The Modeliser (21 page)

“And the only one you really liked was Hiding Places…” Alex
trailed off for a moment. “Do you even like action films?” He asked archly.

“This isn’t a genre issue,” Talia bit back snappily. “There
are good action scripts and bad action scripts.”

“And mine are bad?” Talia shrugged.

“I figured you like that kind of role, rugged, action, shirt
off…” she trailed off as she watched his face. “That’s why you make those films
right?”

“Sure. I enjoy it,” Alex answered testily. Talia’s probing
had started to irritate him and for a man who’d spent the better part of a
decade in the international spotlight, he suddenly found that this examination
of his career was making him squirm. “It pays well,” he added defensively.

“You don’t need the money,” Talia snapped back. “Look I’m not
judging, if you want to be an action star, then we’ll find you good action
scripts, but if you’re coasting along, thinking these films will get you
another Oscar… You do read your scripts don’t you?”

“Of course I read them, sort of. Besides I have advice, I
trust Avi’s advice.”

“She chose Hiding Places for you?” Talia asked.

“No. She’s one of the biggest agents in LA. She came calling
after the Oscar.”

“Right, so how did you get Hiding Places.” Alex shrugged and
Talia noted that he seemed uncomfortable.

“My old agent Margot. She’s based in London.”

“I see,” Talia muttered thoughtfully.

“No you don’t.” Alex said firmly.

“Sure I do, Margot was the agent who nurtured you and got you
to the Oscars and then you traded up as soon as you could…”

Alex
rose abruptly and he watched Talia’s eyes widen and she clapped a hand over her
mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “Look you’re paying me to read
scripts not preach at you… me and my big mouth” she trailed off as he shook his
head.

“If I’d wanted mild and tactful, I’d hardly have hired you,”
Alex said as he turned and walked away from her, leaving her with another stack
of scripts.

Thank
god for lie-ins. Helena rolled over in her cool Percale sheets and burrowed
deeply under the thin covers. Not for the first time she luxuriated in the fact
that she lived alone and could sleep in for as long as she liked without being
disturbed. When she and Grant had briefly lived together, his obsessive desire
to be up at first light had been one of the many clues that they just weren’t
suited. Helena was beginning to dose back into sleep when she heard the
doorbell ring. With a groan, she pulled back the sheets stepping out of bed
clad only in an oversized Defender T-shirt that she’d liberated from Alex. As
she padded downstairs, she glanced at the clock; it was already afternoon. Her
feet slapped quietly on the exposed wood floors in her small West Hampstead
flat, which she’d bought with the trust fund that her father had left to her.
Reaching the front door, Helena pulled it open and her mouth went slack. Gabe
Tynan was lounging on her doorstep his hip leaning against the outer door. She
had no idea how he even knew her address and he’d caught her way off guard.
From the smirk on his face she could tell that he was enjoying her discomfort.
She felt his eyes move over her, taking in the T-shirt, which suddenly felt a
bit too revealing on the thigh.

“Do you always open the door dressed like that?” Gabe
drawled, already moving past her into the house, without waiting to be asked
in.

“I thought you were the postman,” Helena muttered
embarrassed, feeling her cheeks flame.

“Lucky postie,” he drawled back, already nosing his way down
her hallway.

“The sitting room is this way,” Helena stated pointedly but
Gabe ignored her and she had no choice but to follow him into her own kitchen.
Her brain was still fuddled from sleep and she gratefully took refuge behind
the tall breakfast counter, where Gabe wouldn’t have a clear view of her bare
thighs and legs. She watched in bafflement as he flicked on the kettle and then
opened and closed a few cabinets until he located two mugs and pulled them out.
 
“Do you mind?” Helena finally burst out
as Gabe began to spoon coffee into the two cups.

“Not at all,” he replied calmly, walking towards the
fridge.
 
“You don’t take milk do
you?” He asked as he reached into the fridge. With a burst of irritation Helena
forgot about modesty and stalked across the room. She shoved the fridge door
closed and spun around to confront Gabe.

“Gabe we agreed that today was a free day. What do you want?”
She snapped folding her arms across her chest in a defensive stance.

“Well we didn’t exactly agree, you emailed to say you’d be
having today off…”

“Do I require your permission?” Helena snapped.

“Stop being such a coward,” Gabe snapped losing patience.
Helena banked down the desire to look away from his steady gaze; she was determined
to hold her ground.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about," she replied
sharply.

“If this is about what happened in the pool…” Gabe began but
Helena immediately cut him off.

“Nothing happened in the pool,” she bit out.

“Yes I know, I was there,” Gabe said tersely and now Helena
did look away. Almost as soon as she had dived naked into the rooftop pool,
she’d known she’d made a mistake. The cool water had been the slap of reality
and common sense that she’d needed. But moments later Gabe had also dived in
naked and extricating herself had been embarrassing to say the least.

“Look I apologised about that. Sleeping with someone who is
effectively my boss is just not something I do. I didn’t mean to be a…tease,”
Helena finished looking anywhere but at Gabe.

“Actually I didn’t come here to talk about that.”
Embarrassment made Helena even more frosty than usual.

“Oh?”

“I was thinking about the cover,” he said. And Helena could
see that he was serious, that the magazine was what was really on his mind. She
pushed down her disappointment and tried to focus on what he was saying.

“What?” Helena was startled from her musings by Gabe’s last
words and realised she had missed what he was saying. “What?” She asked again.

“Your mother, Sula – she was one of Époque’s most
famous cover girls. She’s a living icon.” Helena began to feel a dull throbbing
in her temple.
         

“How does that fit in with our theme of mother and daughter?”
She asked even as she knew the answer that was coming.

“Think about it,” Gabe said. “The iconic Sula as beautiful
now as she was then and her daughter Helena, one of Époque’s own.

“You have got to be kidding,” Helena burst out. But Gabe was
shaking his head. Firmly, he gripped her shoulders forcing her round to face
him.

“You and your mother, you’re going to be our cover girls.”
Helena’s jaw gaped open as Gabe stared at her. For a moment she was robbed of
speech as the full horror of his suggestion slowly sank in. Her modeling. And
with her mother. Finally she spoke, her blue eyes clear and unwavering.

“Not a chance in hell.”

Talia
typed another script log line onto the script coverage form.
Chateau is the
heartwarming story of an American father who inherits a French Chateau and uses
the renovation as a chance to bond with his troubled teenage daughter.
She sighed. It was a shame
that the script had been such an utter cliché – poor characterisation, no
dramatic tension or conflict and a predictable ending. She glanced down at her
pile of already read scripts, which had been growing steadily all day. She’d
averaged 3 scripts a day since she’d started working for Alex and she’d quickly
found herself getting into the groove of things. How had she forgotten how much
she loved film scripts? Saving the document on the computer, she shut the laptop
and picked up a copy of Screen international. Alex had a selection of the
industry papers and magazines delivered and Talia had taken to reading them
cover-to-cover, getting sucked into the deals, the industry moves and the
script sales. For the first time since she’d lost her job at Encounters, she
felt excitement again, she woke each morning not with a sense of disappointment
or trepidation but ready to start the day. She didn’t dwell too much on the
fact that she’d even started to look forward to the afternoon de-briefs when
she’d talk Alex through the pile of scripts that she’d read, not that he’d been
much help so far. Most of the time, once she’d given him the run through Alex
would disappear out and Talia had no idea where he went. Though she could
probably get a complete rundown of his movements around London’s exclusive
bars, restaurants and hotspots, if she started reading any of the weekly gossip
magazines but she’d deliberately avoided doing that. Talia flicked to the next
page of Variety and then she decided to call it a day. She was beginning to
pack her laptop away when the phone rang. She reached for the receiver and
picked it up.

“Hello.” Talia said cautiously. Several times she had almost
been caught out by sneaky journalists and Alex had taught her never to mention
his name until she was sure that she actually knew who the caller was.

“Who is this?” The voice on the phone demanded.

“I’m sorry who were you trying to reach?” Talia countered.

“Listen up sweetheart, get Alex on the phone – I’m his
agent and he’ll want to to talk to me.” Talia felt her face go warm, Alex had
warned her about Avi and from reading her emails, she had formed a vivid
impression of Avital for herself.

“I’m sorry Ms Silver, Alex isn’t here. I’m Talia, I work for
him.”

“Work for him doing what,” the woman sneered, immediately
putting Talia’s back up.

“Reading scripts,” she burst out indignantly.

“You.” Avital spat out and Talia wondered what she could have
done. “You’re the one telling him to pass on everything.”

“I’m not telling him to pass…” But Avital broke in to her
sentence.

“Listen, I don’t know what it is you do, but I’d leave script
decisions to people who actually know what they’re doing, you understand?”
 
Talia gritted her teeth as she tried to
find a responses that wasn’t inflammatory. “Anyway tell Alex to call me.” And
Talia was left with a dialling tone.

The
Modigliani was even more exquisite hanging in her sitting room as the late
afternoon sun filtered into the room. Tamara reclined on a chaise lounge, in a
flowing Issa maxi dress and simply stared at it. To think the painting was
likely worth more than her entire house! God only knew how she would afford the
insurance. Tamara had dispatched another note to Vassily, a thank you note but
this one warmer than any of her others and she’d even been so bold as to
suggest dinner. Another stunning bouquet of flowers had been sent, Vassily had
apologised that business would keep him out of the country until next week but
then a dinner would be arranged.

Tamara fought a burst of frustration: she wanted him now!
Though Katie had invited her to go to the opera, Tamara had declined. Frankly
she found the opera dull and usually she only attended such events in the hope
of being thrown into the path of very rich men. Today she had no desire to play
that game.

She had one week to ensure that everything was perfect for
her next date with Vassily and to that end, once again Tamara had called a
style council of war with William. As her doorbell rang, Tamara swung her feet
off the sofa. She resisted the urge to kiss her beloved painting and instead
slipped her feet into a pair of flat Jimmy Choo gladiator sandals. She
collected her Chloe tote and headed for the front door, opening it to William.

“Darling I’m just setting the alarm,” she called out to him
as she tapped the code in.

“Oh Tamara – gorge as always.” William smiled as they
air kissed one another before he tucked his arm into hers as they strolled down
the road.

“So where to?” Tamara asked. “I’m entirely at your mercy,”
she told William with a smile.

“Well you said a dress worthy of a billionaire, so I say we
start at Harvey Nicks…” Tamara smiled with satisfaction. By the time Vassily
returned next week, she’d be more than ready for her close up.

“The
man is a total maniac,” Helena burst out with such uncharacteristic force that
Talia paused with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth. She stared at her friend
and the spots of colour on her cheek and slowly she put down the Hau Gau dim sum
that she’d been about to sample. They’d decided on an early dinner in a small
but popular Chinese restaurant close to Helena’s flat but from the start, Talia
had seen that Helena was wired and on edge.

“It’s not like you to let work get to you.”

“He wants me to model, Talia and with my mother.” The horror
was apparent in Helena’s voice.

“Has something else happened?” Talia asked gently.

“Happened how, what do you mean, nothing’s happened,”
Helena’s rapid-fire response coupled with the fact that she then spluttered on
her sip of water was more than enough to let Talia know that her instincts had
been correct.