Seductive Viennese Whirl (18 page)

"I think Violet wants to take five. What do you think?"

He snorts. "I'll tell you what I think. I think that animal shouldn't be in this business and that you should have checked its track record before you booked it. I don't think I've got a single good shot all afternoon. If I had my way you'd be fired as well as the animal. One more thing, just one more thing and I'm outta here." Then he gives a shadow of a smile and says, "You got a cigarette?"

"No, but I can get you one."

"Never mind," he says, hurrying away to bum one off Suzie.

While everyone's puffing away on their fags and the deer is eating its food I ask Eva if she knows why Mario's covered in Band-Aids.

She looks at me oddly. "Kate, they're nicotine patches."

"But how can they be? He's been smoking all day."

"Suzie says when he wears the patches he can kid himself he's quit."

"But that's nuts!"

"I don't know about that. It's a bit like you always carrying around Slim-Fast shakes to convince yourself you're on a diet."

Suddenly I feel sick from all that sugar, and the fact that it's as hot and airless as a sauna in here. I walk over to a window, rip it open and take a big gulp of air. It's just like Eva to say something so thoughtless. She's not the one saddled with a slow metabolism and weak will power. She doesn't know how much I want to lose weight. I am trying to eat less, it's just that everywhere I look there are cakes calling my name.

"Who opened a window?" says Mario, grinding out his fag. "The last thing I need is a model with goosepimples."

I close the window, blinking my sore eyes against the smoke clogged air. Mario grinds out his fag and starts shooting again. Everything goes swimmingly for a while, until the male model starts giving it some attitude, saying he has to be at another shoot in half an hour. Mario tells him to shut up, but he keeps complaining that we're already two hours over schedule.

I tell him he'll be paid for the extra hours, but he won't be placated. He's waving his arms in the air, whinging on about our unprofessionalism, when he accidentally slaps the deer on the rump. Well, of course it panics, kicking him in the shin and charging into the girl, knocking her over on her bum, before taking a dump on the floor.

Eva and I are clutching at each other, desperately trying to suppress the hysteria that's building up. I tear myself away and go over and help the girl to her feet. She takes it quite well, but the male model uses some terrible language, claiming his legs are insured for thousands and that if the accident leaves the slightest scar he'll sue.

I'm dying to know what you thought of my letter to Alex. Email me the moment you get a second.

Love,

Gherkin

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Sounds like a charmer

Date: 19 August 2011

Dear Gherkin,

My, my, you have been busy. What a wild time you had in Vienna! Thank God you didn't succumb to the Marquis' charms. He sounds sexy but deadly. Actually, to be perfectly honest, he sounds like he would have been a total ANIMAL in bed and you have my permission to ravish him should you ever meet him again.

Your letter to Alex, while striking the right note between seductive and playful, worries me somewhat. Shouldn't you be finding your own lover rather than wasting your considerable literary talents writing to him on Eva's behalf? Get a life girl.

Life feels pretty grim right now. I haven't been my usual dynamic self recently because I found out that I'm unexpectedly up the spout (six weeks gone). Not really sure how I feel about it. Donald delighted, of course. I told him my fear that breastfeeding another baby would stretch my breasts to such an extent that I'd be left with flaps of skin. At this he got a lustful gleam in his eye and said he'd be happy to pay for silicone implants.

Can't promise to write much as I feel as sick as a pig. But keep the letters coming. They cheer me up no end, even though I always end up shaking my head and wondering if you are ever going to grow up.

Love always,

Your big sister Egg

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Flaps!!??

Date: 22 August 2011

Dear Egg,

I quite understand that you're not up to writing much these days. Congratulations on being pregnant and try not to be so down. If anyone can deal with three tiddlers, you can! And there is no way your gorgeous breasts will ever turn to flaps. You are a total babe and I would swap my saggy DDs for your perky Cs in a heartbeat. It's those pregnancy hormones that are playing a cruel trick of fate on you and making you feel ugly. Look, you're carrying this amazing life in your stomach, part of the new generation that will shape the future. If that isn't important what is?

Erm, as for writing to this Alex bloke, I'm afraid that I probably will write to him again. But only to help out a semiliterate friend who has problems writing shopping lists let alone love letters. I am just trying to be nice. That's all. So please cut me some slack.

Right now I'm sitting at my desk chatting to Eva, waiting to go into a meeting with McManus. We've been looking through the photos from the shoot and the male model looks pretty damn hot in them. It almost makes me forgive him for his little hissy fit. Turns out he was all mouth and no trousers anyway, because we've yet to hear from his lawyer about suing for damage to his precious leg.

Eva nudges me. "Briony's staring at you."

"Oh heck."

As Briony approaches I whisper, "I don't know what it is with that girl, she won't stop thanking me about helping her with the pies. Which would be fine. But she does it ten times a day. It's really beginning to hack me off."

Briony comes up all bright and breezy and asks me if I want to go to lunch.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm busy."

Briony's face falls. "That's a shame."

"But if you're at a loose end why don't you go down Oxford Street and buy yourself some new clothes?"

"Ooh, bitchy," says Eva, once Briony's slunked off.

"I know, I know, but I really need to get her off my back, you know?"

"I didn't know you could be so mean," she says, pulling a letter out of her bag. "You almost don't deserve a look at this. Go on, guess who it's from."

"That was quick," I say, grabbing it from her. Rapidly, I unfurl it.

Count Alex von

Pappenberg

Schloss Pappenberg

7865 Alpenbach

Austria

16 August 2011

Dear Eva,

Thanks for your letter. So sorry to hear you were ill. Illness surrounds me too, although the worst is hopefully over for Anya. When I suggested she see a therapist she was adamant she didn't need one (as you predicted), but after much cajoling she's admitted she needs help and is now seeing someone regularly for her drug problems. The overdose seems to have been a cry for help. My mother's a very busy woman, always out socializing, and doesn't seem to realize Anya needs a lot more attention than she's willing to give. I've done quite a bit of thinking and have come to the conclusion that I'm going to stay here with Anya, at least for a few months. She needs stability and I'm at a loose end right now, so why shouldn't I do my bit?

I'm sorry I ran out on you the other morning, but I'd had an urgent message on my mobile and decided to get back to the Schloss. I did leave you a note, in the silver salver, but the Marquis switched it to the first of his clues. How clever Kate is to have guessed that he was the mastermind behind the game. I had no part in it! I was actually pretty pissed off when I found out what he'd done, but he said you took it all in good humour.

[Good humour my ass. How did the Marquis know how she'd reacted anyway, unless he'd been watching her? The thought sent a cold chill through me, quickly followed by a hot flush. The Marquis was trouble, as I had suspected. He had thought up the game. Luckily for Eva, judging by this letter, the Count was too much of a gentlemen to get a kick out of watching Eva scrambling for clues, as the Marquis undoubtedly did.]

Your mention of the champagne has got my imagination quite fired up. Yes, I remember. How could I ever forget? Okay, I'll admit I've had my share of women but, I don't know … I'm not too good with words but, there's … there's just something about you that makes me feel like I want to give you things. Want to give you whatever I can to make you happy. Giving you pleasure gives me pleasure. It's that simple. And although you talking about all those guys and what you do with them makes me recognize the bad girl who did naughty things to me in bed, please don't mention them again. It just works me up, in a bad way.

This is a strange situation. We didn't really have that much of a chance to get to know each other, but maybe writing to each other will change all that. For the record, I think you're special and intelligent and full of life and, from what I saw in our brief time together, perfect. And, in case you're wondering, yes, I would love to see you again, only right now is the worst possible time. I hope you understand?

Love,

Alex

After I've read through the letter again, I decide maybe I did go a bit OTT with my references to shagging the models. Alex is clearly a man of delicate sensibilities. I decide that any future missives will contain less raunch and more feeling. But wow, Alex is some guy, I didn't realize he was so sensitive. I'm itching to get started on another letter, but Sparky's telling us the Haddock has called for us to go up. As we walk over to the lift, now mercifully repaired, I'm still holding the letter in my hand. The doors close.

"Earth calling Kate," Eva's saying. "We're here." She pushes me out of the lift and I vaguely register that we're on the fourth floor. "Give me that," she says, prising the letter from my hand.

"You're a lucky, lucky girl," I whisper, before we slip into the Zen boardroom. Call me a sad old cow, but I'm feeling all giddy, because I realize it's partly me who he's writing back to. Hell, he even called me clever.

The Haddock's drumming immaculately manicured nails as we wend our way through plumes of lavender scented incense over to the table. Eva sits down beside the Haddock who's wearing a spanking new cream Nicole Farhi suit. With only one seat remaining I'm forced to sit beside McManus, whose person is emanating a most unpleasant scent of whiskey and stale sweat that the incense sticks are failing to mask.

Eva's reading Alex's letter, cunningly hidden inside a ring binder, and grinning dopily, like she's drunk on love. McManus, on the other hand, merely looks drunk, his face flushed, eyes staring out at nothing.

The Haddock gets up and lays the mock ups of the three different posters in front of him. In one the model is leaning against the deer, in the second she's riding the beast and in the third she's got one arm flung around its neck. All the posters have been artfully touched up so that gravy rolls down the model's chin in a sexy rather than messy way.

"What do you think?" I say, turning to McManus and trying to hold my breath at the same time.

"They all look great," he replies, although he's not looking at the mock ups at all, he's peering at Eva from beneath his brows. There's a furtive look about him, like a little kid who's peed in his pants and is afraid to admit it.

"Yes, brilliant work, Kate," says the Haddock. And then she's off, gushing on about how this is one of the most exciting campaigns she's ever worked on, how it will raise an already high profile brand to stratospheric heights. And on and on she goes, eyes bright with fervour. She's probably calculating how many Nicole Farhi suits she can buy if she can entice McManus to stay on as a client for another few years.

But her spiel is wasted on McManus, who stares blankly into space, before suddenly launching into a coughing fit. Pouring himself a glass of water, he lifts it to his lips, but before it gets to its destination it slips and shatters on the parquet floor.

"I'll see to it," he says, getting down on his hands and knees. He's picking up the bits of glass into a handkerchief and Eva's looking at him like she despises him. I know I should hate him too, for what he's done to Eva, but he looks so pathetic, my heart goes out to him.

"Leave that, do," says the Haddock, helping McManus to his feet. "This may not be the ideal time, but if you could just choose which image you'd like for the campaign, then we could set the wheels in motion."

He sways a little. "I don't seem to be able to make a decision," he mumbles, stuttering over the words. "And I don't feel well." He looks at Eva, and with a hang dog look that makes me want to throw my arms around him says, "Which one do you think I should go with?"

Eva looks irritated. She bites into the pen top, let's her eyes run disinterestedly over the images, and says, "The girl riding the deer, I guess."

"I'll have that one then," says McManus. Where's the old McManus gone, the one who scrapped two of my concepts for not being strong enough? And who is this wreck who's taken his place?

"An excellent choice," says the Haddock, "Your hand, it's bleeding. I've a Band-Aid in here somewhere," she says, opening her handbag.

He doesn't seem to have heard her as he turns and shuffles out of the room. "Super job, both of you," she says rapidly, before hurrying out after him.

I'm still pondering McManus' odd behaviour later on when I wander into the tea room. Coming across a gleaming pyramid of Danishes I grab one from the top and start to chew. Once I've ingested the first I reach for another. My fingers have barely scraped the icing of a raisin Danish before the plate is whisked out from under my nose.