The Modeliser (27 page)

Tamara
seldom gave into doubt but as she pressed the bell at the white stucco-fronted
neoclassical house in Chelsea, she admitted to herself that she really was
confused. In the days after she had encountered Sasha she had driven herself to
distraction. Why had Vassily lied to her, even if it was only by omission? Her
phone call to Katie had yielded little information. Katie had been as surprised
as she was, a daughter – she’d heard nothing about one. The Internet had
done little to answer her questions either. Though there’d been myriad entries
about Vassily, about his business empire, about his billionaire status, about
the women that had been linked to him, there’d been precious little about his
personal life. She’d learned that he’d grown up in a poor council estate in an
outlying district of Moscow and that he’d capitalised on the privatisation of
the country’s natural gas resources following the fall of communism and the end
of the Soviet Union. She’d read conspiracy rumours about his KGB connections
and the fact that he had the ear of several high-ranking government officials.
There had been mention of his being a widower but nowhere had any daughter been
mentioned. Tamara had grown frustrated as many of the entries had been in the
Russian Cyrillic alphabet and in the end she’d had to give up her search.

As she waited for the door to be opened Tamara allowed her
eyes to drift over the imposing façade of the house. So this was Vassily’s
home. This was what £40 million bought you in the city of London. Tamara’s
Internet search had revealed that the property was the most expensive property
per square foot ever sold in London. She straightened her dress, a demure, by
her standards, black Gucci number that she might have worn out to a dinner with
friends. Her invitation to Vassily’s home, had come not from the man himself
but had arrived in a scrawl of pink handwriting from Sasha, inviting her to
dine with her and her father. Tamara had been tempted to turn down the
invitation but in the end, curiosity got the better of her. She turned as she
heard footsteps and the door was wrenched open from inside.

“Tamara.”

Sasha
launched herself forwards and Tamara found herself enthusiastically embraced in
a tangle of long arms and flyaway blonde hair. The girl pulled back and looked
down at Tamara’s outfit.

“You always look so good,” she said. And Tamara smiled.

“You look pretty hot yourself,” she complimented Sasha and
found that she meant it. Sasha was clad in a pair of skinny jeans and a green
polka dotted blouse.

“You think? It’s only Topshop.” Tamara saw in the girl’s
furrowed eyebrows that her opinion really mattered.

“Some of my best buys come from Topshop,” Tamara replied solemnly.
A smile burst across Sasha’s face and Tamara relaxed – she’d said the
right thing.

“Come on in,” Sasha said and Tamara fell in step with her
wondering when Vassily would make an appearance.

Tamara
didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. From the moment she had entered
Vassily’s opulent, superlative, Vogue Homes worthy townhouse, it had been clear
that Sasha was on a mission – she was matchmaking. Dinner had been
delivered from the kitchens at Claridges and Sasha had even hired staff to
ensure that everything ran smoothly.

“Tamara, welcome.” Vassily had greeted her with a brief
perfunctory kiss on both cheeks when she’d arrived and except for some
monosyllabic answers and a thanks when she’d presented him and Sasha with a
bottle of Vintage Dom Perignon Champagne and a beautifully wrapped box of
Laduree Macaroons, he had allowed his daughter to do most of the talking. Sasha
had chatted steadily about clothes and directed questions to Tamara about her
job and the show.

As the starters were served Sasha had risen quickly. “I’m
off,” she said and Tamara had been amused by the horrified look on Vassily’s
face.

“Where?” He’d growled.

“Cinema with Pandora and the girls.”

“Lovely to meet you again Tamara,” Sasha had said and then
darted out of the door. There was a moment of silence.

“She’s very… subtle your daughter,” Tamara said and Vassily
roared with laughter and after a moment Tamara joined him.

They
ate in silence, tucking into the starter of Beef carpaccio and a main course of
Sea bass, scallops and caviar sauce. Tamara barely noticed the food as the
tension in the room grew. After the server had finally brought out dessert,
Tamara finally said the words that had been on her mind.
 

“You know what I thought?” she asked. Vassily nodded. “Why
did you let me think she was your lover?” Tamara demanded. The question was
bald and direct. She was past caring if she was coming on too strong, or if she
might scare him away. It was time that Vassily Romanov made clear his
intentions.

He was silent for a moment as though weighing up his words.
He sighed heavily and Tamara saw that he was avoiding meeting her eyes.

“What do you want me to say?” Vassily finally asked.

“The truth,” she replied firmly. Again he was silent. He took
a gulp from his wine glass and placed the glass back down on the table before
he started speaking.

“The truth is you’re not the kind of woman I want in my life,
in my daughter’s life.” The words were succinct and brutal and Tamara recoiled
as though he’d slapped her. “After my wife died, I did all of that – New
York is full of women like you - pretty, talented, smart women who have the
morals of alley cats who just want to land a millionaire husband…” Vassily
trailed off as Tamara stood up. She dabbed carefully at her lips with her
napkin before she dumped it back down on the table.

“You are so presumptuous.”

“You set out to get me at the launch of Imperium,” Vassily
shot back.

“And as I recall you seemed more than happy to be got,” she
snapped back. “You think a lot of yourself. I wasn’t looking for a husband,
just to fuck a billionaire. You’d be amazed at the bragging rights of something
like that, for a girl like me.” The last words were uttered dripping with
sarcasm and Tamara grabbed her bag and began to stalk towards the door. Behind
her she heard a sharp scraping sound as Vassily shoved his chair back. Tamara
quickened her steps, moving from the dining room, past a large sculpture,
through the opulent hallway as she heard his heavy footsteps behind her. He caught
her next to the elaborate staircase and he grabbed her, spinning her round to
face him.

“And the painting, what was that?” Tamara spat at him and she
saw Vassily recoil. Slowly his fingers uncurled from around her upper arms and
he let her go.

“That night at Ian’s, I thought I saw something real in you.
For a moment you weren’t trying to play me.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other in silence. And
Tamara felt dizziness flood through her, as though she was staring out at an
abyss, something frightening that would change everything. It was that same
bolt of attraction that she had felt that night, in the lift, at the launch of
Imperium. Tamara stepped back, unsteady in the spindly Manolo Blahnik heels but
Vassily pulled her back.

“I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind,” he admitted.
Tamara raised an eyebrow.

“Even with my alley cat morals?” She couldn’t resist sniping,
even as she realised what that admission had cost him. Suddenly, she realised
the power that she had over him.

           
A
faint smile crossed Vassily’s face and without thought, Tamara raised a hand to
his neck. She stroked him - from beneath his ear to the top of his shoulder and
back up again feeling the tense strength in him. She felt the tension drain
from him.

“I won’t be made a fool of,” he grated harshly.

“And I won’t be played.” She told him, deadly serious.

Vassily
nodded and then slowly he kissed her, an unhurried and gentle kiss, totally
unlike the heated moment of madness in the lift. And yet Tamara was up in
flames almost immediately. Her libido had revved from zero to 100 in seconds.
Their bodies were mashed together and Vassily’s hands pawed at her dress, he
stroked her up and down, cupping her butt and then moving up past the small of
her back to rub between her shoulder blades, as though he wanted to get under
her skin. Vassily scooped her up into his arms.

“No. Here,” Tamara demanded. She could not wait to reach his
bedroom. Right now the stairs would have to do. She was fast reaching a point
where she didn’t care who saw them. But Vassily shook his head.

“The staff,” he murmured into her neck and slowly he carried
her up the stairs. At his words, Tamara groaned her frustration.
The Staff.
She’d finally found one
disadvantage to being filthy rich! They’d reached the top of the stairs and
Vassily’s mouth came down hard on hers again. Tamara matched him beat for beat.
Her hands ripped at his shirt and she slipped her hands against his warm chest
and pinched his nipple hard, swallowing the moan he made as she switched her
attention to his other nipple.

Tamara was aware of him kicking a door open and slowly he
laid her on a bed. She had eyes only for him – watching as he pulled off
his shirt to reveal rock hard abs and a sprinkling of fine blond hair on his
chest. His body was big and broad and totally unlike the lean pretty boy actors
and models with their gym-honed bodies that she regularly encountered. Vassily
was broader and wide - big like a boxer, his muscles straining now. He was cut
like a god. And she told him so. Told him what she wanted to do to him, what he
could do to her. Tamara was gratified to see that Vassily’s hands were shaky as
he clumsily tried to unbuckle his belt. Tamara stared at him half naked, while
she was still fully clothed and she shivered at this power that she had over
him. Slowly, she moved toward him at the bottom of the bed, her own hands
taking over the task of removing his belt. Unable to resist she bent her head
to his belly and began to lick his hot, toned flesh. She felt his hand in her
hair as she slowly eased his zip down. She pushed his trousers and the silk
boxers off his hips just enough so that she could grasp the rock hard erection
that leapt to her touch. She gripped him hard and smiled as she realised that
her hand could not close completely around him. Vassily groaned, his hand
tightening in her scalp.
 
Slowly
she began to stroke her hand up and down his length, she leaned forward and was
about to take him in her mouth, when she heard the sound. For a moment she
dismissed it but almost immediately, the sound began again. Slowly Tamara eased
away from him.

“What is that?” She asked.

Vassily
looked up at her, his eyes glazed. Once again the sound rang out, insistently
and both their eyes were drawn to his mobile phone, which was discarded on the
floor by the bed.

“Ignore it,” he said. Tamara was inclined to agree with him
but she reached down to switch the phone off and froze as she glanced at the
caller display.

“You’ll want to take this.”

Tamara
lay fully clothed, sprawled on the bed as she watched Vassily move towards his
en suite dressing room speaking urgently into his phone. Slowly her breath was
returning to normal and she banked down the haze of frustrated lust that
surrounded her. Even as she cursed the interruption, her brain was already
plotting a strategy. She’d been saved by that call, she decided. She recalled
the words that she’d spoken to Katie weeks before. She would not allow sex to
ruin her plans. She wanted Vassily, there was no doubt about that, wanted him
more than she’d wanted any man in a long time but for now she had to make him
wait.

“Tamara.”

She
turned to face Vassily as he emerged from his bathroom. He was once again fully
clothed and there was a look of regret in his eyes.

“I have to go.”

Tamara
gave him a small smile and nodded. Another shaft of lust punched through her
but she gritted her teeth. She must hold her nerve and make him wait because
she wanted to be more than some temporary lover; she had big plans for her
billionaire.

On
the outskirts of Paris, daylight was fading fast and the skyline was a canvas
of reds and oranges, greys and blues – a beautiful summer sunset. For
Helena there was little to rejoice about as the interminable shoot just seemed
set to run and run. Sula had finally turned up, without explanation or apology
and Gabe had finally had a chance to put his vision into action. There would be
two covers for Époque’s centenary edition – celebrating old and new. The
first would be shot at Versailles and the second, achingly modern, would take
the Pompidou Centre as its location.

Helena held her pose atop a makeshift podium, even as a
series of makeup artists surrounded her mother, who was once again complaining
about something. All day it had been the light, the heat, the lack of
hydration…. And yet the crew had taken Sula’s whining in their stride, they’d
seemed to expect it from a cultural icon and now they swarmed around her,
determined to do her bidding. Helena grimaced as she watched her mother bestow
a smile on the make up artist. To say that Sula had been cold to her was an
understatement. She’d spoken to Helena only to criticise her gait, give
directions on her stooping posture, or comment that her expressions weren’t
right. It had taken every measure of self-discipline for Helena to hold her
temper.