The Making of Mia (26 page)

‘How about I buy you a coffee?’ a male voice murmured into Mia’s ear, and she whizzed round to see an attractive
forty-something man in a well-cut navy suit. He had an American accent and even though he had a baby face there was something
unnerving in his arrogant, over-the-top masculine demeanour. ‘My driver’s not here yet and I’m always partial to some female
company.’ He looked directly at Mia’s breasts. ‘Especially if she’s as gorgeous as you are, baby.’

Mia stared at the man for a moment, and without saying a word she walked away from him, feeling his eyes on her Diane von
Furstenberg-clad bottom as she pulled her luggage behind her. It had been the same on the plane. During the flight four different
men had tried to engage her in conversation, and even though a part of her loved it that she was now deemed attractive enough
to be hit on, Mia didn’t know how to handle the attention.

As she sat down on a hard plastic bench, Mia pulled out a tiny mirror that she kept in her handbag. Despite the long-haul
flight her eyes were still sparkling white, and even though she was now back in London she looked as good as she had done
when she had left Miami. Her mobile rang, and Mia dropped the mirror in search of it, being careful not to snag her newly
manicured nails.

‘Where are you?’ Amelia’s question came through the phone in a mock-accusing tone. ‘I can’t find you anywhere and I’ve been
here for absolutely ages.’ Mia felt herself relax as she heard her friend’s familiar perky voice. It was good to be home.

‘I’m near the exit,’ Mia said. ‘Want me to meet you there?’

As Mia approached the automatic doors she spotted Amelia. Her friend had barely changed, although her hair was longer, more
tangled, and she looked as though she had lost a few pounds. She was wearing grey skinny jeans, black ballet slippers and
a grey waistcoat over a white T-shirt.
Mia stopped and stared at her for a moment, and she held her breath as she realised just how beautiful her friend was. Amelia
was writing a text message on her phone, and she had a look of concentration on her face. Even when she was frowning she still
managed to look incredible. She possessed a cool, intelligent beauty that no amount of money or surgery could buy.

‘Hey,’ Mia said, in a fake American accent, and Amelia looked up at her blankly.

‘Do you know where I can get a cab?’ Mia asked, struggling with her accent as she tried not to laugh. Amelia restrained herself
from rolling her eyes and assessed her coolly.

‘I think there’s a help-desk over there,’ she said, with a barely perceptible nod towards an escalator, and she looked back
down at her phone and finished writing her text message. As she put her mobile into her pocket she looked up again, and was
surprised to see the stunning blonde was still standing in front of her. Just then the girl’s phone beeped, and Amelia watched
her dig her tiny silver mobile out of her Celine Boogie bag. She’d wanted one of those bags for months, but Selfridges had
a waiting list of for ever. What with her expensive bag and the oversized vintage Gucci sunglasses on top of her head, this
girl looked and acted like a celebrity. Amelia stared at her contemptuously. Who did this girl think she was? Nicole Richie?

‘Hurry up, there’s an American model who keeps staring at me and has just tried to chat me up,’ Mia said, reading the text
message that Amelia had just sent her out loud in her fake American accent. Just as Amelia turned white, Mia burst out laughing.
She had really had no idea that her best friend wouldn’t have recognised her.

‘Ames, it’s me,’ Mia said gently, as she watched her friend look her up and down in shock.

‘But you’re …’ Amelia began, and she found she couldn’t
finish her sentence. Mia was the most attractive girl Amelia had ever seen, and her mouth dropped open.

‘Oh, my fucking God!’ Amelia shrieked, and Mia hastily ushered her out of the airport. ‘You look amazing. Ohmigod ohmigod
ohmigod! Look at your hair! Look at your nose!’ Amelia peered closely at Jo’s face. ‘I can’t believe it’s you!’

‘Let’s go to the car.’ Mia grinned back, and Amelia led them to the Beetle, gushing all the way.

‘I never would have believed you’re Jo – your face is immaculate. I was expecting tiny scars, but there’s nothing, it’s incredible!’

Mia smiled. ‘Thank you. But as you know, it took months of agony to look like this.’

Amelia beamed. ‘No pain no gain, I say. Wow! Now, do I call you Jo, or Mia, or what?’

‘It’s Mia now,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘It’s odd, I know, but you’ll get used to it. I’ve stopped thinking of myself as
Jo Hill, and you will too … Do you really think I look that different?’ Mia asked, and before Amelia could say anything she
answered her own question. ‘I do, don’t I? But I really thought you would recognise me – you know me so well that …’ Mia trailed
off. She was so jet-lagged, and so overwhelmed at being back in London that she struggled to articulate herself. ‘It’s quite
weird, you know, because I’m exactly the same on the inside, but look completely different on the outside.’

Mia pulled out her mirror and stared at herself again. ‘I keep on forgetting I don’t look like plain, fat Joanne Hill any
more. I look just like Gable’s little sister, though, don’t I?’

Amelia nodded as she remembered a recent cover of
DG
magazine where Gable had looked moody and arresting in a black suit and an open white shirt. Mia was the female version of
him, a Scandinavian-style ice-cool blonde with a warm personality that radiated through her perfect features.
‘You’re absolutely stunning,’ she said, her eyes sweeping over her friend again. ‘And you look so completely different.’

Mia gave her friend a wry grin and clasped her hand mirror shut. ‘That was the idea,’ she said, and she told Amelia every
gory detail of her surgery on the drive to London.

Amelia pulled up on a road in Hampstead and gently woke Mia, who had fallen asleep when they’d got stuck in traffic on the
M4. ‘We’re here,’ she said quietly, and Mia opened her eyes, allowing the shock at being in London to melt away before she
looked at her new home. From the outside the cottage appeared to be perfect. Set two roads down from Hampstead High Street
on a wide, quiet avenue with horse-chestnut trees and a cobbled pavement, the house nestled between other detached Victorian
cottages, each with large sash windows and shiny front doors. As Mia got out of the car she stared up at the house. This would
be where she started her London life again, she thought, and she buried her chin into a cashmere scarf that Amelia had lent
her.

‘Have you got the keys? It’s bloody freezing,’ Amelia complained, and Mia rummaged around in her handbag until she found the
envelope that the letting agents had left for her at Heathrow. Mia opened the door, punched the combination into the alarm,
and looked around the hallway that led into her new home. Amazingly, the original Victorian floor had been preserved, and
Mia gingerly walked over the red and cobalt-blue decorative tiles into a living-room that was filled with comfortable stone-coloured
sofas and cream mohair throws on stripped wooden floorboards.

‘It’s not too bad for a serviced house, is it?’ Amelia commented, as she fingered the heavy cream curtains. ‘How much did
you say you were paying for this a month?’

Mia grimaced. ‘You don’t want to know,’ she said, but as her eyes flickered across the room she realised that the price
was definitely worth it. Subtle abstract oil paintings hung from the walls, and Booker Prize-winning novels sat on the mahogany
shelves that were built into the recesses on each side of the original Victorian fireplace. Mia could picture herself watching
the state-of-the-art television as she tried to relax after a day at work, and she instantly knew she’d made a good choice
when she’d found this house on the internet.

The pair explored the rest of the house. Next to the living-room was a small dining-room that was perfect for intimate dinner
parties, and in the kitchen, stainless-steel appliances sat on top of silver-coloured work surfaces. Upstairs was a large
bedroom with an en suite, a guest bedroom – just the thing for both Amelia and Gable, Mia planned – and a small study complete
with wi-fi and a large glass-topped desk. Mia thought the cottage was great.

‘It’s amazing,’ she said to Amelia, as she stood in her new bedroom, charmed by the views of the city and yearning to take
her boots off so she could feel the luxurious cream carpet between her toes. The bed was made of oak that had been stained
a dark brown, and the crisp white sheets and crystal chandelier dangling over it gave the room a touch of elegance. Mia cast
her mind back to the flat she had grown up in. She never could have imagined living in a place like this in London.

‘I can’t picture Gable Blackwood’s little sister living in anything less,’ Amelia commented, and they went down to the kitchen,
where Amelia opened up a bottle of complimentary champagne while Mia sat at the table. Mia looked at her carefully – she looked
as though she was on the verge of saying something, but was holding back.

‘What’s up?’ Mia asked her, as she took a sip of champagne. Amelia wondered how to phrase what had been on her mind since
she’d picked Mia up from the airport.

‘I know that you’re planning on trying to get a job at
Gloss
, but aren’t you a bit worried that this Garnet man – or someone else – will recognise you?’ she asked, hoping that her friend
wouldn’t mind the subject being raised.

‘You didn’t.’ Mia smiled. ‘I’m being myself with you, but when I’m with Joshua I’ll play out the first rule of magazines,
and I’ll give my audience what they want. To Joshua I’ll be sexy, beautiful and funny, but I’ll also be smart, savvy and brilliant
at boosting circulation and stealing advertising from his competitors. He never knew Jo to be like that – he thought I was
a timid, naïve mouse – so he’ll never guess in a million years.’

Amelia fiddled with the foil on the neck of the champagne bottle and gazed at Mia. ‘But now that I know you’re really Jo I
can see the old you mixed in with your new face. It’s your eyes, you see, they totally give you away. And if I recognise you,
who’s to say Joshua won’t?’

‘Ames, I’m telling you, he won’t know it’s me. Sure, if he found out that dumpy old Joanne Hill had surgery then he might
put two and two together, but it’s not going to happen.’

Amelia exhaled slowly. ‘I’m just really worried about what he would do to you if he found out,’ she said. When she spotted
Mia’s confused face she hurried to explain what she meant. ‘I’m not talking hit-men or anything like that, but from what you’ve
told me this Garnet guy is pretty powerful, and he could crush your career before you know what’s happened. He’s done it to
you once before,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t put it past him doing it again.’

Mia drank some of her champagne and thought about what Amelia was saying. She had a point.

‘Look, why don’t you go and test your new look on someone else first, and see if they recognise you …?’ Amelia paused, and
dug out a copy of
Time Out
from her bag. ‘And while we’re on the subject, have you seen this?’

Mia wordlessly took the magazine from Amelia and stared at the cover. Steve Coogan was whispering into Rob Brydon’s ear on
a white background, but over their faces were black straplines previewing the fifty cultural highlights of 2006. The name
‘William Denning’ jumped out at Mia immediately, and she flicked through the pages frantically.

‘Seems he’s written a hit novel that’s being published next year,’ Amelia remarked. Mia looked up at her.

‘Good for him,’ she said as lightly as possible, hoping her voice didn’t belie her true feelings. Her heart was thudding,
and as soon as she spotted the tiny photograph of William she felt her face flush. William looked as gorgeous as ever, and
Mia wondered how she’d found the strength to walk away from him all those years ago.

‘Do you think one of those American magazines you write for would be interested in an interview?’ Amelia asked.

Mia stared at her friend in surprise. Mentally she’d already written the pitch.

J anuary 2006

Mia examined herself in the mirror and wondered if she’d made enough effort. Her blonde hair hung like a waterfall down her
back, and her make-up was impeccable. The cosmetics she’d already applied – from Crème de la Mer moisturiser to Chanel Glossimer
lip colour – made her look polished, poised and expensive. Her clothes – knee-length Versace boots, a leather mini-skirt and
a tight black T-shirt – were sexy but understated, and she’d added a flash of colour with a hot-pink Marc Jacobs ‘Angela’
bag. So far so perfect, she thought.

Mia peered at her face again, and swept some Brigitte Bardot-style eyeliner across her lids. A quick spray of Lolita Lempicka
perfume made her feel feminine and demure, and
when she smiled she liked how her shimmering lips caught the light as they curled. Mia was aiming for ‘professional sex kitten’,
and she hoped she’d done enough to look more gorgeous than she’d ever looked before. She wanted William to be spellbound as
soon as he met her – and then, when he’d fallen in love with her looks and she’d proved that she was unrecognisable, Mia planned
to tell him who she really was.

With a deep breath Mia left the toilets of the Charlotte Street Hotel and walked into the foyer, once again struck by how
busy the hotel was. In the Oscar bar and restaurant trendy media types were chatting on their tiny mobile phones, and serving
staff supplied cocktails, placing drinks on tables without waiting for acknowledgement or thanks. Of all the smart venues
in London, the Charlotte Street Hotel was currently the one where the most important people in the media industry cut deals,
and Mia felt flustered and out of place until she remembered that she no longer looked like plain old Jo Hill.

‘Mia Blackwood for William Denning,’ Mia said to a passing girl, who had been showing some men wearing Jarvis Cocker-style
glasses into a private room. ‘Could you point me to the drawing-room, where I’m meeting him?’