A Face To Die For (7 page)

I knew exactly what he meant, as sheet after sheet of rejected sketches were hurled into the bin.

*

A small ‘concession’ in Harrods became the main outlet in London, and so during early autumn on one of my days off I went
incognito
into the store to see it for myself. I intended also to watch their fashion show that afternoon. Several
Miss Courtney
garments were to be included.

No one would know me, and it gave me immense pleasure to glance through rails of my designs, attempting to assess them as a prospective customer might.

Later on, from my vantage point at the far end of the catwalk, I had an excellent view of the show as the designer names trotted out. Jacques Heim, Laroche, Michael, Hartnell, Nina Ricci as always, stunned and impressed me. Then after the first few came my own special moment of joy as the commere announced, 'Miss Courtney, by Annabel Spencer, a brand new range from the House of Courtney.'

I blushed and gulped nervously. Two garments first - one after the other; a cocktail suit in chequer-board printed silk with black satin trim, followed by a calf length dress in pleated flame red shantung.

They looked very good and I heard several murmurs of approval near me. However, it was the model strutting on wearing my flame dress that instantly caught my eye. It was none other than Katherine Marshall, now better known as Kate Marshall. She looked absolutely stunning.

If the show didn't end too late, I hoped I might have a chance to speak to her. Although utter chaos normally reigns behind the scenes at these shows, and since I needed to get away pretty sharply afterwards, I knew I couldn’t risk getting caught up in it. It was Mum's fiftieth birthday, and Philip had organised a family dinner party. They hadn't been back in Ealing for weeks and it was the first chance we'd had for some time to get together with Joan and Sid to celebrate anything, including my success. Unfortunately, this meant meeting up again with Kate Marshall would simply have to wait.

As the audience dispersed, I cursed the fact that there was no time to speak to her. Pity, I would have so loved to wallow in a little personal glory with her. After all, both of us had made good from pretty ordinary beginnings; an amazing parallel really. The only difference, I suspected, was that as a top fashion model she was undoubtedly a lot better paid than I.

There had been four of my designs included in the show and I'd been most encouraged by the favourable reception the audience had given them. However Kate herself had made the biggest impression on me.

Travelling back home on the busy Tube I couldn't get her out of my mind; how strikingly beautiful and elegant she had become. It also struck me as quite coincidental that of all the designers featured in the show she'd worn one of
my
designs. Or maybe it wasn’t coincidental? Tomorrow I would find out the name of her model agency and try to get in touch with her.

PART TWO

CHAPTER 5

TWO YEARS LATER, SPRING 1963

As I wrapped a towel round my dripping hair, I went to answer the door-phone.

'Hi, honey!' It was Alex.

I pressed the main front door release button, and minutes later he breezed in wearing his usual air of nonchalance. I hadn't seen him for about six weeks.

'How're you, honey?' A muscular arm went round me as his lips brushed mine. He stood back casting an approving glance over my bathrobe and then sauntered on through to the sitting room of the flat in Eaton Square, which I now shared with Vanessa. Fiona had moved out over a year ago.

'I've just showered. Do you want me to dress?'

I slowly followed him through trying to be ultra cool and casual, and yet the way he just turned up like this did infuriate me.

'No, stay as you are, hon; it’s rather fetching.' Deep brown eyes gazed into mine. He pulled me to him again, the towel releasing itself from my hair. Searching beneath my robe his hand cupped my breast. He kissed me hard, his tongue teasing my mouth open. Soon my robe had slipped to the floor. Naked, I melted into his arms.

We'd had several liaisons like this since his surprise telegram two years ago. Several months later passing through London on a business visit he'd unexpectedly telephoned to ask me out for a meal.

At the time I could hardly believe it was actually happening. It had only been a quick lunch together in a bistro just off Bond Street; but it was a start, and I could only wait and dream for things to develop.

Ages passed by, though, without another word from him, and then three months later he called again to ask me out, for dinner this time.

That night we ate in a small Chinese restaurant in Soho. By this time I was desperate for things to develop between us. I’d barely been able to eat, I was so full of anticipation; my heart pounding away like a bongo drum in my ears. His long, lingering gaze into my eyes clearly indicated to me that he wanted me too.

It was the most exquisite feeling I'd ever had about anyone. While the sensible side of my conscience kept screaming, 'Caution!' while the other was saying, 'Hell, Annabel, Mr Gorgeous doesn't come along every day. Here he is now with his tongue almost hanging out for it. Don't waste it, you idiot. Go for it!'

Well, I did. And that night spent in his hotel room was unbelievable; love making at its incredible best. This was followed by a second night of more indescribable passion before he flew back to New York next morning.

I was hooked. From that brief intoxicating spell together our relationship developed into the most mind-exploding affair. Alex became the only man I cared for or gave any thought to. It was classic obsession. I was besotted with him.

After that, on his irregular visits to London, we made love at every opportunity and in every conceivable way. Every time it left me in a tormented state of aching adoration for him. The problem for me was the fact that after each occasion it became more and more difficult to cope with his departure.

Of course, it was pretty clear from the start he only wanted a casual, open-ended relationship, with no commitment. I'd tried desperately hard to steel myself to be content with that. And in all honesty it was the only way for us to conduct our relationship; bearing in mind the infrequency and unreliability of his visits. His irritating lack of communication between these times drove me wild nonetheless.

Why do I tolerate this situation? I would often ask myself. Yet he only had to arrive back and once more I would succumb to another spell of blinding sexual bliss. With him I could easily forget the long, lonely times without him. Only when he left, the desperation would set in and torture me once more.

So it went on. Of course, I knew I was mad to put up with it, but I couldn't help myself; not as far as Alex was concerned. I loved him; worshipped him, in fact. I would endure anything to be with him, even if it could be only every now and again. The fact that he came back to me was sufficient to convince me it was worth it. Naive of me perhaps, but Alex had always affected me this way.

By now he'd been married to his American heiress, Susannah de Mournay, for well over a year. They had recently produced a son and heir to the combined Karos-De Mournay fortunes. Their child, Nikolas had, in true Greek tradition been named after Alex's father.

Looking coldly at the facts, I suppose it was most convenient for Alex to have an affair with me; particularly now I was residing in Vanessa's flat. His wife need never suspect anything, because to all appearances he was simply visiting his sister in London.

Vanessa, by now engaged to Rowley, spent a vast amount of time - nights especially - at Rowley’s flat in Bloomsbury. This meant Alex and I had the Eaton Square place pretty much to ourselves during his visits. Tonight was no different.

I slipped back into my robe again, and retrieving the towel from the floor I straightened up and looked at him abruptly. 'Well, Alex, I suppose I should be congratulating you on your son's birth. Vanessa told me of course. There was
even
a mention of it in the press here…'

The hint of sarcasm in my voice was intended. I knew I was being a tad bitchy, but hell, why not? Darling Susannah had him ninety per cent of the time, while I only qualified for leftovers. I felt fully entitled.

He appeared to ignore my derisive tone and my comment. 'So where's Vanessa? At Rowley's I suppose?'

I nodded, bristling somewhat at his blasé attitude. I’d felt really hurt when I'd first found out about the baby.

'So she won't be back tonight then?'

'Shouldn’t think so.'

His expression quickly became sheepish as he came over to stroke my cheek. 'Cheer up, honey. It's great. Means we can be completely alone.' He lightly kissed my nose. 'First though, we'll go somewhere to eat. I'm starved. Had nothing on the flight ... such garbage food!'

Instantly I yielded to his touch, my voice lightening in response. 'Actually, I've already eaten. There's some roast chicken and ham left though. I can make you a salad if you like?'

What the hell! At least Alex was back and I had him to myself for a bit. Previous aggravation instigated by his absence was soon forgotten. He only had to gaze at me with his dark, sexy eyes and I'd melt like ice cream in the sun.

Perhaps one day I'd be strong enough to tell him that I wasn't
always
going to be so available whenever he wanted. I was besotted and, like a loyal puppy dog, I was always waiting for him.

Besides, my job at
Miss Courtney
kept me immensely busy. I never minded this because I loved my work. I also enjoyed having a steady male interest in my life, and Alex was too good a lover by far. No other man had taken me to such extremes of passion before. So, here I was trapped by my own volition in this far from ideal situation; obsessed by him; ravenous for only him, whenever he chose to turn up.

He kissed my forehead. 'Okay, honey. Chicken and salad's fine. Save you getting dressed too, and I’m fully in favour of that. Hang on, there's a bottle of Krug in my bag.'

He unzipped his tan leather flight bag and pulled the bottle out. I then left him to sort out some glasses from the sideboard while I went to prepare his meal.

After enjoying the simple meal Alex pushed his plate to one side and threw his napkin on the table. 'That was great, honey. Thanks.' He downed the last drop of his champagne. Then rising, he came round the table to my side where, still in my robe, I was sipping my drink.

I looked up at him as he took the glass from me and placed it down. From the expression in his eyes and the way it made me feel, I knew exactly what was about to happen...

I’d never had any illusions about being anything other than reasonably attractive. Yet Alex could make me feel the most desirable woman in the world. It worked wonders with my ego and making love with him each time was like a drug fix. I was hooked. Hooked on Alex.

We never spoke a great deal when we made love. Afterwards he nearly always said something exotically flattering; reassuring me once more that it had been worth waiting for.

*

Later that night, as we lay exhausted from the passion we’d just shared; my body tingling all over, he turned sleepily to me. Gently stroking my stomach, he kissed my right nipple.

'Hon, that was so beautiful ... the greatest fuck ever.'

I was stunned! He'd never ever said the F word to me before. His utterings after making love had always been so eloquent and so deeply romantic, that they could almost make me cry. Suddenly, with that one word, he'd turned our lovemaking into something dirty. To me it was as if his attitude and thoughts for me were now completely changed.

I said nothing, because he'd already drifted off into an exhausted sleep, but my usual drowsy, satisfied state of bliss had now become a disturbed warzone. I was wide awake with anger; aware that an unknown enmity had suddenly come between us.

As he slept contentedly I lay for some time, humiliated and troubled. Don't be silly; I tried to tell myself. Yet somehow I couldn't erase it from my mind. Alex had never ever said that word to me before, so why now?

Could it be, I wondered, that as a married man and a father now he thinks of me in an entirely different light? That must be it! Oh, I'm such a fool! Why do I put up with it?

Of course, there had been sound reasons why Susannah must never know about us. And I'd accepted them; basically because Alex had always insisted he'd been obliged to marry the Texan heiress for financial reasons. The De Mournay oil dynasty and the vast Karos shipping lines had supposedly been a very worthwhile merger for both families.

Vanessa had never minced words about being unhappy about their marriage either. 'God, I loath Susannah,' she’d said. 'But the marriage is important to Papa, and he's one person Alex and I never cross. But don't worry about it, darling, Alex visits London very infrequently, and he needs company when he's here. Why shouldn't it be you? Anyway, I’m just as naughty, starting my love affair with Rowley while he was still engaged to Julia! Wicked.'