Model Guy (35 page)

 
"I don't need you
tell my side of the story."

 
"Just read it,"
she says, reaching over the desk and flipping the paper round to face her. "Read
it and tell me if there's anything you don't like, anything that I've got wrong."

 
"Of course! That
call last night". It comes back to me, making me feel ever sicker, even angrier.
I was just feet away from her, naked, running a bath. "You rang the paper to
get them to put that line in about it being taken off the net. You checked your
watch to make sure that you could still catch them before it went to print. Christ,
you bitch. How could you?"

 
"Look there's no
point in going on about it now; it's too late to change it. I think it'll do you
a power of good." She puts her left foot on to the desk. "I also think
I've crippled myself with these bloody shoes. One of the fashion assistants leant
it to me, well sort of. Some new guy just out of college who's going to be very
hot, already been recruited by Tom Ford or something but God, ow, he must hate feet."

 
"Just stop talking."
She looks round and stares me affronted. "Don't you know, don't you care what
you've done? I can't tell if you're serious or not? Do you think this is funny?"

 
"No, I don't think
it's funny. I just think your reaction's over the top, that's all."

 
"Oh, for fuck's sake
Nora. I wish to God I'd never met you. I regret this whole 2cool shit but what I
really regret is ever getting involved with you," I'm inches away from her
face now, leaning over the desk. "I wish I'd never met you, do you understand,
Nora?" I sense a jolt of adrenaline. This feels good. "I just can't believe
anything you say to me. You're a compulsive liar, aren't you? How could you have
sex, make love - is that was it was? - to me one minute, literally one minute and
then trick me, shit on me the next?"

 
I can almost feel tears
pushing their way up into my eyes. My hands are trembling.

 
"What else are you
lying about, Nora? If that's your real name. Or is that just another lie? What kind
of name is Nora anyway? I'm sure a bright girl like you could have invented something
more convincing than Nora," I tell her. "Can I believe that you went to
Vasser and you had a boyfriend who said that stupid thing about reading when he
was too old to play sport? Those are pretty convincing lies; I could fall for those,
yep, quite easily."

 
If I still don't know
the real Nora, still can't get close to her after we've slept together then perhaps
upsetting her, making her cry will do it. She looks away but not at her foot this
time and when she turns back at me, she is blinking away tears like a little girl
trying to be brave.

 
"I did go to Vasser,
I did have that boyfriend. All that I've told you is true, Charlie. I've been, well,
less than honest, about the articles, but then I had to be. But I've never lied
to you about who I am...or how I feel about you." I'm left wondering. "And
I am called Nora." Her voice is suddenly cracking. Are those tears real?

 
"Oh, yeah,"
I say, less angry now, suddenly a bit concerned at what I've started.

 
"If you must know,
my Dad gave it to me. Quite simple. Why are you called Charlie?"

 
I look at her for a moment.
OK, not a good comparison.

 
"Never mind,"
I tell her.

 
She takes a deep breath,
made ragged by tears.

 
"If you must know,
if you think it'll help, Nora is an Anglicisation of my name. Really I'm Noor."

 
"Noor?"

 
"Do you know that
name? It's Arabic."

 
She stops and swallows
hard. She looks in her handbag for something and I realise it's a hanky that she
wants. I go across to Scarlett's desk and pick up a box of tissues. Nora takes one,
saying "Thanks," almost inaudibly. What have I done here? "My father
is a doctor and my parents were living in Cairo when I was born because he was working
there as part of an aid programme. My mother went into labour unexpectedly when
Dad was out with some colleagues and medical students at a party. She was rushed
to hospital and the servants went out to tell him but it was hopeless - they couldn't
find him anywhere so they had to wait until he got home after midnight. Then they
gave him the news. In fact, all they could tell him, all they knew, was that she
had gone to hospital."

 
She pauses and bites her
lip. I stand back and watch her.

 
"Unfortunately, though,
there had been...there had been a complication. It wasn't the doctors' fault...a
one in a million chance...and my mother..."

 
"Nora, you don't
need to -"

 
"When he finally
got there ready to see his wife and his first child he was told that they had both
died. Can you imagine? Instead of having a wife and a child, a family, all he ever
wanted, he had nothing, no one. So he was taken upstairs to see the bodies - his
wife's that he knew so well and the tiny corpse of this complete stranger, someone
he'd created, who was part of him, someone he'd listened to and felt kick but he'd
never met before and would never know now.

 
"But I wasn't dead.
Somehow I'd made it. I'd started breathing. The nurse had just noticed this and
was so busy trying to revive me so she hadn't had time to tell anyone else yet.
When my Dad came in and she saw him she started crying, apparently, even though
she was used to seeing life and death every day. My Dad says as soon as she handed
me to him and he held me in his arms he knew what to call me - Noor. It means 'light'
in Arabic. Standing with the body of his wife in that terrible darkness, I was his
only light."

 
She sniffs again and wipes
her nose. "You see the irony was that my dad was an obstetrician, the best
in the city, probably the best in North Africa. If he'd been on duty at the hospital
that night he would probably have been able to save her, save his wife."

 
We sit in silence for
a moment. Then I walk round the desk to where she is and kneel in front her, taking
her hands in mine. I kiss them gently. She leans down and I feel her rest her face
on my head, still sniffing back tears. I don't know how long we stay like that.
It's my mobile that brings us of our trance.

 
"Answer it,"
whispers Nora, huskily.

 
"No, don't worry."

 
"Get it. I'm OK,"
she says, sniffing and unfurling the soggy tissue.

 
Still watching her, I
get up slowly and pick the phone from the desk. It's showing another mobile number
that I don't recognise. I press OK to answer it.

 
"Hello?" I say,
and cough to get my voice back.

 
"Charlie Barrett?"
barks a throaty voice that is vaguely familiar. "Speaking."

 
"Anastasia Huntsman."

 
"Oh, hi Anastasia.
How are you?"

 
"Good, thanks. Listen,
I know where Piers is."

Chapter Twenty-Three

I'm not quite with it so this information takes a moment to sink
in. I look round at Nora who is staring up at me.

 
"You what? You know
where Piers is?"

 
"Yes, I made a few
phone calls after we spoke and a friend has just come back to say he knows where
he's living at the moment."

 
"You're kidding."

 
"No," she laughs,
clearly revelling in the power this knowledge is giving her, a bored rich girl,
looking for a thrill, something to tell her other bored, rich friends about. "I'm
deadly serious."

 
"Well, where is he?"

 
"It's a squat in
south London. Piers in a squat, can you imagine it?" She laughs again.

 
"No, I can't."
I laugh too but really just to humour her. I look across at Nora who is staring
intently at me. She mouths something but I ignore her, anxious in case Anastasia
rings off.

 
"Can you give me
the address?" I ask.

 
"That I'm waiting
for," says in her luxurious drawl.

 
"You haven't got
it?"

 
"No, patience, my
boy." She is definitely playing with me now. I roll my eyes heavenward and
say 'Oh, fuck' silently. Nora is now standing up and trying to attract my attention.

 
"But you could get
the address for me?" I ask, mainly for Nora's benefit. "I'd really appreciate
it, Anastasia."

 
"Oh, sure. He's staying
in a house owned, well not quite owned, but occupied from time to time by some guys
who get my gear for me if you know what I mean. I'm not sure where they're hanging
out at the moment, that's all. I can call them after seven this evening and they'll
give me the address then, I'm sure, no problem."

 
"And you'll ring
me then?"

 
"Sure, don't worry,"
she says smoothly.

 
"Thanks, Anastasia."

 
"You're welcome,
love. Speak soon. Bye."

 
"Oh my God, she knows
where he is," says Nora, hanging on to my arm, eyes still red but now wide
with excitement. "I don't believe it. She knows where he is."

 
"Yeah." I'm
wondering whether, when I do get this address, to tell the police.

 
"Amazing news! That's
so great. But why couldn't she give you the address now?"

 
I'd feel bad handing Piers
over to the police, but then again, why not? He's landed me in it. If he has defrauded
people then he deserves to face the consequences. On the other hand, if he hasn't
done anything wrong he's got nothing to fear. It would also avoid getting further
embroiled with Nora.

 
"Why didn't she give
you the address now? When is she going to call you?" she asks.

 
But the idea of handing
him to that mean, ugly bastard Slapton on a plate is too much. I have a vision of
him standing in my bedroom. He'd have such a coup. Nora is pulling at my arm like
a kid. I look at her wondering how she could turn me over again with this new development.
My thoughts still elsewhere, I tell her: "She doesn't have the address at the
moment - she needs to get it from her dealer and she can't ring him until after
seven tonight."

 
"Seven tonight?"
Nora looks distraught. "We can't wait that long."

 
"Well, Nora, we're
going to have to, aren't we?"

 
She thinks about it for
a moment. Then she says: "You're going to the police." She looks horrified
at this sensible option.

 
"Well, let's face
it. I should do, shouldn't I?"

 
"What?" She
stomps across the room and throws her hands up in the air. "Are you crazy?
This is huge. This is what we've been waiting for. How can you give it all away?"

 
"Because the police
will know what to do."

 
"Don't be insane.
This is such a massive story."

 
She stops when she realises
what she's said.

 
"That," I tell
her, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."

 
She looks guiltily at
me.

 
"OK, I'm sorry I
shouldn't have said that."

 
"Oh, Nora. I just
want to get out of this. I just want to call the police, give them the address when
I know it, let them arrest Piers or whatever and get my life back."

 
"Charlieee. Look...look,"
she runs her hands through her hair, thinking. "You can tell the police after
you've spoken to him. After all, you don't even know if he really is where Anastasia
says he is until you've seen for yourself." She does have a point. She realises
that she's making progress here. "Look, if it is him, if he is there, we'll
go outside and call the police immediately, okay? And, I promise, I won't speak
to anyone else about it."

 
"Alright." It
does make sense, I suppose. "You'd better not write anything, though."

 
She looks at me for a
moment.

 
"OK, OK, I won't
write anything until I've spoken to you about it."

 
"Until I've approved
it."

 
"Approved it? Oh,
honestly -"

 
"Or I don't tell
you the address,"

 
She looks at me hard.

 
"OK," she says.
"OK. We'll work on the piece together."

Nora goes back to her office after another severe warning from
me. We've arranged to meet back here at seven to await Anastasia's call. Even then,
I decide, peering out of the window at the traffic and people below, I don't have
to tell Nora where Piers is. I could just ring Slapton straight away and hand the
whole thing over to him.

 
I sit down at my desk
and spread my hands out before me. What would Lauren do in this situation? If you
think you know the answer ring this number, calls cost 50 pence per minute and don't
forget to get permission from whoever pays the bill. Hey, I think I do know the
answer.

 
But I'm not Lauren, though,
am I? So am I Nora? Or is it Noor? The light of his life. Oh, God, that poor man.

I shuffle some more bits of paper around. No sign of Scarlett
or Zac. I realise I'm sort of missing them so I go out and do some window shopping.
A couple of people in the street take a second look at me and the people in the
sandwich shop exchange very unsubtle glances as I order a turkey salad sandwich
to take away.