Barbara Taylor Bradford – Where You Belong (страница 2)
I’m thirty-one years old, constantly travelling, living out of a suitcase, and then there are the crazy hours, the lack of comfort, even the most basic of amenities, when I’m on the front lines, covering wars and other disasters, not to mention the danger I often find myself facing. But I prefer this life to walking down a catwalk showing off Paris couture.
Turning away from the road at last, I went back to rejoin Jake Newberg and Tony Hampton, comradesin-arms, as Tony calls us. I think of these two men as my family; we’ve worked together for several years now and we’re inseparable. Jake is my best friend, and Tony has graduated from best friend to lover in the past year. The three of us go everywhere together, and we always make sure we are on the same assignments for our news-photo agencies.
I gazed at Tony surreptitiously for a moment, thinking how fit and healthy he looked as he sat on part of a felled tree trunk, loading two of his cameras with rolls of new film. Tony, who is Irish, is ten years older than me. Stocky and muscular, he has inherited his mother’s Black Irish good looks, and is a handsome and charismatic man. But it’s his masculinity, his potent sexuality that women found most appealing, even overwhelming, and certainly irresistible, as I have discovered.
Consideredtobeoneofthe world’s great war photographers, of the same ilk as the late Robert Capa, he is something of a risk taker when it comes to getting his pictures. This does not unduly worry me, although I know it gives Jake Newberg cause for concern; he has discussed it with me frequently of late.
I eyed Jake, sitting on the grass with his back to a tree, looking nonchalant as he made notes in the small blue leather notebook he always carried with him. Jake is also an American, ‘a Jew from Georgia’, is the way he likes to describe himself. At thirty-eight, he is also one of the top war photographers, a prize-winner like Tony. I’ve won many awards myself but I’ve never attempted to put myself in their league, although Tony and Jake say I belong there, that I’m just as good as they are.
Jake is tall, lean, with a physical toughness about him that makes him seem indestructible – anyway, that is the way I view him. He’s an attractive man, with an expressive face, blondish curly hair and the most vivid blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Yet despite his puckishness and the mischievous twinkle that often glints in those eyes, I long ago discovered that Jake is the most compassionate of men. And I’ve come to appreciate his understanding of the complexities of the human heart and the human frailties we are all afflicted with.
Tony glanced up as he became aware of me hovering over him. ‘What is it?’ he asked, frowning slightly. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I hope Ajet’s all right, Tony, he’s been gone –’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Tony cut in quickly, with a certain firmness, and then he gave me a reassuring smile. ‘It’s very quiet, peaceful out there, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘There’s hardly any sign of life.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. I think the village is probably half-deserted by now. It’s more than likely that a lot of locals have already left, are moving south ahead of the Serbian army, crossing the border into Albania as fast as they can.’
‘You’re probably right.’ I sat down on the grass and fell silent, ruminating.
Jake glanced at me and then looked thoughtfully at Tony. He said in a brisk tone, ‘Let’s abandon this shoot, get the hell out of here, Tony. I’ve got a bad feeling.’
‘But we won’t get this chance again,’ I felt bound to point out, sitting up straighter, staring at Jake.
Ajet suddenly reappeared. He came wandering in from the road looking as if he had no cares in the world. Not only did he seem unperturbed, he actually looked pleased with himself, almost smug.
‘Everything’s set up,’ he announced in his perfect English, learned during the eight years he had lived and worked in Brooklyn, where his uncle and cousin still lived. ‘I saw my guy,’ he continued, ‘I talked to him at length. We drank coffee. He has just closed his shop, gone out to the farmhouse in the fields at the other side of the village. The farmhouse is the K.L.A.’s headquarters now. He is going to bring the top leaders here –’ Ajet broke off, looked at his Rolex watch, a cheap copy of the real thing bought on the streets of Manhattan. He nodded to himself and finished, ‘One more hour. Yes, in one hour approximately they will come to the village. We will meet them at the shop. Now we relax, we wait here.’
‘Good man!’ Tony exclaimed, beaming at the young Kosovar. ‘And since we’ve got an hour to kill we should eat. Let’s get the bottled water and the sandwiches from the jeep.’ Jumping up, Tony started to walk towards the road.
Ajet exclaimed, ‘No, no, Tony, please sit down!
I murmured, ‘I’m not hungry, but I would love some water.’
‘No food for me either,’ Jake said. ‘Just water, like Val.’
The young man hurried off, and I looked at Tony and then at Jake. ‘I might go down the road to the village, mosey around a bit. What do you think?’
Jake nodded but made no comment.
Tony walked over to me, took hold of my hand and pulled me up from the grass. ‘I don’t like you being out of my sight on a shoot like this, Val, especially since we don’t really know the lay of the land around here. But I think it’s okay, certainly Ajet doesn’t appear to be worried. So go for a walk if you want.’
Slipping his arm around my waist, he brought me closer to him, held me in a loving embrace. Against my hair he murmured, ‘I’d like to get back to Belgrade tonight, Vee. There’s something about your room at the hotel that I find most appealing.’
‘It’s because I’m in it,’ I answered, laughing, and I kissed his cheek. ‘At least, that
‘You know it is.’ Holding me away from him, he smiled, his black eyes dancing, and then almost immediately his expression turned serious. ‘When you get down there keep your eyes peeled and stay on the perimeters of the village. That way you can get back here quickly, should it be necessary.’
I leaned into him. ‘Don’t worry so much, I’ll be fine. By the way, I haven’t told you today that I love you, have I? But I do.’
‘I love you too, Val.’
Ajet came back carrying the cardboard box. After placing it on the rocks, he opened it with a bit of a flourish, and began to hand out the bottles of water, offered us the wrapped sandwiches from the hotel in Peć He went on fussing around us and behaving as though he were serving us at a grand banquet, and Tony and Jake exchanged amused, knowing looks and laughed.
I had been loading my camera, and I looked from one to the other and asked, ‘Am I missing something? What’s the joke?’
‘No joke,’ Tony said, and blew me a kiss.
II
I focused my Leica 35-mm on the ragtag collection of children ahead of me, a short way down the road. There were about five of them in all, sitting together against a ruined wall. As I peered through the lens, I took in their pallor, their haunted expressions, and the fear clouding their innocent young eyes.
A heartbreaking little band, I thought, so forlorn on this bright sunny day. A day for playing. Not a day for war. I repressed a sigh and began taking pictures.
And then the sound of gunfire was breaking the quietness of the afternoon, and I instantly abandoned the shots of the children.
A flurry of unexpected activity had begun to erupt all around me…exploding bombs, mortar fire, the rumble of tanks in the distance. Closer by, I heard terrified screams, the sound of running feet, people scattering, seeking safety. And then more screams filled the air, along with the staccato rat-a-tat of machine guns, and guns not so far away at that.
All of my senses were alerted to danger, and my chest tightened, and I sucked in my breath sharply when I saw Tony rushing out of the copse just behind me. I had left him there only a few minutes ago, sitting on the rocks with Jake, eating a sandwich.
Now he was sprinting towards the line of fire.
I raced after him in his wake. And dimly, in the distance, I heard Jake behind us, shouting, ‘Val! Val! Don’t follow him, for God’s sake.
I paid no attention.
Tony was our leader, and as always he was hell-bent on getting the best pictures, whatever war we were covering and no matter what the cost. Taking risks meant nothing to him. He seemed to thrive on danger, as well I knew. Tony was consistently in harm’s way, and so were we because of him, although, as he frequently reminded us, we did have a choice of whether or not to follow him into the fray.
Once again, Jake’s voice carried to me above the noise of exploding shells and deafening artillery. ‘VAL! STOP! Don’t follow Tony.’
I did not stop. Nor did I look back. I was hard on Tony’s heels, my camera held tightly in my hands, my mind, my entire being, concentrated on one thing: doing my job as professionally as possible and getting the best pictures for the photo agency I worked for.