Code Red Lipstick (5 page)

She slammed the door behind her. Hard.

Jessica clenched her fists as she sat in the back of the Merc. She was so angry she could scream. How could they think that about Dad? He'd never betray MI6 or his country. He always clammed up whenever she tried to talk to him about his time with the security service. He wouldn't divulge secrets to her. There was no way he'd give it all up to a terrorist. He was the most honourable, patriotic person she'd ever met.

She didn't care what Nathan said. She was going to save Dad and clear his name, without MI6's help. She had to. This was what she'd been trained to do.

As the car sped back along the Embankment, she had an idea. She knocked on the glass partition and waited for it to slide down.

“I need to drop by my agency. I've got an appointment with my booker. Can you take me there, please?'

The driver gave a curt nod as she gave him the address. The car peeled off the road and nipped through side streets towards Covent Garden.

 

The Merc waited outside Primus' offices as she ran up the white stairs. She passed the large black and white photos of some of the agency's most famous models – Taja, Albany, Domenica and Vita. The reception was buzzing as usual. Bookers talked loudly to clients through their headsets while a few leggy models sat on the blue sofas, flicking through their portfolios and fashion glossies. This was one of the few places she didn't feel like a total freak. She definitely wasn't the tallest girl in the room for a change. She felt quite small compared to the Amazonian models who stalked past.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” a voice shrieked.

Michael pulled off his telephone earpiece and reached over the counter to give her an air kiss on each cheek.

“Darling, I
lurve
your school uniform.” He wrinkled his nose sarcastically. “But somehow I don't think you'll need it on a shoot any time soon. And what's that sticking in your hair?”

He raised a plucked eyebrow as he pulled out a shred of paper. “Do you know what a comb is these days?”

“I know, I know, I look awful.” She smoothed her hair behind her ears and looked down. Her skirt was dusty from the study floor. “Is Felicity here? I need to see her right now.”

“She's in her office, darling. But she's going to have an aneurysm when she sees the state of you. You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

“Thanks.” For nothing. He wouldn't look picture perfect either if he'd been attacked. She strode over to her booker's office and hovered at the door. A silver-haired woman in her fifties flicked through photos at her desk while talking loudly into her earpiece. She looked up, grinning, and gestured for Jessica to come in. She sat on the edge of a red chair, waiting for Felicity to finish.

“Jessica, darling! How are you?” Felicity tore out her earpiece.

She was tempted to say she'd had the worst day of her life. She'd been assaulted, something terrible had happened to her dad and MI6 thought he was working with a notorious terrorist. It was far simpler just to lie.

“I'm fab, thanks, but we need to talk. Can you get me a casting for Couture Week or anything else going on in Paris this week? It looks buzzing.”

Felicity looked startled. “I thought you said your dad was really strict and wouldn't let you take days off school to model?”

Jessica smiled gratefully at Roberta, who popped in and passed them each a hot chocolate. She felt guilty for lying to Felicity but had no choice. She needed to get to Paris ASAP and the Eurostar booking and accommodation would be in the agency's name, not hers.

“He's had a change of heart – besides, he'll be there on business anyway,” she said, almost too convincingly. “So can you do it?”

Felicity hesitated and ran a hand through her hair, making her chunky amber bracelet jangle.

“I love your enthusiasm, darling, but I'm not sure you're ready for couture just yet. I wanted to build up your portfolio before we start doing the shows. They're such a catfight, you know that. The designers pick more experienced girls who can take whatever's thrown at them.”

“But I can too,” she said. “I'm ready, I know I am. I want a shot at it.”

Felicity stared curiously at her. “Is everything all right, darling?”

She wanted to scream “No!” at the top of her voice. “Of course. Everything's cool. Surely the shoot with Sebastian and other magazine spreads have raised my profile? I know I haven't got a
Vogue
or
Tatler
cover—”

“Not yet!” Felicity said. “But you will.”

“Thanks. That's why I think we should seize this opportunity right now instead of waiting another year. I could also do with the cash.”

Felicity drummed her fingers on the desk. “It's late notice to try and get anything for this week. Most of the go-sees have already taken place.”

“Please, Felicity, I'm begging you. When my dad sees this month's mobile bill he'll ground me until I'm old and crumbly. Well, at least until I'm thirty.”

Felicity burst out laughing. “OK, my little spring chicken. I can't promise the shows, but you're right, there's lots going on in Paris this week. Sara's already out there and had a callback for a job with AKSC just today.”

“Allegra Knight's company?”

“That's right. They're launching a new product this week, apparently.
Très
exciting and
très
hush-hush.”

“Can I get a casting too?”

Please, please, please. This would be beyond perfect. Sam's mum had asked Dad to visit AKSC. They might have some info about him if he'd turned up, like how he seemed and where he said he was going next.

“I'd love to meet Allegra Knight,” she added. “She sounds really cool. I'm sure I could learn a lot from her.”

“She was fabulous in her heyday, darling,” Felicity said. “You don't get supermodels like that any more. Let's give this a whirl. I'm thrilled your dad's had a change of heart.”

“Thank you! You won't regret it, I promise.”

Felicity put her earpiece in and started calling all the couture houses, begging for late slots as Jessica sipped her hot chocolate.

Thankfully, Felicity hadn't asked too many probing questions. Jessica wasn't sure how many more interrogations she could take in one day.

 

Half an hour later, Felicity ripped out her earpiece and pushed her chair back with a broad smile.

“Mission accomplished, darling! You were right. News of your work with Sebastian has spread and you're in demand.”

“With AKSC?”

“I haven't heard back from them yet, sorry. I think they may be set on Sara.”

“Oh.” Typical. That would have been way too convenient.

“Don't look so depressed. I have landed you some last minute go-sees
and
a shoot for
Étoile
magazine
on Wednesday morning. Luckily, a few models cancelled and they really wanted you.”

Jessica jumped up and gave her a hug. AKSC would have been beyond brill, but this was a good start. At least it got her to Paris. “You're a star, thank you.”

“You should thank Emerald as well,” Felicity said, with a loud cackle.

“Why?” She stared at her, puzzled. Emerald was Primus' biggest rival.

“All the designers are in a total spin after Emerald's supermodels dropped out of the shows.”

“You mean Lara Hopkins?” Jessica shuddered.

“No. Why would she drop out?” Felicity looked confused. “She's big news.”

Of course! The supermodel's death hadn't been made public yet. “Sorry, she was the first Emerald model who came to mind. Who do
you
mean?”

“Oh, you know. Darice, Valeriya and the rest of the famous five. You must have read about them all quitting? It's created a gap at the top, which is great news for young girls like you. You'll be able to come up through the ranks much quicker.”

Jessica had completely forgotten about the famous five. “What's going on with them anyway?” she asked.

“I've no idea,” Felicity stretched back in her chair. “They seem to have vanished off the face of the earth. No one's heard a peep from them. Obviously I'd be having a fit right now if they worked for me but it's Emerald so I'm pretty chilled.”

“Still, it's pretty odd, don't you think?” Jessica threw her rucksack over her shoulder, preparing to leave. “They all decided to quit at the same time and they've completely gone to ground.”

Felicity laughed. “Well, if you met Lydia Hollings, you'd probably understand why. She's a nightmare to work for. Nothing like me, of course. I'm your dream boss – a total pussycat.”

Jessica managed a small smile. She didn't dare disagree with this particular pussycat. She had
very
sharp claws.

Felicity checked her watch. “You need to scoot now, Jessica. I've got a conference call with New York starting in five. I'll get Roberta to book you on to Eurostar tomorrow morning and email everything over, along with details of the jobs. She's going to have to sort out a legal waiver to allow you to take part in the shows, as well as a female chaperone.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Really?” That was all she needed. A chaperone would seriously get in her way. She'd have to find a way to dump her at the first opportunity.

“I know, I know, you're a big girl and this will cramp your style, blah, blah, blah,” Felicity said, laughing. “But it's necessary for fourteen-year-olds, even for rat-haired ones like you, so there's no point arguing with me. You'll need to catch up on the schoolwork you miss too.”

“I understand.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Remember to put some make-up on and leave your
brushed
hair down for the castings. You know how important first impressions are. If you look anything like you do today, you won't even get as far as showing your portfolio or your walk. You'll be out the door.”

“I'll make an effort,” Jessica said.

“Great, because all our reputations are on the line with this. Don't forget that, please.”

“I won't.” Jessica blew her a kiss as she left. She'd just made getting to Paris a lot easier. She'd worry about the rest later. She ran down the stairs.

The Merc was still waiting outside, its engine running.

 

The car dropped Jessica off outside her house. She ran up the path without looking back and let herself in. She rested against the door with her eyes shut.

“Where on earth have you been, Jessica? The school rang me to say you didn't turn up this afternoon!”

Uh-oh. Her eyes flew open. A statuesque women with cheekbones that could cut glass glared at her. She was clad in a pink Chanel suit, her white hair coiled into an elegant chignon. She didn't look like most grandmas and certainly didn't appreciate being called one either. She still had the poise and figure of a model despite being in her seventies.

“Not now, Mattie!”

“Excuse me! I'm waiting for an explanation, young lady. Have you been off visiting a boyfriend I don't know about?”

She wished. “No. I felt ill, that's all, and walked about a bit until I felt better.” The lies rolled off her tongue easily now. She'd been getting a lot of practice in today.

“I'd have picked you up if you'd called,” Mattie said. “I've been worried sick. Do you have any idea what's been going on here today?” She gestured towards the study, her diamond and sapphire rings glittering.

Jessica shook her head. It wasn't a good idea to admit what she knew if she wanted to get to Paris tomorrow. Mattie would never let her go if she fessed up to everything, particularly the bit about being knocked out with chloroform.

“Spooks have been crawling all over the house!” Mattie's tone was outraged but she still couldn't bring herself to say “MI6”. She barely acknowledged her dad's former career. “They've taken goodness knows what from your father's study. Did you know he has a secret underground bunker?”

Jessica looked away. She wasn't in the mood for another confrontation.

Mattie folded her arms in exasperation. “What am I saying? Of course you did! Your father involves you in
everything.
”

So they
were
going to revisit this old argument. Mattie had hit the roof when she'd found out Jessica's dad had taken her on a surveillance job last month. She hated her getting involved in spying missions. She thought she was too young, but she was wrong.

“Don't blame Dad. I go down there when he's away and mess about with some of his stuff. He doesn't know.”

Mattie sniffed, unconvinced. “Really? So he didn't teach you how to plant bugs and pick locks as soon as you turned thirteen? That was a really helpful birthday present. Most teenage girls get clothes and make-up.”

Jessica ignored her dig. “What was MI6 here for, anyway? Did they say?”