've never wanted to be a swot. I've always done well at school because I can remember things easily, and I like pleasing Dad, but…I don't know…' She trailed off unhappily.

'It's not the same as liking it for its own sake, is it?'

'That's right! I want to be where there are lovely things and nice clothes and lights. I don't want to spend my youth poring over books, even if I am good at it.'

Some people might have thought Phoebe's ambitions trivial, but Lee was impressed by the girl's clearsightedness and her ability to analyse herself. Behind that lovely face was a lot of shrewdness-enough, Lee thought, to give Phoebe the right to decide her own career.

'Couldn't you just fail your exams?' asked Gillian, who'd been listening.

Phoebe shook her head. 'Poor Dad would never be able to hold up his head again. I couldn't do that to him, could I?'

'No,' Lee said firmly. 'You couldn't hurt him like that.'

'For his sake, I've got to show everyone that I can get to Oxford, and then get out of going.' She gave a little laugh and scratched her head in a manner that was uncannily reminiscent of her father. 'It's as simple as that,' she said ironically.

While Lee reloaded her camera Phoebe began to study the pictures on the walls. Some of them were Lee's best shots, including some covers for Harpers. Others were agency posters. Every model agency distributed large posters covered with tiny pictures of their clients, with details of size and colouring. Like all fashion photographers, Lee hung these up where she could refer to them quickly.

Phoebe stepped in front of a poster from Mulroy & Collitt and peered closely at one of the pictures. The caption underneath read 'Roxanne, 5' 8". Blonde, green eyes'.

'That's the model I talked to the first day, isn't it?' she asked Lee, who'd come up behind her.

'That's right,' Lee said. 'She's one of the best.' Huge rolls of coloured paper were strung up between posts to provide a variety of backgrounds. Lee pulled the gold paper down until it touched the floor. Phoebe was clad in the white dress she'd worn to the college ball, decorated with gilt jewellery. The be] was a gilt chain, bracelets jangled on her wrists, an‹ her ears sported earrings so long that only someone with Phoebe's swan-like neck would have dared to wear them. Against the gold background, in the white dress, with her pale skin and flaming red hair, she was a gorgeous study in contrasts.

When she'd finished, Lee said, 'Phoebe, I want you to put on the jeans and shirt you were wearing when you came in. Scrub all the make-up off your face and do your hair in bunches.'

'Bunches? You mean like a little kid?' Phoebe demanded in horror.

'Trust me. I know what I'm doing.'

When Phoebe had changed, Lee set her against a green background and pointed the camera at her. A cheeky urchin laughed back, so different from the previous shot that it seemed impossible it could be the same person. Lee gave a sigh of pure professional pleasure.

When the session was finished Phoebe changed back into her ordinary clothes and followed Lee into the cubbyhole.

'Do you think they're going to be good, Lee?' she asked eagerly.

'Yes,' Lee said guardedly. 'I think they are.'

'Good enough for me to be a model?'

"That's, not a fair question,' she prevaricated.

'Why? Because you've promised my father that you won't encourage me?' Phoebe asked with disconcerting shrewdness.

'Well, you know how he feels.'

'That's Dad's trouble,' Phoebe said severely. 'He will cloud the issue with personal feelings when I'm talking about facts. Either I'm good enough to be a professional model or I'm not. Feelings don't come into it. If I'm hopelessly bad I wouldn't expect you to keep quiet about that because it might hurt my feelings.'

Lee was privately so much in agreement with this that she was left floundering in silent despair for an answer.

'So please tell me,' Phoebe went on. 'Am I hopelessly bad?'

'No,' Lee admitted reluctantly. 'You're not.'

Phoebe watched Lee's face for a moment before moving in for the kill. 'Am I good?'

'You know you are.'

'How good?'

I'll have to see the pictures before I can be sure of that.'

'But you've got a pretty clear idea already, haven't you? If I said I was determined to become a model, would you say I was raving mad?'

Lee ran a hand distractedly through her hair. She'd expected questions, but not this cunningly phrased interrogation. 'No, I wouldn't say that,' she said at last. 'But I would say you ought to listen to your father. He knows the world better than you do.'

'Not the fashion world, he doesn't. You're the expert there. That's why I'm asking you.'

'But he's your father and you're very young.'

'I'm at the age when people normally start thinking about their careers,' Phoebe said reasonably. 'If I said I wanted to go to Oxford I don't suppose either of you would say I was too young to make that decision would you?'

'I suppose there's something in that,' Lee admitted, frowning. 'I do think you're entitled to rather more say in your own future than he seems to be giving you.'

'Lee, please tell me honestly. Do I have the talent to be a model?'

Lee sighed and gave up. She'd warned Daniel that if this moment came she would have to tell Phoebe the truth.

'Yes, you do,' she said. 'You look fabulous and you're terribly photogenic. But it's an insecure life and a very hard one. You could get ill and your looks could vanish overnight. You could wear yourself out banging on doors trying to get a start.'

'But you could employ me-'

'Oh, no, I couldn't,' Lee said hastily, shuddering at the thought of Daniel's reaction to this plan. 'Not while your father's against it.'

'But if it weren't for Dad you'd employ me, wouldn't you?'

'I didn't say that. There could be all sorts of reasons for my not using you. You might not be suitable for any of the things I'm booked to do. You were the one who wanted to keep it impersonal. You're not suggesting that I should show you favouritism, are you?'

'Of course not. But I don't want to be discriminated against either,' Phoebe pleaded. 'If I'm not right for a particular job, fair enough. But you've got me on a blacklist all because of Dad. That's not only unjust, it's restraint of trade.'

'Pardon?' Lee said blankly.

'Restraint of trade. It's a legal concept. It's against the law for anyone to do something that interferes with another person's freedom to earn their living. The fact is, if it weren't for Dad, you'd hire me sometimes, wouldn't you?'