Code Red Lipstick (9 page)

Successive governments have slashed research budgets, endangering countless scientific projects around the country
,
he claimed.
Ministers should realize it is impossible to conduct pioneering research without sufficient funds. If the situation continues, it will force scientists like myself into the private sector. Only then will we raise enough funds to pursue our research
.

So Sam was working at AKSC for the cash, and according to his mum's letter, he was planning to go back to Cambridge soon. He must have earned enough to pursue his private nanotechnology research, but what was it, and why had it caught the eye of a terrorist? It must be pretty groundbreaking.

She turned the iPad off. It'd been a good day's sleuthing. She knew her dad's disappearance and Lara's death were somehow linked to Sam Bishop, who hadn't left Paris voluntarily. If she could track down Sam, she'd probably find clues to her dad's whereabouts too. Hopefully Margaret would be true to her word and get her a casting at AKSC. It definitely looked worth a snoop around.

She texted Mattie to say goodnight, changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed. Her phone beeped. She smiled as she read the message.

Detention was lonely ;) Where are u?

Becky must have given Jamie her number. She started to text her PFB back but stopped herself. What was she thinking? It was far too risky getting Jamie involved in any of this. She turned off the light and hugged her pillow. She couldn't be distracted. She had Dad to think about. She was getting closer to finding him, she knew it.

Blood streamed down her neck as the life slowly ebbed out of her body. The vampire was moving in for another bite when a sudden movement in the corner of the room scared him off.

“You're supposed to be biting her, not asking for directions to the supermarket!” a voice yelled in French. “I need you to look dangerous.”

The photographer stamped his foot impatiently, making the bloodsucker jump. He bared his teeth more ferociously and lunged at her again. Jessica gagged. Ben's breath smelt revolting. Weren't vampires supposed to be afraid of garlic? He must have eaten a stack of garlic bread last night. She knew he'd been hailed as the new Adonis of the male modelling world with his dark, chiselled good looks, but she was thankful she just had to pretend to be bitten by him. It would have been a lot worse if they'd had to do a fake kiss. Gross!

She moved her neck, which was at an awkward angle. She'd been squeezed into a whalebone corset, voluminous petticoats and a huge, crimson Armani Privé gown that was sprinkled with hundreds of Swarovski crystals. Her face had been powdered chalk white and her lips were a slash of glossy scarlet. More Swarovski diamonds were sprinkled in her hair, which had been curled into ringlets and piled into a towering stack. This was one of the best bits of modelling – wearing clothes she could never afford to buy herself in a zillion years and becoming someone else: a character from a different world.

She sat at a table piled high with cream pastries, pastel-coloured macaroons, cheeses and fruit. Her stomach rumbled. This was torture. She was starving. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other models, Sara and Margurita, slumped over the table. They too were being attacked by bloodthirsty vampires during the feast. Thankfully, the photographer worked a lot faster than Sebastian Rossini. She figured they'd all spent longer in make-up and being sewn into their extravagant costumes than actually being on set because he called a wrap thirty minutes later.

“Sorry about that,” Ben said, wiping the fake blood from his mouth. “I had a heavy night last night and couldn't concentrate properly. I don't usually need so many directions.”

He helped her out of her chair, as she could barely move. Grinning, he exposed a row of perfect, white teeth. He pushed his long black hair behind his ears. His eyes were the darkest blue she'd ever seen. He was Prince Charming-style handsome
and he knew it, but Jamie beat him hands down.

No contest.

She shrugged. “It's not a problem.”

“I'm heading out on the town again tonight if you're interested,” he said. “A whole gang of us are going out. The clubs are great around here. Much better than London.”

Yikes. Was he hitting on her?

“Er, I can't, I'm sorry,” she said, “but thanks anyway.”

“Of course, I forgot. You're off the menu.” He winked as he walked off. “For now.”

Eeugh. He was good-looking but a creep. Sara, the other model from Primus, didn't seem to mind. He was chatting
her
up now. Sara obviously didn't find his massive ego a deal-breaker. Jessica turned around and spotted Camille in the corner, talking to the photographer and a stylist. How could she get rid of the limpet before the whole day was wasted? Camille had picked up her and Sara from the hotel at five thirty a.m. and taken them both to a series of non-stop castings. Jessica was walking for Saint Laurent, Alexander McQueen and Chanel tomorrow, which was great for her agency but bad news for her. It meant she couldn't follow up any new leads when she was stuck in so many shows. They were pretty much back to back.

Camille's eyes followed her as she shuffled to the changing room. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was Nathan's plant. Camille was hardly subtle; she'd barely let her out of her sight all morning. Jessica crossed her hands as assistants lifted the dress over her head. She shrugged on a white robe and fastened the belt tightly. She went to get her clothes from the rail but Sara stepped in her way.

“I'd like my ciggies back,” she said tightly.

Sara was trying to give up smoking and had asked Jessica to hide a packet in her handbag that morning, before Jessica had seriously annoyed her by landing so many shows. Sara was only walking for Alexander McQueen.

“No. I'm doing you a favour,” Jessica said. “It's a filthy habit and you know it.”

Sara glared at her, crossing her arms. Even when she frowned, she was stunning, with spiky black hair and amethyst eyes that blazed with anger.

“Jessica's right,” Margurita murmured. “Smoking's a terrible idea, Sara, particularly for a model. It'll age your skin. Why jeopardize your chances now that the famous five are out of the picture? I'm certainly not going to.”

Sara spun around. “You know them?”

“We belonged to the same agency, but they never had anything to do with me.” Margurita shook her long, dark mane. “Not even at the Emerald Ball.”

She'd captured Jessica's interest now. “You were there? I saw the photos. It looked amazing.”

“It was,” Margurita said dreamily. “The hottest men in Hollywood turned up. I had two great snogs.”

“What about the famous five?” Sara asked. “How many snogs did they have?”

Margurita snorted. “I wouldn't know. They stayed behind a VIP cordon, drinking magnums of Cristal all night. They even had assistants who kept everyone away. They only let a chosen few get through if the girls thought they were famous enough to speak to. People were actually queuing up, asking for permission to meet them. Tyler thought it was hilarious and tried to sneak in a few ‘civilians', but she got caught.”

“No way!” Sara said. “I can't wait till I'm famous and can make people queue up to talk to me in clubs. It would be
too
cool.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. Sara was soooo shallow.

“Well, people aren't queuing up to see them now,” Margurita said cattily.

“What do you mean?” Jessica demanded.

Margurita looked over her shoulder at the assistants who were arranging gowns on a rail. She turned back to Jessica. “They're apparently holed up at some private facility in Switzerland, getting treatment at the agency's expense.”

“Treatment for what?”

“No one really knows,” Margurita said as she pulled her false eyelashes off. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But the rumour doing the rounds is they all had plastic surgery that went horribly wrong. Like Frankenstein-bad.”

“Ohmigod,” Sara gasped. “Did they end up with trout pouts? Are they suing their plastic surgeon?”

“No idea,” Margurita said calmly. “And I can't say I care. No one else got a look in while they were around. They took all the best jobs. Now they've gone, I've got Couture Week and a bunch of other jobs. In fact, my agency said Jacey, Olinka and Valeriya were the first choices for
this
job.”

Sara's mouth dropped. This was news to her. She obviously thought
she
was the first choice. She really didn't like being second best to anyone.

“It's pretty odd, though, don't you think?” Jessica said. “They're all young and perfect already. Tyler's only eighteen so she can't possibly have any wrinkles.”

Margurita shrugged. “There's always someone younger and hotter than you coming up through the ranks. Maybe even Tyler had started to worry she was in danger of being replaced. Who knows what we'd do if we were in the same position?”

“I'm never having plastic surgery,” Sara said with a shudder. “Anyway, some of these young models aren't as hot as they think.”

She shot a pointed look at Jessica; she was five years younger than Sara and a lot less experienced at modelling. Jessica ignored her. She quickly removed all traces of the heavy, theatrical make-up, dropping ball after ball of cotton wool into the bin. She pulled on a vintage cream lace blouse she'd discovered at London's Portobello Market and teamed it with black skinny jeans, a Religion black leather jacket and biker boots. She grabbed her bag and was about to make a run for it when Camille tapped the door and peered round.

“Going somewhere I should know about?” She raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Jessica said. “I just thought I might do a coffee run.”

“Don't worry about it, I'll go in a minute. There's no rush, is there? I thought we could all grab some lunch together but Sara's not even dressed yet.”

Jessica forced a smile. She could feel the rein tightening around her.

“You both did brilliantly this morning,” Camille said brightly. “I can't wait to see the spread.”

“Me too,” Sara said, pulling on a black sweater and leggings. “Is there any news about this afternoon? I'm totally psyched.”

Camille reddened. “Sorry, Sara. Don't shoot the messenger but head office says there's been a change of plan. You don't need to go to AKSC any more. But hey, you could go shopping instead.”

“What are you talking about?” Frowning hard, Sara stalked up to Camille and planted herself, hands on hips, in front of her. “I've practically got this job in the bag. It's my third callback. I have to go.”

“Apparently, the client's changed their mind. I'm really sorry but they want to see Jessica instead.”

Yes! Margaret must have worked some magic.

“What?” Sara shouted. “You have to be kidding. AKSC's my job, not hers. You can't let her steal it from me.”

“She's not stealing it,” Camille said calmly. “You need to stay professional about this. It's not personal. Allegra was passed some pictures from Jessica's shoot in
Teen Mode
and heard about her work for
Mademoiselle
. She thinks she could be perfect for her new project and wants to meet her.”

“Unbelievable!” Sara fumed. “That's what she said about me!”

Camille ignored her and walked up to Jessica. “It's up to you, but think of the international exposure you'll get if you're signed by a skincare company like AKSC.”

No way could she give up this chance to snoop just to appease a stroppy model. She turned towards Sara. “I'm sorry, but I can't let this opportunity slip through my fingers. I hope you understand that.”

“I understand perfectly well,” Sara snarled. “You're a little back-stabber, but from now on you should watch
your
back while I'm around.” She pushed over a rail of clothes and stomped out of the room.

“
Zut alors!
” an assistant cried. She leapt forward to try and rescue the gowns before they were damaged.

“You did the right thing,” Camille said, sighing. “Sara will get over it in time. Other things will come up for her, but this is your moment. You have to grab it.”

“I know,” Jessica said.

This casting was her most important to date. It could help her track down Dad.

Photos of Allegra Knight stared down from every inch of the white walls. It was easy to see how she'd once ruled the modelling world. Her long, tanned limbs stretched for ever, while her fine-boned features were perfectly proportioned. She had dark blue eyes, long, glossy blonde hair and a perfect figure. She was undeniably gorgeous, with the extra “something” photographers always looked for.

She'd said she wanted to meet Jessica alone, so Camille had agreed to wait for her back at the hotel.
Even better
. She'd finally shaken her off. She'd checked Allegra out on her iPad in the taxi. She'd become a virtual recluse after quitting modelling when a new wave of supermodels arrived on the scene. Even now, as founder and president of AKSC, she still chose to keep a low profile. Her public appearances were practically non-existent.

Jessica waited for her in a large fifth-floor conference room. This was where Miss Knight conducted all her business meetings, the beautiful brunette who'd escorted her up from reception had explained in hushed tones. A large platter of exotic fruit sat in the middle of the polished oak table, next to trays of pastries, muffins and croissants. Jessica suspected Allegra never touched
those
.

“So you're the young upstart who wants to steal my crown,” a voice drawled.

Allegra Knight struck a pose in the doorway with her hands on her hips as if she expected her picture to be taken. She certainly knew how to make an entrance. She wore large black sunglasses emblazoned with “Dior”; a cream wool suit, which looked like Chanel; and Manolo Blahnik stilettos. A camel-coloured silk Hermès scarf was tied around her gazelle-like neck with a flourish. Her hair was still blonde and glossy, skimming her shoulders, and she was perfectly made up. Her face was practically flawless, which made it hard to guess her age. She could be anything between thirty and sixty. This “ageless” look was only obtained with
a lot
of plastic surgery. She must have had a nose job, a facelift and collagen fillers in her cheeks and lips.
At least
.

Jessica picked her nail behind her back. Allegra looked high-maintenance; she'd need a lot of buttering up. “I don't want your crown. I mean, you're a total legend. I couldn't ever compete with that sort of thing.”

“Nonsense. Of course you could – and should.” Allegra's tone was pleasant. “This isn't a popularity contest, it's modelling. You'll have to get used to stabbing people in the back if you want to succeed in such a snake pit. I'm sure Sara realizes that above anyone else.”

Jessica flushed. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I didn't—”

“Quiet, please,” she said, clicking her fingers. “You're competitive. You made sure that your PA slipped me your portfolio even though the castings had finished. That's nothing to be ashamed of. I like determination in a model. Sara was too predictable, but your beauty intrigues me.”

“Thank you. But, honestly, it's all down to my agency, not me.” Or rather, it was thanks to Margaret, her “PA”.

“False modesty won't get you anywhere in this business or with me, Jessica,” she replied. “You should enjoy your beauty while you can, because believe me, it doesn't last. Think about how to bring out your full potential – how you style your hair, make up your face, the way you dress.”

Jessica felt her cheeks turn scarlet. Even though Allegra's eyes were hidden behind giant sunglasses, she sensed they were unashamedly roaming over her whole body from head to toe. She felt seriously underdressed next to Allegra's expensive designer labels. She wished she'd worn something else. She hid her hands behind her back again. She was sure Allegra had noticed her other crime against fashion – bitten fingernails.

“Of course, I will. I mean—”

“Because if you're representing my company, you're also representing me, and I expect certain standards,” she interrupted. “I dislike the shabby look you young girls seem to favour nowadays. I abhor jeans and flat shoes of any kind, particularly biker boots. I'm looking for elegant swans, not scarecrows.”

Allegra wrinkled her nose as she stared at Jessica's feet.

Ouch. She'd never been called a scarecrow before.

“As such I demand a uniform – loose hair worn over the shoulders, a simple but elegant dress, maybe Miu Miu, Christian Dior or Marc Jacobs, and high heels at all times. Will that be a problem for you?”

“No,” Jessica lied. She hated high heels. They made her freakishly tall.

“Good. Now come here.” Allegra clicked her fingers again.

Jessica blinked. Did she really just do that? She couldn't stand the way clients treated her sometimes. They were
so
rude. She inhaled a mixture of expensive perfume, body lotions and hair products as she drew closer. She also noticed Allegra had a still quality about her. It was unnerving. Her voice sounded impatient yet her face didn't move. There wasn't even a flicker of emotion or a frown.

Allegra grabbed hold of Jessica's chin and moved it from side to side, peering closely at her through her sunglasses as if she were examining some exotic insect under a microscope.

“Times certainly have changed. In my day, imperfections like yours would never have been overlooked. They'd have been seen as ugly. Now, it appears they're all the rage. Freckles, even. Astonishing.”

Jessica flushed with anger. She knew she had to be thick-skinned to be a model, as girls were criticized all the time for being too tall, too short, too skinny or too fat. She'd once been told her hair was too “naturally blonde” and her legs were too long, but Allegra had
so
crossed the line. She pulled away. As she took a step back, Allegra's lips attempted to curl into a smirk.

That
was why she looked so odd! As well as all the plastic surgery, she'd been Botoxed to within an inch of her life. Her face was completely paralysed. Why did older women think Botox was such a great idea? It didn't make them look younger. Anyway, this frozen freak wouldn't be giving her a job any time soon. That was clear.

“I'm sorry I'm not what you're looking for,” she said. She truly was. She hadn't managed to pump her for info yet.

“What makes you say that?” Allegra's lips moved awkwardly into the smallest of smiles. “I think you're perfect in a flawed way. Teenagers around the world will identify with your imperfections and your self-consciousness. I'd reached my decision before you arrived. I'm impressed with your portfolio and think you have potential to become the next big supermodel. I've chosen you to be the face and spokesperson of Teenosity, my revolutionary new face cream for teenage skin. That's if you want the job, of course.”

The sunglasses stared blankly at her, throwing down an unknown gauntlet.

“Well?”

“I'd love the job.” This was beyond brilliant. She'd thought Allegra hated her looks. Being called an ugly scarecrow hadn't been a great start, but now she'd found her “in”. She just had to find a good opportunity to bring up her dad or engineer a detour via the personnel department to dig for stuff on Sam.

“Good. We need to get to work straight away. Legal will draw up a contract and email it to Primus by this evening. The shoot will be on Friday and you'll be contracted to appear at a press launch at the Eiffel Tower the next morning. It'll be broadcast live in fashion stores across Europe before they start to sell my fabulous face cream.”

“How's that possible?”

Jessica hadn't been in the industry long, but even she knew it was rare to have the launch of a new product one day after a shoot. Most companies had run-ins of at least six months to a year. How was Allegra going to turn everything around so fast by Saturday? It couldn't be done.

Allegra sensed her scepticism. “It's not usual but it is possible. We wanted a groundbreaking publicity campaign to match the uniqueness of our product. You must have seen our billboards around Paris? Everyone's talking about Teenosity without even knowing what it is.”

“That's true. I couldn't work out what the billboard was advertising. It did make me think about it afterwards.”

“Exactly,” Allegra said. “We'll generate even more interest when the press see a tantalizing glimpse from the shoot and get to meet you in person on Saturday. Once that's started, we'll launch social-media campaigns on Monday morning, extend our billboards across Europe and blitz the fashion glossies. We'll also start distribution in America and the rest of the world. You'll be a huge international star, thanks to me.”

Her tone was suddenly surly, as if she somehow resented making the offer. “Well, what do you say for yourself?”

“Thank you. It's just, I… I guess I'm surprised. But pleased.”

Allegra nodded, her sunglasses fixed on her. “You should be ecstatic. You've done extremely well.”

She extended her hand like the Queen. Jessica wasn't sure what to do. Did she expect her to kiss it? She had to be kidding. Jessica settled for a brisk, firm handshake. As she stared down, she noticed Allegra's hands were threaded with blue veins. They seemed to be the only part of her body that had escaped plastic surgery and they gave her age away. She had to be in her sixties. Allegra snatched her hand back as if she'd been slapped.

“You may leave now,” she said. “I'll make sure you get the details about Friday's shoot.”

No! It was too soon. She had to stall. “Please can I have a tour of your labs before I go?”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?” Allegra sounded taken aback but her face was still rigid.

Jessica racked her brains. “Chemistry's one of my favourite subjects at school. It would be great to get an idea of what a real-life lab looks like. I think it'd be helpful to understand how you make the face cream.”

Allegra hesitated. It had clearly never dawned on her that a girl could be interested in anything other than modelling. This was probably another black mark against her, along with her freckles, bitten nails and unfeminine biker boots.

“Of course. You shall see where my miracle cream was created. Please wait here while I arrange a tour.” She sashayed out of the room, regal-like, leaving behind a cloud of perfume.

Victory! It was time for serious snooping.