Seeking Crystal (14 page)

The signora chuckled with understanding. ‘Still, I hope you got some nice photos taken. That was the point, wasn’t it?’

Was it? I was no longer sure. Now I examined my motives it appeared to me that I was more like a person treading water, flailing about to reach a rope to pull her out of her predicament. I’d really not asked myself properly if I wanted to model, do all that posing and preening, let alone pay the price of fame. When it came down to it, did I not get more satisfaction from making something with my own hands rather than being the object another artist was moulding? Steve had been right about that. It had got mixed up with my feelings of inadequacy and wanting to prove I was more than Diamond’s ugly sister, but that wasn’t enough on which to base my life.

Conclusion: I’d messed up big time. It had been nice to feel beautiful rather than a freak for the first time in my life but that wasn’t enough to sustain a career. I suppose many people were unsure what they should do at my age but it looked as if I had just done my experimenting in an unfortunately public fashion. Well, I should chalk it up to experience, keep the lovely set of shots Joe had done for me for the grandchildren, and hope the newspapers would be lining compost bins before my presence was noticed by my nearest and dearest. Then I should get serious about taking my ambitions to do fabric design further. Retakes and college: that was what I should be thinking about now.

But if I became world famous I could do a Kate Moss and then go into design.

What was I? A seesaw? I couldn’t stick with a decision: modelling up, modelling down. Why couldn’t I just know what I wanted?

The front door to the shop banged open.

‘Crystal!’

Damn, damn, damn—it was Xav. I ducked my head. Signora Carriera, who had got up when the bell rang to serve the customer, raised a brow.

‘That’s your young man, isn’t it?’

Not exactly my young man. ‘Is it?’ I croaked.

‘Crystal, I know you’re here,’ Xav bellowed.

The signora checked her watch. ‘Why don’t you take your lunch break? It sounds like he has something he wants to get off his chest.’

‘Aren’t we busy?’ Please let us be busy.

‘Crystal.’ The signora looked disappointed in me. ‘If he wants to make a fuss, I’d prefer it to happen off the premises. I do have a business to run.’

With a sigh, I got up. I couldn’t refuse her. By the end of the day, Signora Carriera might be my only friend in Venice.

I breezed into the showroom. ‘Hi, Xav.’

He slapped a newspaper down on the counter, folded back to the gossip column. ‘What the hell is this?’ He stabbed the photo of Steve kissing me. The coat had fallen open and it was a nice shot of the Julien Macdonald creation. You couldn’t tell it was ripped. Phew: they’d gone for the clinch rather than the dress failure. Perhaps the coat had covered me in time?

‘Oh that. Do you like the dress? Costs a packet according to Lily.’

‘Shove the dress. Look what it says.’

His finger was close to drilling a hole in the offending article. I’d never seen him this incandescent with temper; he always cracked a joke or diffused tension, never ramped it up. With a feeling of dread, I read the words to which he was objecting:

Steve Hughes and his new girlfriend, model Crystal Brook (19), can’t keep their hands off each other. Has the iceman of the screen finally met his true love? Sources close to the actor said he met Crystal while filming his latest movie in Venice.

‘Ha-ha!’ My laugh was pathetic. ‘Just goes to show you can’t believe anything you read in the press.’

‘Is that you?’ Xav folded his arms, spearing me with his lethal brown-eyed gaze.

‘Um, yes?’

‘Are you Steve Hughes’s girlfriend?’

‘I was his date—for an hour. Lily set it up so he had someone to go with.’

‘Of all the brain-dead things you could have chosen to do … !’

Signora Carriera had decided we had done enough damage to her business. ‘Ah, Xav, lovely to see you.’ He managed a nod. ‘I was just suggesting to Crystal that you take her to lunch.’ She opened the door for us. ‘Off you go.’

I walked ahead, Xav on my heels like a prison guard making sure I didn’t make a run for it. Tempting: I could lose him in these streets, no problem. His silence spoke volumes. I was getting a bit angry myself: what right did he have to come marching in and tell me off for a damn photograph? It was a free country last time I looked. I hadn’t done anything illegal or hurt anyone. Reaching for my own mad, I felt more equipped to face him over our sandwich lunch.

After buying a couple of ham and cheese specials, we sat down at a little table tucked in the corner of a local sandwich bar, the only other customers a couple of off-duty gondoliers in their striped tops. I took a swig of my lemonade.

‘I can’t believe you’d be so stupid!’ he hissed.

I clunked my glass down. ‘I went to an art show with Steve, that’s all. End. Of. Story. And who appointed you my judge in any case?’

‘It is not the end. These pictures are all over the world, Crystal—I only showed you this one.’

I gulped. I really, really hoped that the coat had hidden the damage.

‘You don’t have any idea why I’m upset, do you?’ He ripped his sandwich in half and took a bite.

I had taken a guess that it might be some weird kind of jealousy. We had spent most of the shoot kissing and now my photo turned up in the press locked in the arms of another man; he might feel a bit confused by that. But that didn’t explain his outrage.

‘Not really. I’m not going on another date if that’s what you’re worried about. I was just doing Lily a favour.’

‘Do you have any idea how many enemies your sister and my family have?’

This was a new tack. ‘No. I’d have thought none for my sister. Everyone likes Diamond.’

‘Believe me, they don’t. She has her own notoriety in Savant circles, as do my family, for being on the side of the good guys. There are plenty of Savants out there who would prefer to be without us as we stand in the way of using their powers to make mountains of cash for themselves.’

‘What has this to do with me?’

‘We tried to explain to you the other night. We survive by keeping as low a profile as possible and protecting ourselves. We do not put our face and personal details in the international press for any guy with a grudge against us to track us down.’

I shrugged. ‘Still, I’m just not that important. Who cares what I do?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’

‘Cut the patronizing tone. No, I don’t understand what terrible sin I’ve committed by going out for one night.’ I pushed my sandwich aside. No way was I going to get to eat it. Shoving it down his throat seemed the most attractive of my limited options. Why were Xav and I like this: oil and water was a tame description; butane gas and match was more accurate.

‘In the summer, thanks to Phoenix and Yves, we took down a large criminal gang of Savants—a worldwide one. It was a very big deal—happened in London when they gathered to plot their carve-up of the international crime networks. They’re now in jail in their home countries waiting prosecution.’

‘Well done you.’ I wish my tone had been less sarky; I actually did admire them for this but it was hard to get that across when I was rubbed raw by his attitude.

‘Can you imagine how delighted their people would be if they could get us back?’

‘From the prophet of doom tone you are using, “very” I guess is the right answer.’

‘It’s a matter of public record that Trace is marrying your sister thanks to the fact that to be legal they have to register it. You bet that the first thing any Savant with a grudge will do is find out all they could about her and what weaknesses she might have. And then, glory hallelujah, they hit the jackpot because they see her idiot sister splashed all over the front pages telling them exactly where to find her. You might as well have painted a target on your sister’s forehead. The more you expose yourself with this modelling thing, the worse it will get.’

I got up. This interview was pointless. He was determined to hold me responsible for the actions of others. He hadn’t even asked if I was thinking of continuing on the modelling route, just assumed I was. Some advice, some sympathy would really help when I was so confused.

‘Thanks, Xav, for listening. You know, it’s really great how you take my feelings on everything into account. I mean, it wasn’t as if I didn’t have a pretty scary time last night fighting off the press pack. So kind of you not to expect me to live my life just so you and your family won’t be inconvenienced.’ I threw a few euros on the table. ‘I’ve got to get back.’

Xav got to his feet. ‘Crystal, this isn’t over.’

I took a last long look at him, cursing the little flip of attraction I could not stop when I was in his company. I was in a ‘no win’ situation getting tangled up emotionally with him. ‘Actually, I think it is.’

I felt a complete outsider in my home for the next few days, like a child sent to the naughty step for daring to break with the Savant unwritten code. It did not help that my own family were less than impressed by my press debut. My sisters, including the bride-to-be, called me irresponsible, risking the wedding and their safety. My mother picked up the phone for the first time in a while so she could tear a strip off me. Her complaints centred on the damage I’d done to the family reputation; apparently the Brook family had always been noted for being discreet in Savant circles. At least my brothers, Steel and Peter, when they called, were worried that I was being taken for a ride by an older man; I didn’t mind their scolding as they were basically on my side and less worried by the publicity I had attracted. Sure, I had had to dodge speculative reporters a couple of times who had hung around the shop in case they could catch another glimpse of me with my supposed boyfriend; but they knew how these things worked too and when he was a no-show decided that the ‘stormy break-up’ was the next angle on the story and were content with a few shots of me hiding my face behind sunglasses or shopping bags when I passed them.

It was not the best atmosphere in which to continue organizing the hen party. Contessa Nicoletta had been incredibly generous: she had hired a first rate band so we could have dancing after dinner and her chef was clearly a genius. I’d tried the samples he brought to the shop: they melted in the mouth and made the taste buds do a rumba. The Venetian hair ornaments and delicate half-masks that Signora Carriera and I had designed were also ready. The idea had been to go exclusive on the usual hen night fancy dress: rather than the stubby wedding veils, pink tiaras, and fairy wings you often see groups of girls staggering about in on their party night, we had created fantasy versions in diamanté angel masks, costume jewellery, and a special crown for Diamond with a cascade of white lace. With the evening dresses, we should look gorgeous and very much up to our surroundings on the lagoon’s most elite island.

The overseas guests who could make the hen and stag parties arrived the night before. We had booked out the waterfront Hotel Calcina near our apartment, as we could not host everyone in our limited space. I was relieved when Xav and Trace shifted to join their brothers, leaving the guest room for Sky. Trace’s mother Karla and Phoenix stayed with their husbands at the hotel, naturally, but spent most of the day with us as the boys were plotting their night’s entertainment. Our older sisters and mother hadn’t been able to make the party due to school and grandmotherly commitments but would arrive a few days before the wedding. That left the party guests, in addition to the American contingent, to be made up of Diamond’s Italian friends—and there were plenty of them. She had always been very popular.

‘OK.’ I put my file of arrangements on the table in front of Sky and Phoenix. Karla and Diamond had gone off to do some last minute shopping together, a trip from which the two younger girls had mysteriously begged off, muttering something about not wanting to risk it when they had perfectly nice dresses in their suitcases. ‘Will you help me marshal everyone into position this evening?’

‘Of course.’ Sky yawned and rubbed her eyes. She was still in her PJs and her curly blonde hair was going every which way. Sweet and seventeen: she was exquisite and I could tell when I saw them together that Zed knew exactly how lucky he was. ‘But aren’t you going to fill us in on the gossip while the others are out?’

I leafed through my plan for the evening. ‘Gossip?’

Phoenix laughed: a strangely throaty sound from a girl who looked like a pretty elf; sharp-cut brown hair that spiked around her face before falling to her shoulders. I could see her as a rock chick Tinkerbell. She was married to the intellectual genius of the Benedict boys, the one she had described as her Clark Kent. I knew what she meant: to any girl with taste, Clark was way more attractive than the underpants-wearing Superman that he turned into; Yves made science geek look sexy. ‘Don’t try to dodge the question, Crystal. We are talking about
the
story—you and Steve Hughes.’

‘If you want to have a go at me for that, get in line.’

Phoenix snorted. ‘Have a go? You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘I’ll have a go,’ butted in Sky, ‘but only in the sense of “way to go, girl!”. I can’t believe someone I know went out with the hottest movie star on the planet.’