The Undertow Read Online Free PDF Page B

he’d just finished a shoot and was disassembling the backdrop scenery with the help of Samantha, one of his daughters.
    â€˜Hey, Cliff,’ he bellowed, ‘come and lend a hand.’
    I held and moved and stacked things for a few minutes until the job was done. Henry was massive in a white T-shirt and jeans. His hair was still thick and Aryan blond, but greying at the temples. Samantha was small and wiry, taking after her mother, but I wasn’t sure which one.
    â€˜Off you go, love,’ Henry said. ‘The cheque’s in the mail.’
    â€˜Dad.’
    He took some notes from his wallet and handed them over. She kissed him on the cheek, waved to me and slid away.
    â€˜Probably spend it on unlistenable-to CDs,’ Henry said. ‘D’you like rap?’
    I shuddered.
    â€˜Should listen to the words. It’s worse than you think. What’s up, Cliff? Coffee?’
    â€˜I’ve just had a couple of cups of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, Henry. Wouldn’t want to lose the buzz. You go ahead.’
    â€˜Fuck it, I’ve been working since six am. What about a cold one?’
    We settled in a couple of canvas-backed director’s chairs with a can each. Henry reached for the ceiling and rotated his trunk slowly, easing his close to muscle-bound frame. He took a long pull on his can.
    â€˜Are you going to invite me to Anthony Mundine’s next outing to which you have free tickets, you and many others?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜What a disappointment. So?’
    â€˜I’m wondering if you know anything about a model working here in the early nineties. Very beautiful. Italian-looking. Catherine Heysen, or maybe Beddoes.’
    â€˜Doesn’t ring a bell.’
    â€˜Hang on, she told me she worked under another name in Europe. Castilone, something like that.’
    Henry snapped his fingers. ‘Now you’re talking—CC we called her, Catherine Castilione. Now that was one beautiful woman. Wonderful bones. Are you working for her?’
    â€˜Not exactly. Did you photograph her?’
    â€˜Only a couple of times. I heard she came into some money and retired.’
    â€˜Would you still have the shot or shots?’
    â€˜Of course. I’ve got nearly everything I’ve done on disc. Young Sam, who you just saw helping, did it for me. Want to see?’
    We went over to his computer and he began clicking keys. The images were minutely catalogued and within a few minutes he had those in question up on the screen. One set showed a tall, slender woman in a simple black dress with a string of pearls around her neck. The advertisement was for the pearls but it was hard to take your eyes off the woman’s face and body. She looked like the young Sophia Loren and, while there was nothing provocative about her pose, she exuded sex appeal. In another series, she was modelling a severely cut trouser suit. Same effect.
    â€˜Not bad, eh? See the bone structure? Lighting a face like that’s a sheer pleasure. How’s she look now?’
    â€˜Just as good, in an older way.’
    â€˜Doesn’t surprise me. She’ll look good till the day she dies, and after that.’
    â€˜D’you remember much about her? I mean, what she said about herself, what you talked about on the shoot?’
    Henry shook his head. ‘I could hardly get a word out of her. All I remember is that she was an unhappy person.
    Doesn’t really matter in this game. Don’t want them to look too happy.’
    â€˜She was making a lot of money, she said.’
    â€˜Not that much. The trouble with her was that she looked so good the suspicion was the customers wanted her rather than the product. Different in Europe, where she wouldn’t have looked so exotic.’
    â€˜Did she ever mention her son?’
    â€˜Now that’s something I’d forgotten. She brought him along to the suit session. Nice enough looking kid, very much like her,