The Modeliser (29 page)

“Have you changed your hair? She asked. Casey looked up
surprised; it was rare for Tamara to pay any personal attention to her.

“Yes,” Casey said quietly, self-consciously touching her
newly coloured hair, which was now less sandy and more blonde.

“It suits you.” Tamara said as she dropped into the chaise
lounge and began to pop the vitamin pills before washing them down with the
green liquid. Tamara’s mind once again drifted to Sasha’s party. She had never
considered herself a child-friendly person but she’d found herself enjoying
spending time with Sasha as they’d planned the party. Not that she’d personally
done much organising. Her gift to Vassily had been to save him from making the
mistake of gifting Sasha tickets to the opera for her 17th. Instead with
Katie’s help, she’d procured the telephone number of Lindsay West party
consultant to the most famous and wealthy youngsters in the world. Her client
list was a closely guarded secret but it was rumoured that West had arranged
parties on both sides of the Atlantic for the children of CEOs, Hollywood stars
and Brunei Royalty. Thankfully, Vassily had directed Tamara to his personal
secretary who it seemed held the chequebook for the project. Tamara was glad
about this; she doubted Vassily would have understood the difficulties of
bringing a teenage birthday party in for under a million. Tamara took another
sip from her green liquid and set the glass down noticing that Casey was
watching her.

“Casey,” Tamara said as she suddenly remembered something.
“I’ve been a little bit hard on you lately. Things have been stressful but I
don’t want you thinking I don’t care, so I got this for you.” Tamara plucked a
bag from the floor and handed it to Casey, watching as the girl’s eyes widened.
Tamara felt a fleeting moment of affection, Casey had lasted longer than any of
her other assistants. Aussie girls really were made of hardier stuff, she mused
proudly – watching as Casey burrowed into the Harvey Nichols bag to
remove a rare python skin designer handbag. Casey gasped.

“Oh my god, Tamara, it’s beautiful.” Tamara felt satisfaction
wash through her.

“Open it,” she instructed.

Casey
stroked the bag and then opened it to reveal an envelope. She reached in and
pulled it out and opened it and gasped again. It was a Harvey Nichols gift
card, the receipt showing that it was for £1000.

“Why don’t you buy yourself a nice dress or something,”
Tamara said rising from the chaise lounge. She was already running late and had
to check in to see how the party preparations were progressing.
 
Casey rose too. Her eyes were round.

“Tamara…,” Casey began. But Tamara cut her off, waving her
away.

“Don’t be soppy darling, just enjoy it.”

Tamara’s
mind was already back on Vassily as she drifted towards her en suite bathroom.
She did not see the stricken look on Casey’s face as she clutched the bag.

Alex
was blown away.

He turned the final page of the script and his first instinct
was to flip back to the first page and start reading it from the beginning
again. Talia’s script had blown him away.
 
He felt a surge of pride for her and then caught himself. They were
friends, just friends – he did not share in her achievements. His first
thought was to call her but the Eurostar train had already entered the tunnel
and besides he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her. Since their dinner,
he’d felt something shift in their friendship and that shift he feared was
entirely one-sided. Alex Golden – the modeliser had started to fall for
his little sister’s infuriating best friend and he wasn’t sure he liked feeling
this off balance.

As he strode through the arrivals section of Gare du Nord
station, Alex looked up and spotted the waiting driver that Helena had sent for
him. The driver held a card on which was printed the name Lex Smells. He
allowed himself a smile, the name was his regular pseudonym and it had always
amused his sister.

By the time he had settled into the back of the car and it
was speeding towards the Marais, Alex had made a decision. He might not be
ready to speak to Talia but he knew something he could do that would help her.
Alex pressed a button and in a second his iPhone flicked into life. He scrolled
through his emails opening the email that Talia had sent him with her script
attached. He attached the script and then he clicked send – forwarding
the script to the biggest screenwriting agent in Hollywood.

The
air was thick with tension.

Alex leaned back in his chair and not for the first time he
wondered what had possessed him to think he could try to broker some kind of
peace between his mother and sister. Sula was what could kindly be described as
a man’s woman. All women were potential competition, no woman could ever be
trusted and the fact that the woman in question was her own flesh and blood,
her own daughter, made not one bit of difference. Perhaps, Alex mused, that
made it worse.

“Oh darlings, I really must dash. I promised Segolene I’d
come with her to view that apartment,” Sula finally burst out. Alex allowed a
small smile to cross his face. Sula had been excited to meet him for lunch but
when she’d learned that Helena would be joining them, her enthusiasm had waned.
“Your sister is just such a stick in the mud,” she’d complained to Alex. Alex
allowed his mother to press a brief kiss to his cheek. She waved across the
table at Helena and in a waft of Chanel No 5 perfume and a stroke of her silk
Hermes scarf across his cheek, she was gone. No doubt glorying in the fact that
every head in the restaurant swivelled around to watch her leave.

“Well that was fun,” Helena muttered and Alex finally allowed
himself to relax. At least they hadn’t descended to blows.

“I tried,” he replied.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

They
were silent for a moment and then Helena spoke.

“Only one more days shooting and we are done, thank god. I am
just so fed up with all of it,” Helena burst out in frustration. Uttering the
words seemed to dissipate her irritation and she relaxed into her chair,
plucking an olive from the dish in front of her.

“You’ll be back home soon.”

“Christ Alex, I can’t wait,” she said popping the olive into
her mouth. “Speaking of home, how have things been with Talia?”

Alex
felt warmth spread up his cheek but he shook it off.

“Good. She’s a great reader, sharp insights...”

“Opinionated,” Helena replied.

“She is that,” Alex said and they both smiled. “Actually
she’s more than a good reader, she’s a great writer too.”

Alex
watched the startled expression spread across his sister’s face.

“What?”

“She let you read her work?” Helena asked.

“Yeah, why not, she sent me her script.” Alex wondered why he
felt defensive. He watched as his sister placed her fork down and dabbed
delicately at the corners of her lips with her napkin.

“What exactly is going on with you and Tal?” Helena demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me Alex. Talia has never shown her writing to
anyone, apart from Simone and I. What is going on?”

“You’re being stupid. She sent me the script for some
feedback that’s all.” Alex fought to keep his expression neutral as Helena
scrutinised him. After a moment she seemed finally to accept that there was no
story.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that Talia’s my best friend and
a really nice girl.”

“And?” Alex snapped affronted.

“Seriously Alex, Talia deserves someone who won’t fuck her
about. I love you. You’re my brother but the last thing my best friend needs is
The Modeliser.”

Alex
shook his head, irritation warring with another more complicated emotion.
Everything Helena was saying was right and yet he wanted to contradict her.

“Besides,” Helena continued. “Tal is not your type is she?”

“And what’s my type?” He asked sarcastically.

“Long legs, fake boobs and nothing upstairs. Cheerleaders.
Women who stroke your ego but never ever challenge you.” Helena finished as she
picked up her fork again and speared another olive. Alex smiled; he’d forgotten
how blunt his little sister could be.

“Well that’s pretty spot on,” he said. He shook off the
discomfort and turned back to his sister. “So, this Epoque shoot you and mother
are doing, are there going to be any other hot models there?”

“Whoever
said there were no ugly women only lazy ones, definitely knew what she was
talking about.” Simone made this pronouncement sprawled on the sofa surrounded
by the shopping bags that were the fruits of hers and Talia’s frenzied excursion
around some of London’s most fashionable shopping streets. After she had
invited Simone to be her plus one to the Rough Draft party, Talia had begun to
panic and in the end they’d decided that this party called for some new
clothes.

“Simone get up,” Talia called as she emerged from the shower
clad in just a towel. We only have a couple of hours to do make up and get
ready and look at my hair.”

“I’ll get into the shower,” Simone said.

“I’m already knackered and we haven’t even left home,” Talia complained.

“Don’t worry, the minute we see all those stars, you’ll be
fine,” Simone replied, gathering her bags and heading up the stairs.

Talia
followed her up and entered her room. On the bed, she’d laid out the dress that
she had chosen. There had been several contenders but the minute she had seen
her reflection in this dress, she had been sold. She’d barely winced at the
price tag as she handed her card over to the sales assistant. The dress was
simple and yet a perfect foil for her newly toned curves. Somehow without
realising it, her runs on the heath and her squats and press-ups had yielded
results. She would never be model tall and thin but her newly toned physique
showcased her hourglass curves perfectly. The dress was perhaps the most
expensive clothing purchase she had ever made. It was lace, rather demure at
the front and then veered low at the back, scooped almost to the bottom of her
spine. She wouldn’t be able to wear a bra and Talia was grateful for the secret
support that was built into the front of the dress.

She turned towards the vanity mirror and began to
painstakingly straighten her hair, until it hung poker straight, framing her
face just as it had in the salon. Spread on the dresser was an array of make up
that had been newly purchased that day. Talia reached for the moisturiser and
began to smooth it over her skin, when her mobile phone began to ring. She
reached for it and froze. The called display read Angelina Starling. Talia
stared at it for a moment and then decisively clicked a button to reject the
call. It was the third time in as many days that Angelina had called her and
each time Talia had ignored the call. Her few friends at Encounters had melted
away after she was sacked. Not one of them had reached out to her. She had moved
on now and she had no interest looking backwards. Talia determinedly pushed
Angelina to the back of her mind and then she continued to apply her make up.
Finally satisfied. She moved towards the bed and picked up the dress. Carefully
she stepped into it, pulling it up and arranging herself into it. She
straightened the dress and then clasped the thin Gucci belt around her newly
svelte waist.

Talia turned to the full-length mirror and she gasped. For
the first time in her life, she felt beautiful, worthy. She smiled in wonder at
herself and for a moment she wished that Alex was here to see her but then she
shook off the thought. She, Talia Blake, had been invited to the Rough Draft
party; she was finally living the life that she had dreamed of.

Alex
stared blankly out of the window as the Eurostar train emerged from the tunnel
on the English side of the Channel. His whistle-stop lunch with Helena had
thrown up questions that made him uneasy. Helena was right, Talia wasn’t right
for him, any more than he was right for her. They were too different, they
lived different lives, it could never work and yet Alex found his thoughts
drifting more and more to her. His phone beeped and Alex glanced down at the
calendar reminder alert. He had forgotten that he had planned to attend the
Rough Draft summer party that night. Fuck it, why not attend the party, there’d
probably be models there he thought with a cynical smile. Alex thought for a
moment and then he remembered someone else who would doubtless kill to attend
such a party. He scrolled through his contacts and then connected a call.

“Declan,” Alex said. “What are you doing tonight mate?”

Talia
and Simone had died and gone to heaven. They’d arrived with some trepidation at
the nondescript West London warehouse. After being dropped off at the bottom of
the road by the taxi, they had tottered in high heels down the dark street with
some concern. This shabby London street was not where one might expect the film
industry party of the season to be happening.

“This does not look promising,” Simone had muttered looking
like a stunning Amazon in a dramatic red dress that showcased her tall, slim
body to perfection.