Simply Divine (4 page)

Jane blinked. She'd dealt with some uppity secretaries at
Gorgeous
in her time, but this was a whole new ballgame. Models and photographers were, she knew, a notoriously imperious breed. She hadn't realised their secretaries were as well.

'Yes, I should bloody well think I'm connected.' As she got angrier, the girl's voice sounded increasingly like the honk of an extremely patrician goose. But not for long. Having reached the person she wanted to speak to, her voice suddenly dissolved into a syrupy, lisping, Sugar Kane wheedle.

'Is that you, Rollsy?' she gushed. 'Darling, I've been thinking about our trip to Paris tonight. It's just
too
wonderful of you to take me in your private plane but
could
'we
possibly
take that glorious red Gulfstream instead of the blue one? I know I'm a silly, darling, but it's just that my nail varnish is the wrong colour for die blue . . .'

24

Jane swallowed. Clearly, studio secretaries moved in more elevated circles than she thought. Literally.

'The
red
one, darling, yes.' A hint of the imperious honk was creeping into the girl's breathy tones. Rollsy was obviously having trouble recalling which of his hundreds of Gulfstreams she meant. 'You know, the one with that divine little inglenook fireplace . . . Yes? Fabulous, darling. Big kiss. Bye-ee.' She slammed down the phone. 'Fucking idiot.' With a push of her long leg, the chair swung round.

Jane found herself staring at an arrogant-looking blonde with indignant grass-green eyes and a petulant, full mouth big enough to seat a family of six. She had cheekbones like knuckledusters, cascades of shining hair and a tight white jersey top through which her nipples could clearly be seen. Jane realised it wasn't the studio secretary at all. She was looking at Champagne D'Vyne.

'What the fuck's going on?' a voice behind them demanded suddenly.

A small, profoundly tanned man with intensely blue eyes, tight jeans and stack-heeled boots was standing in the doorway of the office. Three cameras, all with enormous lenses, were slung round his wrinkled brown neck, as were a number of thick gold chains. Jane recognised him instantly as Dave Baker, a well-known fashion photographer who had launched more models than NASA had space probes. He waved furiously at Champagne, tapped his huge, expensive-looking watch and frowned. 'For fuck's sake, we haven't got all day,' he shouted at her.
'Scusi
my language, darling,' he said to Jane, his Italian sitting oddly with his Cockney. 'We've been here three hours already and Her Blondeness has only just turned up. Only just got out of bed, apparendy — though
whose
I wouldn't like

25

to speculate.' He turned on his stack heel in disgust and minced back in the direction of what Jane imagined was the studio.

Champagne took absolutely zero notice. Her entire attention was focused on the telephone, which had just rung again. She listened intently, then let out an indignant yell into the receiver. 1 don't
believe
it, Rollsy,' she shouted furiously, completely abandoning her sugary tones. 'You've lent it to Prince
who*
Well, can't you get it back? No, the blue's simply
not on,
darling.
Nada.
I'd have to have a whole new manicure and you
know
how busy I am, angel.'

Jane's fingers crept towards her pad and pen. May as well make a few notes. You never knew.

'Oh, I
suppose
I could bear BA first class, if you simply
can't
get it back,' Champagne lisped petulantly. 'But
must
we go to boring old Paris
yet
again? Another weekend at the Crillon and I'll
kill
myself.'

After a few more minutes in this vein, Jane was stopped mid-scribble by a touch on her arm. It was Dave Baker again.

'Look, I'm sorry to bother you,
cartssima,'
he said, the muscles in his wrinkled cheeks working like galley slaves as he cast a furious look at the still-chatting Champagne. 'But would you do me the most
enormoso
favour? I need to find out
urgimento
whether the light is OK for these pictures. Would you be a complete
cam
and sit for some Polaroids so I can check everything before we start shooting on film? Sorry, we haven't been introduced. Dave Baker,
fotograficoJ

'I know,' said Jane, touched by the modesty and friendliness of one at the top of a profession not noted for its humility. 'Of course. I'd be delighted. If you're sure I won't break the camera.'

26

Dave laughed. 'You're a very pretty girl, dear.'

Jane packed up her notebook and followed him into a large, light room where snake-like black cables writhed over the floor like the inhabitants of a reptile house. A beautiful make-up artist, arms folded, awaited Champagne's pleasure beside an array of pots and brushes while a wide-eyed young man wearing very tight white trousers busily altered the angles of the photographic lamps and measured their strength with a light meter.

'Molto bene?
said Dave, sitting Jane in front of a huge backlit white screen and encouraging her to suck her cheeks in.
'Bella, bella.
Amber,
carissima,
a spot of make-up if you please, and
una piccola
tweak with the hair perhaps?'

Amber breathed mintily and absorbedly while she dabbed Jane's face with a bit of powder and lipstick and pinned her hair loosely up behind her head.

'Gosh,' said Jane, gazing at herself in the mirror Amber held up when she had finished. The soft, shadowy light made her face look fragile, her blue eyes huge and her hair a soft haze of piled-up gold. Amber had also done all sorts of clever things with a lip pencil so Jane's thin mouth, while not quite rivalling Champagne's six-seater, at least now provided respectable room for two.

'You've got lovely bones, you know,' Amber said matter-of-factly, snatching away a stray eyebrow hair with a pair of tweezers. 'You should wear your hair up more often. Or get it cut short to show off your face a bit.'

'Do you really think so?' asked Jane, settling back into the chair happily. She was beginning to enjoy being a supermodel. She hoped Dave would give her a Polaroid shot to take back to Nick. He could keep it in his wallet. On the other hand, as he so rarely opened it, that might not be the best place.

27

'What the fuck's going on?' It was Champagne's turn to sound indignant. Her demanding tones echoed round the studio.

'I didn't realise this was a shoot for Evans the Outsize,' Champagne snarled, striding up to Jane. Her heels clattered furiously on the wooden floor. 'Who the fuck are
you?
Her brilliant green eyes homed pitilessly in on the greasy roots of Jane's hair. Nick had taken all the hot water again that morning.

'I'm Jane from
Gorgeous,'
Jane stammered, terrified despite herself. Being sneered at by someone so beautiful was an intimidating experience. 'I've come to write your ... I mean, I've come to discuss your, er, column.'

'Well, what the hell are you doing in front of the camera then?' Champagne's drill-like gaze moved from Jane's scuffed shoes to the sagging bra beneath her not-very-well-ironed white blouse. Jane's cheeks burned with shame.

'Jane very kindly stepped in to help us with the light reading since you were so
busy?
said Dave.

Champagne seethed. Pausing only to throw a glance as green as a glassful of Chartreuse at Dave, she flounced out of the studio, muttering a stream of invective of which only 'fucking old poofter' could clearly be heard.

There was a short silence.

Dave sighed. 'Go and sort her out, FabergeY he murmured to his snub-nosed assistant. Faberge' started eagerly forward. But his services, it seemed, were not required.

Tm ready.' Husky tones had replaced the honk. Turning round, Jane saw Champagne standing in the doorway wearing nothing more than a challenging gaze.

There really was, Jane saw, nothing holding those breasts up. Full and glorious, they soared onwards and upwards like helium balloons, each topped with its rosy

28

nub of nipple. Champagne grinned at her astonished and silent audience. She strode forward, long muscles sliding up and down her slender thighs as she moved. She walked up to Dave and, thanks to the disparity in their heights, thrust her nipples practically in his face. 'Dress me,' she said in her huskiest tones, running both hands down the sides of her body. 'If you want to, that is.' She shot a searing glance from beneath her thick lashes and pouted at the room.

Jane sighed. Champagne had turned a tantrum into a triumph simply by taking her clothes off. Satisfied at the sensation she had caused, Champagne swung on her heel and began to sashay up and down the room like a supermodel. Watching her prance around, utterly uninhibited, it struck Jane that nakedness was a concept that only really applied to those with less than perfect figures. People with bodies as stunning as Champagne's were always dressed, in the sense that there was never anything embarrassing to conceal.

Delighted to be the centre of attention, Champagne now dazzled the assembled company with a radiant smile.

'She can certainly turn on the charm when she wants to,' Dave muttered grudgingly.

'She can turn on more than that,' Jane whispered. 'Look at FabergeT

Dave turned round to see his assistant bending over some boxes. He was clearly trying desperately to conceal an enormous erection in his tight white trousers.

'
Well,'
said Dave delightedly, raising both eyebrows and grinning widely. 'I had no idea he was such a talented boy.'

Dave's good humour restored, the shoot proceeded. Champagne was in her element, posing, pouting and slinking about in a succession of tiny, tight evening dresses

29

that Jane could barely imagine getting her own right leg into. As Champagne's grudge against her seemed to have completely dissolved under the hot studio lights and the attention, Jane bit the bullet and suggested, after the shoot was over, that it was time to talk through the first instalment of Champagne Moments.

'Well, it had better not take long,' Champagne snapped, looking at her diamond-studded Cartier watch. 'I've got a colonic at three,' she announced. 'Then a leg wax. Then Rollo's picking me up.'

'Fine,' said Jane briskly, fishing out her notebook and flicking the ballpoint release mechanism of her pen. 'Let's be quick then. Talk me through your week. What have you been doing?'

Champagne, slumped on an orange box in the studio with her elegant legs wound round each other, fished a cigarette out of her snakeskin Kelly bag. She lit it and frowned. 'Ah/ she said, addressing the far wall. 'Um,' she added. 'Er,' she finished.

Jane felt panic rising slowly up her throat. Of the many difficult situations she had imagined Champagne Moments might involve, the one in which Champagne was unable to remember anything she had done had never occurred to her.

'Um, I saw in the
Sun
that you had been out with Robert Redford when he came to London earlier this week,' Jane prompted.

A slight pucker appeared between Champagne's perfectly-plucked eyebrows. Robert Redford, Robert Redford, her bee-stung lips mouthed silently. Robert Redford. After a few minutes of profound frowning, a faint glow of remembrance irradiated her face.
'American!
she pronounced triumphantly.

Jane nodded eagerly, encouragingly.

''Actor!
Champagne added a few seconds later.

Jane nodded again.

'Oh,
yah,'
pronounced Champagne eventually, her face glowing with the promise of full recollection.

The promise remained unfulfilled. Champagne could remember nothing more.

'I suppose I had a lot of QNIs last week,' Champagne concluded. 'Quiet Nights In.'

Heart sinking, Jane realised this was not going to make four sentences, let alone four pages. And if she returned to the office without the fourteen hundred words of sparkling copy Josh wanted, it wasn't going to be Champagne D'Vyne who got the blame. Why, if he'd wanted an It Girl, hadn't Josh simply signed up Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, Jane seethed to herself. She, at least, had the two vital skills Champagne lacked — the ability to string a sentence together and some idea of what she'd been doing all week.

Sighing, and sending up a silent prayer to the god of ghostwriters, Jane took her mental pickaxe and determinedly and repeatedly attempted to break the surface of the substance which lay like impenetrable rock between Champagne and her ability to recall anything whatsoever that had happened to her in the past few days. Thank goodness she had taken those notes when Champagne was on the phone.

It took several increasingly frantic phone calls a day for the rest of the week before Jane managed to extract enough information to make up the first column. The latest
Gorgeous
had been about to hit the printing presses, but Josh insisted the issue was held until Champagne Moments was written and slipped in at the last minute. At the end of the week, Jane staggered, utterly drained, into Josh's

31

office and handed over four pages of print-out to her boss. Heart hammering, she sank on to the sofa and folded her arms to await the verdict. It was always nerve-racking showing Josh a piece. Few things ever seemed to come up to the standard he demanded. She crossed her fingers so hard that it hurt.