Beneath Beautiful (12 page)

“So in tune,” Cameron said, and Cassie felt his eyes rest on her appreciatively. “That's it exactly.”

When she turned her head to look at him, squinting under the lights, he was already animated. “We need to do this,” he turned to his staff, with a clap of his hands, “now. Right now. Let's go.”

W
ithin minutes of having three people work on her at exactly the same time, photographing her skin, taking samples of her hair, and arranging her body as Cameron saw fit, Cassie could see where this was all going. She would be like Monica. Her, but not her. Every vein, every hair, every eyelash accounted for. Though, obviously, with clothes.

When Cameron was happy with how she was set up, he stood back and watched his crew as they worked. “So,” he finally said, obviously content with how things were progressing, “you met Freya.”

Cassie smiled. “Yes.” She paused. “Imagine having a body like that.”

“That's exactly what I think every time I look at her.”

“It must be lovely feeling so springy. So . . . alive.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Cameron replied. “Sometimes I feel almost alive after three cups of coffee.”

Cassie laughed. “She told me about the sculpture she's sitting for. It sounds very
you
.”

“What are you saying? That I'm teasing the public? Never,” Cameron joked. He walked over now and adjusted a lock of her hair so that it fell forward, grazing her chin. “I also hear you met Plum.”

“Ah, yes,” Cassie said, not caring to elaborate. “I have a question. Is it true about the lipstick? Is it really tattooed on?” She'd read in a newspaper once that Plum's lipstick was a specially designed shade of her own blood, tattooed onto her lips. The only reason it looked like lipstick was because of the gloss she wore on top of it.

“Yes, that's true. And I'll tell you a secret.”

Cassie raised her eyebrows. “What's that?”

“It would scare the crap out of you the first thing in the morning. It certainly did me.”

She raised her eyebrows further. “I'll take your word for it.”

“So,” Cameron continued, “did she attempt to run you out of town? She does that.”

Cassie didn't move her head. She couldn't, with her right ear currently being photographed. “I'm not entirely sure what she wanted with me. She didn't seem all that interested in running Freya out of town, though. Or even the room.”

“No. And, trust me, Monica didn't interest her in the slightest. But you're the competition, aren't you?” Cassie did look now. She sought out Cameron's expression. She couldn't help herself. The pair locked eyes.

“And what do you mean by that?” Cassie asked him.

“Well,” Cameron stood back, crossing his arms, “you're intelligent, successful, you both graduated from the same university . . .” He trailed off.

She frowned, realising something. “So if you knew we went to the same university, why didn't you ask if we knew each other?”

“Because it didn't matter.”

Her frown deepened. She didn't know what to make of this and she began to wonder if there was anything else he'd left unsaid.

If there was, it was left hanging in the wake of Cassie's face being photographed and measured, an eyebrow hair swept into place, an eyelash plucked. Her eyes closed, Cassie sat for she didn't know how long, thinking about her encounter with Plum. It seemed that the longer she sat, the hotter she felt under the lights, the white heat disturbing even under her closed eyelids. As the minutes passed, she began to feel uncomfortable—restless and a little nauseous. She tried to talk herself out of the feeling, but the more she thought about Plum and Cameron and her father and that deep, blood-red lipstick, the worse she felt. It wasn't for a while that she pieced it all together to find what she was truly thinking about was the one thing she was suppressing in her mind altogether. When she did so, the thought hit her like an express train, and giddily she got up, pushing everyone's hands from her body, and almost falling over.

“I've got to . . . stop. For a minute. Just stop for a minute.” She sat back down on the opposite side of the wooden block, not wanting to fall over.

“Whoa,” Cameron called out from the other side of the room, though Cassie found she couldn't look up to see him through the lights. “Let's take a break, shall we?”

He was over to her in a second. “Everyone out.”

Cassie heard the room clear, though it took a few more deep breaths before she could glance up again without her head spinning. “Sorry about that,” she said when she finally lifted her head. Cameron was crouching in front of her, twisting open the top on a water bottle, which he duly offered to her. “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip.

“When you're ready, I'll move you out of the lights.”

“It's okay, I'm fine now.” Cassie stood up just that bit too soon and had to make an embarrassing grab at Cameron as she found her footing. “Oh, God. Sorry.” She found herself pressed up against him, horrified that he'd think she was stumbling on purpose: the helpless maiden.

“Sorry for what?”

Was it Cassie's imagination, or did Cameron hold her for slightly longer than he needed to?

“It's fine. Now, let's go this way.” Cameron swiveled her around and took her by the elbow, his other hand steering her on her back. “Let's sit you down over here for a moment.” He led her to a metal seat near the table where her coat and book lay.

As soon as she exited the lights, and sat down in the cool of the metal chair, Cassie began to feel immediately better. And after another few sips of water, she felt almost normal again.

“Well, that was unexpected.” She finally glanced up at Cameron, hovering in front of her.

“Was it too hot under the lights?” Cameron asked her.

For a moment, Cassie considered lying, which would be easier, but then she couldn't do it. “No,” she said. “It was actually Plum that set me off.”

“Plum?” Cameron said, crouching down in front of her again. “What did she say to you?”

“No.” Cassie shook her head. “It wasn't anything she said, or did. It's just that . . .” She took a deep breath that filled her lungs to capacity, willing herself onwards. “We were talking about Plum, and well, I don't want to be rude, but her art is rather . . .”

“Graphic?” Cameron tried.

“Sure, let's go with graphic. She also mentioned my father to me. And then everything else—the white, the heat, the poking, the prodding . . . Ugh, especially the white. It reminded me of this time my mother was sick . . .”

“Oh,” Cameron nodded. “Oh, I see.”

Cassie sighed. “She was living in Portugal then, and she really was very sick. I think my father thought she might actually die, you see. So he pulled Jo and me out of boarding school, and we went over there, and . . . ugh . . . it was so hot and bright, and the hospital wasn't air-conditioned for some reason. For days Jo and I watched her get poked and prodded, and she had this doctor who looked about fifteen, who couldn't seem to find her veins for blood tests . . .” She paused to take another sip of water.

“It sounds awful,” Cameron offered.

“Yes, that's because it was,” Cassie replied, wanly. “It was. She got better, though, despite the hospital. That is, she got better until the next episode with her liver.”

Cameron watched her carefully. “I'm so sorry, Cassie.” He reached out and put a hand on her leg, half on and half off the white tunic.

Cassie prayed her skin wouldn't goose bump. “Pity Plum doesn't do a line of daisies in resin and pink lip gloss instead. That wouldn't have reminded me of that time in Portugal at all.”

Cameron laughed. “That,” he said, “is never going to happen”.

“No. Didn't think so.”

“I think we might start again tomorrow,” he said, standing upright. “I'll change things around a bit.”

Cassie shook her hands. “No, no. I'm fine now, really. I don't want to waste your time.”

“And I don't want to send you crazy. Let's do tomorrow morning at ten.”

T
hrough the noise of the shower, Cassie only vaguely heard the knock on the door of the bathroom before Alys burst in. “I have news!” she called out, already halfway inside the small, tiled room.

“It couldn't wait?” Cassie said at the ceiling as she rinsed her hair out.

“No.”

“Well?” Cassie gave an exasperated sigh.

There was a momentary pause, then, “James wants to ask you out!” Alys said, grinning. “He asked for your number and everything, and checked to see if we were doing anything tomorrow night in the hope that you'd be free.”

Surprised, Cassie stuck her head around the shower curtain. “Really?”

“Yes, really. At least one of you has some sense,” Alys huffed.

I
t all happened exactly as Alys had said it would. The very next morning, James had called Cassie and asked her out for the following evening. His whole approach had surprised her into agreeing to go. She couldn't remember being asked on a real, proper date before. All the guys she had been out with had done so in the sort of situations where there were a group of people she knew, and she simply ended up with the one guy somehow—doing things together without the others. She wasn't entirely sure where she and James would be going, or what they would be doing. James had been rather vague about it all, though he did tell her he'd need to pick her up early, at five o'clock, and that she should wear something warm.

All through that day's session at Cameron's studio Cassie hugged the thought of tomorrow's date with James to her chest, both excited and nervous at the prospect. When Marianne came to fetch Cameron from their session in the late afternoon Cassie barely noticed him leave, though she certainly noticed when he came back.

“I have news.” He burst into the room, which, at the time, only Cassie was in, everyone else having taken a break. “I just sold a piece. A big piece. We're going out for dinner. We always do when one of us has some good news. Marianne's arranging. You'll love where we're going. Two Michelin stars. It's quite the experience.”

“Who's ‘we’?” Cassie said, twisting her mouth.

“Oh, a few people.” Cameron flipped his hand. “Why don't we finish up for the day? I'll send a car for you at eight.”

“You don't want to keep going?” Cassie frowned, thinking of the time pressure they were supposed to be under.

“Don't be such a spoilsport. Go and have a nice bath or something, and get ready. And for God's sake, don't eat anything. It's usually at least ten courses.”

“Well, okay then . . .” Cassie replied, heading for the door. “If you're sure.”

“I'm sure. See you at eight.”

“W
ow!” Alys said, when she arrived home that evening. “Where are you off to wearing that? It's gorgeous.”

“A work dinner,” Cassie said. “Do you like it? It was Jo's.” She twirled around in the black, white and mint asymmetrical hemmed Proenza Schouler leather and silk mini dress, now extremely glad that she'd thrown it into her suitcase at the last minute. Paired with opaque black tights and her black ankle boots, it was perfect for the evening out.

“She gave it to you?” Alys's eyes boggled. “If I were her, I would never have taken it off. It's gorgeous. It must have cost an absolute fortune.”

“It did,” Cassie said. “But it doesn't fit anymore. Not after two kids. She practically cried when she gave it to me.”

“Ouch.” Alys's nose crinkled.

“Yes, I think it did hurt a bit.” Cassie tried not to laugh. “She almost killed Jeremy when he sighed about it.”

“I bet.”

“You don't have a black coat of any kind I could borrow?”

Alys's face perked up. “I have just the thing. I'll be back in a second.” She ran off, returning within a minute or two with a black woolen cape.

“Oh, perfect. Thanks so much, Alys.” Cassie draped it around her shoulders, and grabbed her clutch from the table. “I'd better head down. They're sending a car at eight.”

“I won't wait up.” Alys waved her off. “Have fun, and think of me eating ramen noodles!”

C
assie's car arrived slightly late, and traffic meant she didn't arrive at the restaurant until almost eight thirty. As she was led through the room to the table, she took in the clean, minimalist lines of the wood and steel interior, the long white pendant lights giving a fresh, clean glow, spotlighting each table. She'd been surprised to find the restaurant served Norwegian food, of all things, and honestly had no idea what to expect. She'd only been to Norway once, as a child.

As Cassie was swept through the restaurant, she saw that she was the last to arrive, the five other chairs at the table already filled. The men all stood when she appeared, and while Cassie was flattered, the gesture immediately and irrevocably demonstrated the chasm of age between them.

“You look lovely.” Cameron stopped her and kissed her on the cheek as she passed by to her seat. “Now, Ms. Cassie Tavington, let me introduce you to everyone. You know Plum, of course.”

Plum inclined her head. “Proenza Schouler,” she guessed correctly. “Excellent taste. One of my personal favourites.”