She focused her attention on the email
from Muriel, with the biography of Taj Andrews attached. As she opened it, a
large photograph popped onto the screen. Georgina gasped, and the deep voice
next to her said, “not one of my most defining moments, but I suppose it’ll
do.”
“Oh no, it can’t be!” Georgina stared
with dismay at the man sitting next to her.
“I’m afraid it is.” He smiled broadly
and waved his arms in the air as if to say, ‘this is me’.
“What have I done that is so terrible?”
he asked.
“You’re Taj Andrews?” Georgina said. It
was more of a question than an answer. She still couldn’t believe the man that
she had to write a profile on and work with for the next ten days was sitting
beside her looking like he’d just stepped out of GQ magazine, albeit a little
rougher around the edges.
So much for creating an impression, she
thought dryly. She’d practically ignored him when he’d spoken to her moments
ago, her skin was already feeling dry and wrinkled due to the air conditioning
and the uncomfortable suit she was wearing was making her hot and sweaty.
Marvellous. At least her hair looked good. She’d had it washed and blow dried
in the hotel salon that morning, and it hung in bright auburn strands over her
shoulders.
“Is that such a bad thing?” He looked
unconvinced, although his eyes were still twinkling. He was watching her
closely. His face was literally a hands length away from her own. For a moment
she was so mesmerised by his eyes that she froze. They were an impossible
aquamarine colour. Like a calm sea moving over a shallow reef.
Georgina
realised
her mouth was still hanging open. She snapped it shut, struggling desperately
to find her tongue. He was looking at her questioningly.
No man had ever rendered her speechless
before. She gave a little laugh.
“No, no, of course not. This is just
very unexpected. I was told we’d meet at the Hyatt in Santiago tomorrow night.
I’m Georgina McKellar.” She held out her hand.
“Georgina…” he said her name slowly, in
a thoughtful drawl.
He had a deep,
gravelly voice, the kind they used to use in cigarette commercials.
“Am I supposed to know you?” he asked,
engulfing her small, pale hand in his big tanned one. She jumped as the heat
shot up her arm and she had to fight the urge to pull her hand back. He held it
fractionally longer than necessary, while his eyes looked her over with
interest. As he released her hand she saw him glance briefly at her French
manicure. He didn’t miss a detail.
“Not exactly,” she smiled. “I’m a
journalist, for Verve Magazine.” She hoped that would ring a few bells. His
eyes narrowed and she could almost hear his brain ticking over.
“Verve Magazine. So you’re the one
that’s going to be following me around for the next ten days?” He’d put two and
two together.
“That would be me,” she gave him a
bright smile.
His eyes lost some of their sparkle as
he looked her over with renewed interest. He seemed to be surveying her outfit,
sizing her up. She could almost feel his disapproval as he took her measure and
found her lacking. She subconsciously pushed her glasses up the bridge of her
nose, a habit she had when she was nervous.
“Isn’t your name supposed to be Maria or
Margaret or something?”
“Muriel,” Georgina supplied. “Yes, I
mean no.” She stopped. Could she possibly sound more like a ditz?
“What I mean is, Muriel sprained her
ankle and I’ve come in her place.” That was better. Her communication skills
had become non-existent. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her today? It
must be jet-lag. She wasn’t usually this useless around men, even handsome men.
He absorbed the new information, still
watching her closely.
“Is that my file?” he nodded at the
photograph of himself still on her screen.
Georgina nodded, unsure how to proceed.
“Can I see it?”
She looked at him to see whether he was
joking or not, but his face remained expressionless.
“I’m afraid it’s confidential,” she
said, and immediately regretted it. How could it be confidential if it was
about him?
He grinned as if he was enjoying her
discomfort. “I see. Well, perhaps some other time then?”
Georgina thought it was unlikely, but
didn’t say anything. She wanted to read it first herself. The man was still an
enigma to her. She knew he had a reputation as a rebel photographer, slicing
out a niche in the nature market for himself, but she had yet to see any of his
work. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her lack of knowledge.
Taj
leaned back in his chair and lazily turned his head in her direction.
“Where was your last assignment,
Georgina?”
Was he testing her, or just being
friendly. The man was unreadable. His body language said he was just making
polite conversation, but somehow she suspected it was more than that.
“My last article was on power dressing
in the boardroom. It was also a cover feature.” The December addition had sold
like hotcakes.
“Power dressing?” Taj looked amazed.
“Antarctica. Power dressing.” He seemed to be comparing the two subjects in his
head.
Georgina bit out, a bit defensively,
“Yes, our readership is mainly successful business women. Profiles such as
yours are a real selling point.”
His expression was unreadable, but the
hard eyes indicated he wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea.
The airhostess came passed and told
Georgina to pack away her electronic equipment. They were getting ready for
take off. Georgina quickly turned off her laptop and put it at her feet.
“Do you often interview people on
location?”
He purposely reached passed her and
lifted the blind back up again. He was so close she could smell his aftershave.
Definitely spicy. She turned her head and stared out of the window. The plane
was taxiing along the runway.
In the interests of cultivating a good
working relationship she decided to ignore the blind move, even though she was
amazed at his audacity. Obviously the man was used to getting his own way.
“I interviewed someone on a movie set
once, but that’s not the norm. Usually we meet in London at their hotel or a
restaurant.”
The interviews were the
best part about her job. She loved getting to know the various famous and
infamous personalities that she wrote about. Their lives were always so
interesting, so exciting.
He nodded slowly. “Ever been to
Antarctica before?”
Now that was just a silly question, she
thought. It was hardly something someone did every day. “No, have you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. This will be
my second trip down south. I’m working on a new book called
Southern Lights
, but I’m sure that’s in
your file.”
Great. Now she felt like an idiot. Time
to come clean. “To be honest, I haven’t finished reading your biography yet. No
offence, this was kind of a last minute assignment for me.”
“None taken. I doubt you’ll find it very
interesting reading.” For the first time since she’d met him, he looked a
little uncomfortable. He changed the subject, “If you don’t mind me saying so,
you don’t look like the outdoorsy type.”
Georgina smiled, “Oh, I’m not. I’m
normally too busy to take a vacation, although I did check out South Beach on
the way here. But roughing it isn’t really my style.”
“I would never have guessed.” He smiled
woefully and Georgina didn’t miss the sarcasm in his tone.
“Do you like nature? You know, animals,
icebergs, that kind of thing?” Georgina narrowed her eyes. Was he taunting her?
“Sure, I watch National Geographic,” she
shrugged off-handedly. She really hadn’t thought about it much. “Oh, and I go
skiing every year.”
“Really, well that’s something I
suppose. Where do you ski?”
“I have a chalet in Klosters. That’s in
Switzerland,” she added, at his blank look.
“Ah, isn’t that where your royal family
hang out?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s the place! My father bought
it for me for my twenty-first birthday, but I haven’t used it much in the last
six years.”
“I see.” He looked doubtful.
“If you’re worried about the expedition,
don’t be. I came prepared,” she felt obliged to tell him.
“In Antarctica, coming prepared means a
little more than making sure you’ve packed your hairdryer.” His tone was
gentle, but there was no mistaking his meaning. What did he think she was, some
airhead without a brain? She bit her tongue and forced herself not to react. It
would not do to get off on the wrong foot now, would it?
Instead she smiled vacantly and said in
her best airhead voice, “I’m sure I’ll be fine. After all, it’s a cruise liner.
How hard can it be?”
He made an odd coughing noise and
chocked out, “Cruise liner? You think we’re going on the QE2? Perhaps its time
you read the brochure.”
“Well no, of course not the QE2, but
something similar?” she said in a small voice. Eric had assured her it was a
big ship, fully equipped.
Taj Andrews gave her a wry grin, “Not
exactly. It’s a former Russian research vessel, which is a nice way of saying
spy ship. It’s purpose-built to navigate the frozen waters of the Russian
arctic. We’re hiring it for this expedition.”
“Ah, well that’s all right then.” What
was his problem?
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Sure, in pictures. They’re big, well
equipped and warm.” She tried smiling at him and attempted a joke, “What more
could a girl want?”
He didn’t smile back.
“Just make sure you bring warm clothes
okay. Last year we couldn’t get the heaters to work on board until the voyage
home.”
That did
not
sound like fun.
She tried to appear upbeat. “I’ve got my
ski jacket and my Sheepskin
Uggs
, so you don’t have
to worry about me.”
She would never admit that she’d taken
one look in her wardrobe and rushed out in a blind panic to buy everything from
thermal underwear and polar fleece’s to snow goggles and a GPS in the outdoor
store. Whether she’d actually use any of them she wasn’t so sure. The goggles
made her look like Ugly Betty and if anyone at her magazine saw her sporting a
thermal vest she’d be ostracised on the spot. One could not make those kind of
fashion fauxpas in the magazine industry. She made a mental note to take the tags
off everything as soon as she reached her hotel room in Santiago just in case,
or on second thoughts – she cast a glance at the sombre Taj - maybe she’d just
leave them on.
She saw him glance at the big diving
watch on her wrist.
“You dive?” he asked with interest.
“Nope. It’s my father’s, or it was
before he died.”
“So he was a diver?”
She shook her head. “My mother gave it
to him. I don’t think he ever used it for diving. Strange isn’t it? I’ve often
wondered why she gave him a diving watch as a gift.”
“Perhaps he used to dive when he was
younger?”
She pondered that for a moment. “Mm…
unlikely, my father was a newspaper editor and a workaholic. He hardly had time
for me, let alone recreational activities.”