Lovers and Liars (49 page)

Hazel winked. ‘Not as young, nor as innocent, as she looks, our Suzy. But she is one of our top girls.’ She shrugged. ‘Made no difference, anyway. He cancelled - or the secretary did, on his behalf. Said he’d altered his plans, something like that. All that fuss then three cancellations. Can you believe thatT

‘He cancelledT Gini stared at her. ‘You’re sure of thatT

‘That’s right.’ Hazel closed the appointments book. ‘Like I say

- men are weird, right? Maybe just seeing the pictures gave him some kind of kick. Maybe he went to another agency, found a girl he liked better. Who knows?’

‘You mean he never even met Suzy? Not onceT

“Not exactly.’ Hazel smiled. ‘But we reckon he saw her. Once.’ ‘What makes you think thatT

“Because the last time the secretary rang, in December, she said wanted to take a look at her. On approval. I mean, bloody k! So Suzy has to go round to some plush West End hotel,

in the lobby for half an hour, then leave. Which she did.’ Band he was in the lobby too, you mean? Checking her outT ‘You tell me.’ Hazel shrugged. ‘If he was, he never spoke to r - nothing like that. I thought, maybe he was so choosy, d when he saw her, she didn’t come up to scratch. Anyway,

secretary rang back, poor kid, and cancelled again. Then I er heard another word. It cost him, mind you. Full fees for cancellations, an extra fee for the hotel visit. The best part two thousand quid. He must be loaded.’

‘Credit cardT Gini said.

Hazel unscrewed the bottle of nail varnish and began to apply cond coat.

‘Cash. By courier/ she said. ‘The easiest money we ever made, t, Bernie? I wish all our customers were like that.’

the pavement outside, Gini’s mind raced. It had to be Hawe, surely, and it was the first possible outside corroboration McMullen’s story that she had. An English secretary on the phone, an English voice calling ICD about those parcels: there st be a connection. The coincidence was too great. She glanced

at the agency office, wishing she had been able to examine t appointments book for herself. But it would probably have her little: Hawthorne would use an alias. Besides, there was ther way to discover more about this.

She turned to Bernie, who lingered at her side, to thank him his help. As she did so, the door to the basement video studio ned, and a group of people spilled out. Two, a good-looking ng man with long dark curling hair and a very pretty young

might have been the stars of the sex instruction video. The ers looked like technicians - cameramen, sound men, perhaps. They were followed by a tall thin man in his mid-forties, with

dish hair drawn back in a pony-tail. He was resplendent, head foot in mustard yellow Armani. At the sight of him, Bernie ed aside, and drew her into a shop doorway until he had ssed. He was clearly not anxious to be seen.

Gini said, ‘Your boss, was it, Bernie?’

Bernie shuffled his feet. ‘One of them. Put it like that. I’d better get back. Keep in touch, rightT

The Armani-clad man climbed into a brand-new black BMW. Bernie, looking shifty, sloped off in the opposite direction. Gini made for the tube, where she stood on the platform thinking hard. The next person to talk to was Suzy, obviously. She did not have Suzy’s real name or her telephone number or her address. Further enquiries at Elite Introductions might cause suspicion. But Suzy’s company could be hired by the evening. Gini might not be able to hire her - but Pascal certainly could.

k TJ1RFF that Tuesday afternoon, about the time Gini arrived at e escort agency, Pascal finally persuaded Lorna Munro to talk

6 him. Her photographic session over, he took her for a drink b the Deux Magots caf6 on Boulevard St Germain, just across the reet from the St Germain church.

A This elusive American girl looked no more than eighteen. She pras at least six feet tall, Pascal calculated, and could have weighed

0 more than one hundred pounds. She was still in the strong Oake-up she’d needed that afternoon for monochrome shots. Her short thick hair, on close inspection, was naturally blonde. She had wide-set sapphire blue eyes, a broad friendly smile, and an fir of radiant health. She was wearing flat shoes, black leggings, i man’s white shirt and a man’s tweed overcoat. Despite this Indrogenous outfit every male in the caf6 turned to stare when they walked in.

Lorna Munro seemed impervious, or indifferent to this. They were seated in the caf-‘s glass-enclosed pavement section, fronting Pe bou leva rd. Lorna Munro looked at him somewhat warily, then Oinned.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘I did my best. Tell your friend in England I’m iorrv. Will vou do that? I might have known you’d catch up with Fhe one way or another … You mind if I order some food? I’m

ravenous. It feels like a week since breakfast … ‘ She turned to the waiter with a dazzling smile. ‘I’ll have a large steak sandwich, ponnnes frites on the side, a green salad no dressing … Oh, and maybe some hot chocolate. It’s freezing out there. My hands are numb. My feet are numb. My butt’s numb, come to that.’

Pascal smiled. With the freakishness peculiar to fashion magazines, Lorna Munro had been required to model Gaultier’s summer collection on a January day, on a windswept pavement. Most of the dresses in which she’d posed had been sleeveless and backless; several had featured metallic conical breast-shields. Lorna Munro had been professional enough to ignore the crowds this attracted, and the gooseflesh it induced.

He said, ‘Hot chocolate? A steak sandwich? And I thought all models were supposed to be anorexic.’

‘No way. Not this baby. I eat like a horse, always have - and I never gain a pound. Life’s unfair … ‘ She paused, took one of the cigarettes Pascal offered, then looked at him in an assessing way. ‘Pascal Lamartine. I’ve heard of you. You took those Sonia Swan pictures, right? And those ones of Princess Stephanie, back last summerT She made a face. ‘Heck, if I’d known it was you chasing me, I’d really have run a mile.’

‘This is rather different/ Pascal said quickly. ‘Not necessarily a news story as such … ‘

‘Oh, come on.’ She grinned again. ‘I’m not that dumb. That woman from the News in London - what’s her name? Gini? she must have left a zillion messages. She calls Milan, she calls Rome, she calls the agency. And I don’t think she wants to arrange a modelling session, right?’

‘No, she doesn’t. And neither do 1. We want to ask you about some parcels. Four parcels to be exact. You delivered them to a courier office in London, one week ago today.’

There was a silence. Lorna Munro drew on her cigarette. Her blue eyes fixed themselves on his face. She made no reply. ‘You’ve been identified for us/ Pascal continued, ‘by the woman

at the courier office. I suspect you were meant to be identified. If you hadn’t been, I think they’d have hired someone less memorable to deliver those parcels.’

‘You think I’m memorable? That’s nice.’ She gave him a flirtatious glance.

Pascal responded with gallantry. He said, ‘Very beautiful women usually are.’

Lorna Munro was not stupid. The compliment made her smile.

ome on, you can do better than that. Don’t pretend to be rested when you’re not. I can always tell when a man’s really rested. It takes me five seconds. I just look in their eyes … ‘

e frowned thoughtfully. ‘So, you’re not interested in me, but u are interested in those parcels? You came all the way here to ris, just to ask me about thoseT

_.,No, I didn’t. I was in London, working with Gini. But I’ve been Paris since yesterday. My daughter’s Hl.’

‘Hey, I’m sorry.’ She seemed genuinely concerned. ‘What’s ong?’

“Scarlet fever, the doctor says. She’s only seven. Yesterday was in a bad way. Today - well, she’s better. Picking up. I st left her now.’

‘You have a picture? I like kids. I’ve got four sisters myself. The ungest’s your daughter’s age.’

Pascal dn’,w out his wallet, and passed her a photograph. Lorna unro smiled. ‘Oh, she’s cute. What a lovely face. She takes after father, I can see that. What’s her nameT

Marianne.’ ‘Well, tell her from me to get better quickly, OK? Oh, here’s the d at last.’

The waiter laid the food before her with silent admiration. Loma unro began to eat rapidly, and with evident enjoyment. Pascal ped h is black coffee, and waited. He could see she was assessing

im, deciding what to say, perhaps deciding whether to lie. ‘OK,’ she said eventually. ‘Tell me this first. Suppose I admit I elivered those packages - so what? Delivering packages isn’t a .me.’

‘No. It’s not.’ Pascal met her gaze. ‘You don’t have to answer y (ILICStions. But I hope you will. You see, one of those parcels s senl to me - as you’ll know. Another went to Gini - as you’ll

so know. What you may not know is what was inside them.’ ‘Oh in%- God.’ She stopped eating. ‘Not drugsT

.‘No. Kothing illegal. In my case, a glove. In Gini’s case, a pair handcuffs. No message. No note.’

‘flandcuffs? To a womanT She frowned. ‘That’s not nice.’ ‘Exactl%,.’ Pascal paused. ‘So, someone has been playing a little ke we ihink, Gini and 1. We’d like to find out who that was … d w h %,.’

There’ %vas another silence. Lorna Munro continued to eat her eal. When she had finished, she pushed her plate aside, and cepted a nother cigarette. She watched its smoke drift for a while,

then turned back to Pascal, as if she had made up her mind. ‘OK. For what it’s worth, I’ll tell you what I know. Handcuffs

- that’s not funny. I’m surprised. He seemed like such a regular guy

‘Who did? It was a man who gave you these parcelsT

‘Slow down.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll start at the beginning, right? It starts in New York. You won’t know him, I guess, but there’s a man there I know, he’s like some kind of tipster, for gossip columns. Name of Appleyard.’

‘Johnny Appleyard?’

‘Right. One of the parcels was addressed to him.’ She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘If you know this much I guess you know that too.’

‘You’re right.’

‘OK. A few weeks back, before Christmas, I ran into Appleyard at a party in Soho. I’d met him once or twice before - I didn’t know him exactly, just enough to say hallo. He’s the kind of guy I avoid like the plague, usually, because he’s on the look-out for scandal ninety-nine per cent of the time. And he’s everywhere, you know? Restaurants, gallery openings, theatre first nights you name it, Appleyard’s there. He hangs around the agency, snoops on photosessions, gossips with the make-up artists. He gets a lot of stories, models, their private lives … ‘ She paused. Pascal said nothing. It was obvious to him Lorna Munro had no inkling that Appleyard was dead. ‘So, as I say, I ran into him that night in Soho … ‘

‘Can you remember the exact dateT

She frowned. ‘Yes, I can. I was flying home for Christmas the next day, so it must have been the night of December the twenty-third.’

Two days after McMullen disappeared, Pascal thought. He said, ‘Good. Go on.’

‘Well, Appleyard came up to me at the party, said he’d heard I’d just been signed by Models East, congratulated me … I could tell he was leading up to something. Eventually, he came out with it. Would I be free to do a modelling job - an unusual one - in London? I’d need to be there just two days, Monday January the third, and Tuesday January the fourth. It was an easy job, and well paid . She hesitated. ‘I almost said no. Any modelling job that came via Appleyard spelled trouble. Then he mentioned the money.’

‘It was generousT

10h, sure.’ She gave him a glance. ‘Twenty thousand dollars in , no percentage to the agency, no questions asked. Plus a first—

ss air ticket each way, overnight accommodation at Claridge’s, less—2

‘Claridge’sT “Loma Munro grinned. ‘Funnily enough, that’s what swung it as ch as the money. I’ve never stayed in a place that grand - and I ught, This doesn’t sound so sleazy. So I listened some more.’ ‘Did Appleyard explain what you’d have to doT

‘Sure. He said no photographs were involved. All I had to do s turn up in London, wear some classy clothes, and pay a visit to one on the Tuesday morning. He said it was for a friend of his,

kind of elaborate practical joke this friend wanted to set up.’ -,You believed him?’

Wot really, but in the end, I decided to give it a try. After all nty thousand dollars, that’s a lot of money. I’m not averse to t. I can be a material girl.’

‘You don’t look it. You don’t sound it .

‘Nice of you to say so.’ Lorna Munro smiled. ‘Let’s say I’m stic then. If I’m lucky and I work hard, I can make a good g at modelling for what - the next ten years? After that, you’re ng to go over the hill. So you make what you can, when you I told you, I’ve got four sisters, a mother and a father getting er up, every year. I don’t plan for us all to stay poor.’

Pascal’s liking for Lorna Munro grew. He liked her directs, and he liked her smile. He lit another cigarette for her, n leaned back in his chair.

‘All right/ he said, ‘go on. You flew to London .

‘I flew to London. Went to Claridge’s - and there was a suite rved for me. How about that? Flowers, fruit, champagne in ice-bucket. I thought, Whatever happens this joker friend of pleyard’s has style. I had a return airline ticket. I thought, things go wrong, I can always just cut and run, no problem. it happened, it couldn’t have been easier. And nothing went ng.’

“‘Who made contact with you in LondonT

‘An Englishman. He called Monday around noon. He came to e hotel later that afternoon. He brought a Chanel suit with him,

- oes. I tried them on. That was the only problem. I’m so skinny, e suit was loose, too large.’

,e

1, ‘Did the man give you a name? Can you describe himT

V ‘He said his name was John Hamilton. I didn’t ask for ID. He

was very English - kind of stiff upper lip, you know? About five ten, slim build, fair haired, well dressed, polite. Pretty formal in manner. Forty-something. As I said - a regular guy.’

‘Was this the manT Pascal had two photographs ready. One of McMullen and one of John Hawthorne. He passed across McMullen’s photograph first. Loma Munro examined it carefully.