London (6 page)

“Not unless you were after a clue,” Ellie said as she turned to look at me, a smile in her eyes. “Under those circumstances I bet you wouldn't even bother with a rope before climbing out there.”

I laughed. “You might have a point.”

Burgers and More

Ellie and I had parted ways under Big Ben. We both had early fittings with Belle La Lune the following day, plus Ellie was jet-lagged. But before going home to Notting Hill, I thought I'd drop by my agency. It was on the way, and with a bit of luck, I might have Charlotte's undivided attention for a few minutes to ask her more questions before she left for the day.

Halley and I rushed to the Tube and caught a Circle line train to Sloane Square. From there we walked down King's Road until I reached the small, leafy lane just off it that housed Thunder.

I swung open the heavy glass door and was immediately thrust into the hyper-busy and buzzing world of fashion. The usual soundtrack of hip-hop music was playing in the background, and I could see Charlotte's brother Charlie in a meeting with a client through the glass wall of his office across the room. He gave me a quick wave as I walked in and asked Emily at reception if I could see Charlotte. All the bookers, including Jazz, sat at two long, adjoining tables in the middle of the main room. Headsets in place, fingers tapping at their computer keyboards, they were all concentrating on the booking task at hand, occasionally looking up to wave or smile or blow a kiss at the various models walking in and out of the room.

While I waited for Charlotte, I wandered over to the wall of zed cards behind the booking tables. I'd finally had a proper zed card printed after I came back from New York, but seeing images of myself all made up with perfect hair and makeup, in color on a professionally printed glossy card, still kind of freaked me out.

“Axelle, Charlotte is ready for you,” Emily said as she bent to greet Halley. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

I thanked her and accepted the offer of tea (peppermint), then followed her to Charlotte's office.

Charlotte waved me in with one hand. Her other hand was holding her cell phone to her ear. Her mane of red hair was free, her heels high, and her clothes black. This was Charlotte's preferred uniform.

“So, Axelle,” she said after setting her phone down on her large chrome-and-glass desk, “first things first—we're in luck. I've just heard back about Gavin's brief. I had to call in a favor because no magazine gives out details from its shoots—at least not before the story has run. But don't worry,” she continued quickly when she saw my look of concern, “the favor was long overdue. Anyway, Gavin was indeed hired by
Harper's Bazaar
to shoot a profile piece on Johnny Vane. It's meant to coincide with the upcoming anniversary—it's twenty years since Johnny opened his first shop in Marylebone—just downstairs from where you'll have your casting tomorrow morning, in fact.”

I started to interrupt her and she smiled. “Yes, I did get you a casting appointment, but it doesn't look like Johnny's going to be there, unfortunately. He'll be at Big Sky Studio all day tomorrow overseeing the shooting of his autumn-winter ad campaign, but you should do the casting regardless.”

“That's fine,” I said. I could ask questions whether or not he was there.

“Anyway,” she continued in her deep voice, “to get back to Gavin's booking for
Harper's Bazaar
… According to my source, there was absolutely nothing in the brief about Johnny's childhood. What
Harper's Bazaar
did specifically ask for were a few good new portraits of Johnny, as well as some shots of him working. They have plenty of photographs from his early days in their own archives.”

My mind was running in circles as the information buzzed through my head. So Gavin hadn't been asked to shoot the old photo for the
Harper's Bazaar
job. What was it about that picture that I was not yet seeing?

That thought promptly raised another one. How had Gavin gotten hold of the photo in the first place?

Of course, the most obvious answer was that he had snapped it at Johnny's house when he'd taken Johnny's portrait. But then why wasn't it in a silver frame, like the other photos I could see in the background of some of Gavin's pictures? And why was there a manila envelope underneath it? And if he had snapped it at Johnny's house, had someone shown him the photo? If so, why?

“Axelle? Is everything okay?” Charlotte asked.

“I'm sorry. Yes, Charlotte, everything's fine. And you've been a huge help. It's just…your information got me thinking about other things I must look into.” As I smiled and tried to slow the thoughts whizzing through my mind, Emily knocked on the door and entered with my peppermint tea and a biscuit for Halley.

Changing the subject, I asked, “Charlotte, what can you tell me about Johnny's childhood? And his sister, Georgiana?”

“Johnny's childhood? Hmm… Well,” she said as she turned to her computer and googled him. (At least I presumed that's what she was doing.) “I know that his parents were a bit grand—although of slightly diminished means. Johnny himself likes to come across as edgy and bohemian, but he can be quite posh when he decides to be. Apart from that, I know he suffered some early tragedy—deaths in his family…”

She was momentarily quiet as she read her screen. “Yes, here it is. His parents and twin brother died when he was young. How sad. How he's managed to overcome so much, I don't know.” She turned away from her computer and continued.

“I know he went to Central Saint Martins, and of course, his mother was a real fashionista before the term even existed. As for Johnny, I think the word ‘partying' probably sums up his early adulthood. He was constantly in and out of clubs, but still designing all the time. When he started really applying himself, the business grew, and today he's considered a pillar of British fashion. He's mentored a new wave of designers, including Jorge Cruz. If he continues as he has, he'll probably get a knighthood or an award from the Queen.”

As I finished my tea, Charlotte leaned across her desk and said, “And that's why you need to tread carefully, like I said earlier. If you
are
working on a case, then as your modeling-detective agent”—she smiled at her job description—“I'm asking you to please remain tight-lipped and totally discreet until you're absolutely sure of your facts. I need hardly to tell you that fashion people often have huge egos. An accusation of any kind—especially a false one—will not be taken lightly. Okay?”

“Yes,” I answered, and I meant it. The last thing I intended to do was jeopardize my detective career with an ill-informed accusation. In the gossipy world of fashion, I'd be more untouchable than polyester within about a minute.

She paused for a moment, then continued. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

I nodded, pulling myself together. “Georgiana.”

“Right. She's a bit of a dark horse—and by the way, everyone calls her Georgie. I don't know her very well. She keeps out of the spotlight. She works at Johnny's in publicity, in the building where you'll be going for your casting tomorrow. And, honestly, considering how long she's been at her job, she can't be all that good. In all the years she's worked there, she's never advanced beyond her present position.”

Hmm…I wondered if there would be some way for me to “accidentally” meet Georgie tomorrow at the Vane headquarters. For a moment I entertained the thought of using my school magazine, the
Notting Hill News
, as an excuse to interview her. But would a member of a famous fashion family really give me a few sound bites for a school magazine? I doubted it.

“Other than that, I don't know anything about her. She certainly doesn't go out and about.”

“Thanks, Charlotte.” Then remembering another question, I changed tack. “By the way, does a muse get paid?”

Charlotte laughed. “That came out of nowhere!” I watched as she got up and walked to the bookcases behind her desk and pulled out a book.

“Well, there's Amanda Harlech, she's a muse to Chanel's creative director, and she has some sort of salary. But this,” she said as she handed me a book, “should answer any questions you may have about what a muse is or does. The exhibition was fab, by the way.”

I took the large-format, hardcover book from her hands. It had been published by Yale University Press, and the title said it all:
Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion
. It was actually the catalog for an exhibition some years ago at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. The entire book was about models who were also muses to the fashion elite.

“Take it and read it,” Charlotte said. “You can bring it back when you're finished with it.”

“Thank you, Charlotte.”

“You're welcome. I hope it helps…” Her voice trailed off as her direct line rang. I watched her as she took the call. “Great, thanks,” she said as she looked at me and gave me a thumbs-up. “I'll tell her now.”

She hung up and said, “Good news, Axelle. That was Jacky calling to book you for the
Teen Chic
shoot with Josh Locke. You'll work for three hours tomorrow afternoon at Spring Studios.”

My mouth dropped open. Booked? Me? For
Teen Chic
tomorrow? With
Josh Locke
!

Argh!

Why? Why was I booked when he and I clearly didn't get along and when Jacky Sykes had barely acknowledged my existence at the casting?

“Jacky says you met Josh at the casting, you lucky girl! How could you keep that a secret?”

Easily, I thought, because (A) I never imagined I'd be booked for the job; (B) Josh Locke is painfully arrogant; and (C) I had a case to solve—and therefore other things to think about.

Speaking of which, the case was shaping up to be a really meaty one, so I was going to need every minute I could get to solve it before Gavin was targeted again—but now my week was filling up with bookings!

“Axelle, you're the only model I know who'd look so miserable after hearing such fab news,” Charlotte said, laughing. “But I'm sure you'll have fun at the booking. After all, everyone loves Josh Locke.”

Grrr…

I needed to vent, so after leaving the agency I called my BFF and neighbor Jenny Watanabe for some support. As I walked to the Tube, I told her all about my
Teen Chic
casting and how Josh Locke's fame seemed to affect everyone in his orbit.

“You should have seen them. The models were preening, the reptilian editor was giggling, and a dozen people were listening at the door!”

“Yeah, but, Axelle, he's Josh Locke,” Jenny said. “He's famous! Of course people watch his every move and hide behind doors listening to him.”

“But it's like a circus around him…and he just acts like that's normal!”

I could feel Jenny rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “He can't help it. It's a by-product of what he does—which, may I remind you, is write and sing songs that millions of people love. Cut him some slack.”

“Jenny, you weren't there, but trust me, the atmosphere around him is weird—plus he knocked me down flat and then said it was my fault! The guy's ego is ridiculous, and I'll be stuck working with him all afternoon!”

“Do you always have to take things so seriously? I mean, come on, any girl from our school would love to spend an afternoon with him.”

“Well, I'd be happy to swap places with them.”

I heard Jenny sigh loudly. “You know what I'm thinking right now, Axelle?”

“I'm not sure I want to.”

“I'm thinking that you're the one always saying that there's more to people than you see on the surface. That most people have an entire inner world that we can only guess at.”

“Thanks, Jenny—but that's when I'm talking about people's motives and actions. As in a mystery.”

“Yeah, well, how would it be if you applied that logic to people in general—whether or not they're suspects in a case? Does someone have to commit a crime before you really want to talk to them?”

“No, but it helps.” I couldn't keep from smiling.

“You're twisted, Axelle,” Jenny answered with a laugh. “Do yourself a favor and cut those of us who haven't committed a crime some slack, will you?”

I took the Tube back to Notting Hill Gate and walked home from there. Then, after feeding Halley and making myself a cup of tea, I went upstairs to my bedroom and lay down on my bed.

Thoughts of Gavin, Johnny Vane, and the images on the flash drive were on my mind as I flipped through the book Charlotte had lent me.

But I snapped out of my thoughts with a start when the doorbell rang a while later, setting Halley off down the stairs barking. I instantly knew who it was.

Sebastian.

My heart began to race as I vividly recalled the last time we'd been together: on top of the Empire State Building—kissing. And, although it had taken us a long time to get to the viewing platform on the eighty-sixth floor (the lifts are old and slow, and there are various checkpoints to go through), our kiss had lasted way, way longer. And then, when we'd finally stopped, laid out all around us was the most amazing sunset ever. The entire city had shimmered in the orange light.

But that was three months ago…before Sebastian returned to Paris and I came home to London. And although we'd Skyped a lot between then and now, video calls didn't have the same romance factor. It wasn't the same as
seeing
someone, was it? How easily
can
you see someone who lives three hundred miles away in a whole other country—not to mention the time zones? (Okay, so there's only a one-hour difference, but still.)

But now finally Sebastian was here to see me. He'd arrived late this afternoon on a Eurostar train. We hadn't been able to arrange anything sooner because of my exams, so we'd been planning this trip for a long time.

I got off my bed and went downstairs, nervous about what to expect. I ran a hand through my hair, took a deep breath, and opened the front door.