way to meet guys. The trick is to look like you’re pondering the mysteries of the universe while looking at a dinosaur fossil. I can do that. I’ll just think about the horrible dose of diarrhoea I had last year. That made me think about the mysteries of the universe.”
I laughed.
“That’s more like it,” Emily said.
I agreed to go round on Friday night.
I went to the café and asked for a latte with one shake of cinnamon. The guy gave me a knowing look, asking if it was for “her”. I described Portia and he nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s her,” he said. He didn’t go on to say any more about her. The shrug seemed to be enough.
I returned to Tommy’s studio. He was scowling and had his arms folding. Portia had a “butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth” expression. They obviously weren’t getting along.
“Fay,” Tommy said. “Let me take your picture.”
“But we’ve only just started,” protested Portia.
“Yeah, well, I need a break. And so do you. I don’t like to work models too hard, you know. Don’t want to wear them out. You drink your cinnamon coffee while I take Fay’s picture.”
Portia took the coffee from me without a word of thanks.
“Tommy,” I said, “I really don’t want my photo taken.”
“Please,” he begged. “You’re beautiful… I’ve always wanted to take your photo. Just a couple of shots.”
I didn’t have much choice in the end. He started snapping away.
“I don’t know what expressions I should be making.”
“But you’ve worked with models for years.”
“Yeah, but that’s about them, not me. Tommy, I really don’t want to.” But Tommy wasn’t taking no for an answer. He guided me over to the white screen and took more photos. When I tried to smile my lips quivered. Out the corner of my eye I could seen Portia sneering.
“Just be you,” Tommy said.
I winced. “Do I have to be?”
13. Coffee and secrets
EMILY AND I boarded the train from Wimbledon to London Waterloo at eleven fourteen on Saturday. It was a relief to be boarding a train that wasn’t subjected to the rush-hour crush, although just getting on a train still reminded me of the time I met Carl. I nearly took a sneaky peek at the first class carriage to see if he was sitting in it, even though this wasn’t his line.
As the train pulled out of the station, I asked Emily, “Which museum do you fancy going to?”
Emily waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve gone off the idea of museums. How about we take a walk along the South Bank? There’s a food market outside the Queen Elizabeth Hall. They usually have amazing foods from around the world.”
“Okay.”
In truth, I didn’t mind what we did, as long as we did something to take my mind off Russell and Carl. And temperamental models. Portia had seemed so nice when we’d spotted her in Camden. Just like any seventeen-year-old out shopping. She had seemed sweet and a little shy. If she was going to act the diva at a simple photo shoot for her portfolio, what would she be like if she started getting attention from advertising agencies and fashion editors?
And as I was thinking of models, what was I going to do about Anna? It wasn’t fair not to tell her that she was no longer on the agency’s books. I still hadn’t mentioned to Polly that I had chickened out of telling Anna the bad news. Perhaps I should go on representing Anna without telling Polly. Not that there was anywhere left in London where I could try and get her a half-decent assignment. I’d tried every magazine lately, every advertising and promotions agency.
“Try one of these sausages.” We’d reached the food market outside the Queen Elizabeth hall. It appeared on occasional Saturday and Sundays. It was a great place to grab warm food and walk along the banks of the Thames. This part of the river wasn’t the same as the stretch near my home. Here it was wide and majestic, running through the tourist sites of the capital — St Paul’s
I laughed.
“That’s more like it,” Emily said.
I agreed to go round on Friday night.
I went to the café and asked for a latte with one shake of cinnamon. The guy gave me a knowing look, asking if it was for “her”. I described Portia and he nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s her,” he said. He didn’t go on to say any more about her. The shrug seemed to be enough.
I returned to Tommy’s studio. He was scowling and had his arms folding. Portia had a “butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth” expression. They obviously weren’t getting along.
“Fay,” Tommy said. “Let me take your picture.”
“But we’ve only just started,” protested Portia.
“Yeah, well, I need a break. And so do you. I don’t like to work models too hard, you know. Don’t want to wear them out. You drink your cinnamon coffee while I take Fay’s picture.”
Portia took the coffee from me without a word of thanks.
“Tommy,” I said, “I really don’t want my photo taken.”
“Please,” he begged. “You’re beautiful… I’ve always wanted to take your photo. Just a couple of shots.”
I didn’t have much choice in the end. He started snapping away.
“I don’t know what expressions I should be making.”
“But you’ve worked with models for years.”
“Yeah, but that’s about them, not me. Tommy, I really don’t want to.” But Tommy wasn’t taking no for an answer. He guided me over to the white screen and took more photos. When I tried to smile my lips quivered. Out the corner of my eye I could seen Portia sneering.
“Just be you,” Tommy said.
I winced. “Do I have to be?”
13. Coffee and secrets
EMILY AND I boarded the train from Wimbledon to London Waterloo at eleven fourteen on Saturday. It was a relief to be boarding a train that wasn’t subjected to the rush-hour crush, although just getting on a train still reminded me of the time I met Carl. I nearly took a sneaky peek at the first class carriage to see if he was sitting in it, even though this wasn’t his line.
As the train pulled out of the station, I asked Emily, “Which museum do you fancy going to?”
Emily waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve gone off the idea of museums. How about we take a walk along the South Bank? There’s a food market outside the Queen Elizabeth Hall. They usually have amazing foods from around the world.”
“Okay.”
In truth, I didn’t mind what we did, as long as we did something to take my mind off Russell and Carl. And temperamental models. Portia had seemed so nice when we’d spotted her in Camden. Just like any seventeen-year-old out shopping. She had seemed sweet and a little shy. If she was going to act the diva at a simple photo shoot for her portfolio, what would she be like if she started getting attention from advertising agencies and fashion editors?
And as I was thinking of models, what was I going to do about Anna? It wasn’t fair not to tell her that she was no longer on the agency’s books. I still hadn’t mentioned to Polly that I had chickened out of telling Anna the bad news. Perhaps I should go on representing Anna without telling Polly. Not that there was anywhere left in London where I could try and get her a half-decent assignment. I’d tried every magazine lately, every advertising and promotions agency.
“Try one of these sausages.” We’d reached the food market outside the Queen Elizabeth hall. It appeared on occasional Saturday and Sundays. It was a great place to grab warm food and walk along the banks of the Thames. This part of the river wasn’t the same as the stretch near my home. Here it was wide and majestic, running through the tourist sites of the capital — St Paul’s
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