Ms Anya Ruderian
Mass of curly black hair, black duffel coat, baggy black turtleneck. She is taking photographs of Passenger 75. Like her, the camera is neat and unobtrusive. She squints, clicks and checks the reading all without anyone seeming to notice.
Freelance photographer famed for her location work. Lebanese-Armenian extraction, married to a handsome, quiet barrister. This job is for a campaign to convince men it is all right to be seen in public reading Jacqueline, the fashion magazine.
What she is doing or thinking
If she is not careful, the photographs will look green and horrible and express everything she feels about the Tube: claustrophobia, a taste of something black and gritty between the teeth. The model is wrong too: he looks sulky, not dynamic, not the kind of guy you would want to be.
Yesterday she photographed the inside of the unfinished British Library. It was huge, bare, labyrinthian. The architect wandered off to deal with a wiring problem. Anya was left alone in one of the subterranean chambers.
She got hopelessly lost. There were no windows, or signage. She wandered for an hour and a half, calling "Paul?". Anya doesn't flap (she was able to film in Bosnia). In fact, she found the idea amusing. I could die in here and become its first ghost, she thought. The unfinished corridors went on and on, and everything was coated in white dust. Even now the white dust follows her as ghostly footprints.
Anya says to the model: "Stefan? Look up." She decides to take another roll using her handsome husband instead.
Car 3 map