Best Kept Secret

Chapter Two

It was about four years ago that the story first began. Natasha had just arrived in New York City and was wandering around Washington Square Park in the heart of Greenwich Village on a sunny and mellow autumn afternoon. She felt on top of the world. She was about to start a one-year course in photography at the Tisch School of the Arts, part of the vast and sprawling University of New York that occupied most of this ancient area of the city. She had got there by merit, winning an overseas scholarship that was advertised in The Guardian and wowing the American interviewing panel at their UK overseas office near her home in central London with her charming photos of people going about their everyday lives in Hyde Park. It was a dream-come-true, an opportunity of a lifetime that she intended to exploit to the max by attending every lecture and working really hard. She could not wait to get started, though the term did not begin for another fortnight or so.
Photography had always been Natasha's passion. Ever since, as a child, she'd found an ancient Brownie camera in the attic and spent all her pocket money buying a film for it, she had been taking photographs – and really good ones at that. She had a natural artistic eye for the shape and symmetry of each shot. More importantly, she

instinctively chose subjects whose characters could be brought out by her photos. The result was that every picture she took looked interesting. Other people took snaps ; she made portraits, told stories and captured special moments. Her talent had been recognised by Mrs Hobbs, one of the teachers at her secondary school who ran an after- school photography club. Looking at Natasha's clever and telling pictures of her family and friends, she'd said :
"You have a great future in photography, young lady, if you get the chance to develop your abilities."
Now Natasha had that chance and was determined to make the most of it. A career as a fashion photographer was her aim. Taking pictures for a living would not feel like work. It would be like getting paid for indulging in her hobby.
The years between school and this scholarship had been dull and unrewarding. She had not gone to Sixth Form College, choosing to leave school and go to work instead. She had begun as a basic sales assistant in Marks & Spencer, but was soon promoted to becoming assistant shop designer and then chief designer in her local Islington branch. Her success (and her rapidly blossoming good looks) made her unpopular with the other girls, so she was never very happy at work. Nor did she succeed in finding a regular boyfriend with whom to share her leisure time. She went through a series of unsatisfactory relationships with boys from work and from her peer-group that met up on Friday and Saturday nights, gaining some sexual experience but never really finding any love. So she was still very much on the lookout for a proper partner. At the same time, whenever she'd found a gap in her working and

social life, she had continued to take photographs and they continued to get better and better. This was the one thing that gave her confidence in herself.
Wandering back towards Washington Square Village, the huge student residence like a giant block of flats where she had her spacious single room, her mobile phone rang.
"Hi, mum!" she said, turning away from a line of orange and red-leafed trees to get a better reception. "Yes, I'm settling in okay. No, I'm not lonely. Of course, I miss you guys, but I'm not feeling homesick, really I'm not. I'm a big girl now, remember. I'm twenty-four soon. No, I haven't met anyone special. I haven't met anyone at all, in fact, other than the girl in the room next to mine. She's called Amy. She's from Brooklyn right here in New York and she's very kind. Listen, mum, I'd better go. This call's costing you a fortune and it's teatime over here, so it must be getting late with you. Don't ring me again – I'll ring you. And please stop worrying about me. I'm fine!" Popping her mobile back into her bag, Natasha felt a pang of emotion at the lies she'd just told her mother. She was very excited about her course but, at the same time, she felt desperately alone and anxious in this noisy, fast-moving and overcrowded city. Everything was so expensive! She knew for a fact that, at the rate she'd been spending since she arrived, her student loan and her paltry savings would not be enough to see her through until Christmas, let alone the rest of the academic year. What would she do if she ran out of money? Her parents had none to spare, so she could not ask them. It was something that worried her sick, but it