A thousand suns

But that was perhaps a little unkind. Sure, he’d seen her chew out a member of her staff here at the magazine once before, and she had a reputation for being an incredibly harsh negotiator with his agency, but for Chris, she seemed to find a warmer centre, inside the sharp edges of her business persona.

‘I’m fine, a little tired… but otherwise fine,’ Chris answered.

‘Yeah?’ She appraised him. ‘You look a lot like shit. Bad flight back?’

‘It was okay. It didn’t crash, which is always a good thing.’

Elaine smiled. ‘Cute. How was South Georgia?’

Chris could quite happily never go there again. Cold, wet and rough. It really hadn’t been one of his better assignments. ‘Weather wasn’t particularly great,’ he answered flatly.

‘Oh, surely no worse than an English summer?’

Chris smiled. She wasn’t exactly the world’s most ardent Anglophile. Elaine had spent several years in London working for a sister publication. As far as Chris had worked out, the only thing she’d liked about her time in the city was the money she was being paid to tolerate it. There were many things over there that she casually described as ‘second-rate’ or ‘third-world’ to the irritation of her English colleagues, such as the ineffectual London Underground, the blandness of pub grub, the appalling cost of living and, of course, the miserable bloody weather, moans that any self-respecting Brit would happily indulge with her, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was American and quite happy to go on to say how much better things were back home.

Chris had first met her while he was tentatively starting out on his freelance career after five years of relatively secure employment for MetroLife, one of the seedier, freebie-tabloids in the capital. After delivering promptly on a couple of assignments, she had begun requesting him by name through the agency Chris had signed up with. After she had returned to New York, he still found she was specifically requesting him and putting a decent amount of work his way, despite having any number of good photographers on her doorstep to choose from.

Somehow she had managed to erase from her mind the fact that he was one of those wet-fart Limeys. It had probably helped that he’d moved away from the east end of London, used a New York-based agency and worked on watering down his estuary accent a little.

Or maybe she just wasn’t as anti-Brit as she made out.

Elaine smiled warmly at him.

Or maybe she just wants to mother me.

Chris hadn’t failed to notice he tended to bring that instinct out in the older women he worked with.

‘It’s good to see you again, Chris. Shall we take a look-see? ’

She leaned over the conference table and studied the spread of pictures. There were images of a whaling station abandoned in the 1920s. Fantastic images, some in black and white, some in colour but desaturated and monochromatic. Images of beached whaling ships, their plate metal hulls rusted, exposing ribcages of corroded steel. Images of the station itself, interiors such as the dormitory huts and the canteen, complete with tin plates and cutlery laid out on a communal table ready for a meal that was never to take place.

Nature, it seemed, had wasted little time in commandeering the station, and eighty years of undisturbed invasion had produced stunning compositions of lichen-covered toilet seats and beds and whale-rendering equipment playing host to communities of terns and puffins.

Some in colour, some in black and white, but all of them beautiful. Elaine made no comment until she had viewed all the images on the table.

‘These are stunning, Chris… absolutely remarkable.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I think we can easily syndicate these. I can think of three other periodicals off the top of my head that will take ’em. They’re gorgeous.’

‘Thanks. It was a pretty good assignment,’ he said, momentarily forgetting the cold, miserable discomfort on the island.

Elaine looked up from the photos. ‘Tired?’

‘I am a bit. It was a long flight yesterday, and then I was up late working on these.’

‘You need a break?’

‘I’d love a break. But then I guess the assignment you’re going to tell me about would have to go to some other young, hungry freelancer who might just do a better job.’

She laughed. ‘That’s how we like you guys, paranoid and competitive.’

‘Yeah, well, I guess we can’t afford not to be.’

‘So, you sure you’re ready for another?’

‘I just need a couple of good nights’ sleep, a few warm baths and I’ll be good to go.’

‘Okay, well, the good news is it’s not the other side of the world this time, it’s local.’

‘And the bad news?’

‘The bad news is… it’s another cold one.’ Elaine stuck out her bottom lip in sympathy. ‘I’m sorry it’s not a photo-story in Florida or LA, but, if it’s any consolation, I think this one could be a reputation-maker for you. You want to hear about it?’

Chris nodded.