Vanity (19 page)

He had his entire life ahead of him, a future glittering with promise. He'd get over her soon enough.

My Darling Mr Movie Star

I have gone away. Please do not try to find me. I thought that maybe I could escape from my past, but I cannot, and it is not good for you to be seen with me. You must focus on your career now – you are going to be big, big star. I thank you with all my heart for the time we have spent together. I have never known such happiness, and I shall never forget you. I hope in time you will be able to remember me with fondness.

Your Nat x

Ben read the letter with mounting disbelief, then ran faster than he'd ever run in his life towards the
vieux port
. But when he arrived outside Sénéquier, there was an empty space on the waterfront.

Natalia, and her exquisite little boat, had gone.

As Sam arched her back, automatically thrusting her boobs out and pouting at the camera, she was running through the answers she had given in her last exam, in which she'd had to compare Nietzsche to Jung. She was pretty sure she'd done well – she had revised thoroughly and her essays were always insightful and well written.

Things had felt a bit flat since term had ended, though. She loved studying, and life had been looking up considerably since Sienna had taken her under her wing, protecting her from evil Josh and his cronies. The Camden scene was proving to be great fun too. But Sienna was now on holiday in her family's newly acquired fourteenth-century palazzo in Tuscany, and Sam was one of the only students staying in halls over the summer.

She missed her family like crazy, but staying in halls made more sense than the long, expensive daily commute to and from Essex while she was still working – her agency had set her up with back-to-back jobs for the next couple of months. Also, reading between the lines, her little brother Ryan was being more of a handful than ever, and the last thing her parents needed was another of their children to worry about under their roof.

Still, she went home most weekends, and at least Marky was back now from his work trip to Saint-Tropez, which had seemed to go on forever. As she thought about him, her eyes softened with love and her nipples stiffened still further in the cold air blasting from the wind machine, lifting her improbably pneumatic tits at least another inch.

The balding photographer, who had a faintly repulsive ginger goatee, thought he might just explode in his pants.

‘Oh, God, yeah, Sammi-Jo. Sexeeeeee. Hold it just like that, babe. Oh, yeah. Oh, God, yeah.'

Nikki, the other girl on the shoot, was on all fours. She thrust her bum even higher in the air, hating Sam. In the flesh she looked a lot older than the 21 she claimed to be, with harsh, dyed-black hair framing a hard little face with piggy eyes that she tried in vain to enlarge with smoky black eye shadow and false lashes. The heavy make-up just about worked in photos, but compared to the phenomenally pretty Sam, Nikki was nothing, and she knew it.

Around 6.30 p.m, the shoot was over, and Sam went to get dressed. She stepped into a white denim button-through miniskirt and pulled a red, strappy vest top over her head. It was far tartier than anything she'd wear at college, or even in Camden, but she was meeting Mark for dinner in less than an hour and he liked her looking a bit tarty. Besides, it was 30°C in the shade today and she loved the feeling of the heat on her bare shoulders, arms and legs.

Nikki, who had been flirting in the studio with the photographer for the past five minutes, pranced in, still topless in her hot-pink thong and stripper shoes, and made a beeline for Sam. Sam wished Nikki would put some clothes on. Even though she took her own off for a living, she found Nikki's piercing-flaunting brazenness a bit
disconcerting
– almost as though she were challenging everybody with whom she came into contact with her hard little body and even harder little face.

‘Babes,' said Nikki, her voice full of faux concern. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your fella. How are you bearing up?'

‘What? Why? What's happened to him?' asked Sam, with alarm. The glamour-modelling world was small, and Mark, as
Stadium
's ex-art director, was a fairly big cheese. She was sure Nikki had been jealous of her relationship with him, but maybe she'd been doing her a disservice.

‘Oh, my God. You didn't know? Oh, babes …' Nikki put a hand on Sam's arm, her long, squared-off nail extensions an acid orange against Sam's smooth skin. Sam shook it off.

‘Didn't know what? Nikki, you're scaring me now. Please, just tell me what I don't know about Mark.' Sam tried to stop her voice rising in panic. Had he been in some sort of accident or something?

‘Karolina Kristova. Saint-Tropez. On the Linda Lovelace boat.' Nikki could barely keep the glee out of her voice. ‘They were at it all night. If it's any consolation, hon, she's a right slapper …'
That's rich coming from you, thought Sam numbly.
‘She's hardcore – anal, rimming, roasting, whatever …'

‘How do you know?'

‘Oh, babes.' Nikki looked at her pityingly. ‘
Everyone
knows.'

Sam pushed her away, and, after picking up her handbag, walked out of the studio with all the dignity she could muster.

‘Let me know if there's anything I can do,' Nikki shouted after her. ‘She spells her name K-R-I-S-T-O-V-A …'

Once she had put some distance between herself and the bitch from hell, Sam tried to decide what to do. Should she call Mark, confront him with it? No, she was meeting him shortly anyway, and she wanted to see his face when she asked him if it was true.

The studio was in Hoxton, conveniently close to the bar/restaurant/club they were planning to meet at that evening (Divine Comedy was owned by Bella's brother, Max, and it was
the
place to see and be seen). Sam had time to kill so decided to stop at a greasy spoon for a strong cup of tea to try to get her thoughts together.

Would Marky really cheat on her? She wasn't naïve – her exposure to the seedy glamour world had left her with few illusions about men. But Mark had told her time and time again how much he loved her, and he never seemed to tire of her ripe young body. She had a vivid memory of him lazily kissing her all over, just after they'd both had the most amazing orgasms, and saying, ‘Fuck, man, I am the luckiest geezer in the world.'

Then something occurred to her. Taking out her phone, she tapped
Karolina Kristova
– thanks, Nikki, for the spelling – into Google. After a moment she added:
porn star
. At least she could prepare herself by checking out the competition. If what Nikki was saying were true, this KK bitch sounded like a raddled old slapper.

But when the images opened, Sam's heart plummeted. There, staring sultrily out of the screen at her, were picture upon picture of one of the sexiest-looking women she had ever seen. Fully clothed, topless, naked – it didn't matter. That mischievous, mocking face. That body. That
body
? Oh, God, she was everything Sam wished
she
could be – all lithe, sinuous curves and feline grace, with perfect little boobs. Sam instinctively crossed her arms in front of her own ample chest, feeling like a freak of nature again for the first time since she'd met Mark.

Unwelcome tears came into her eyes, and she pushed them away angrily with the edges of her fingers, trying not to bugger up her mascara. No, she'd wait and see what he had to say for himself. She finished her mug of tea, then walked out of the cafe into the beautiful sunny evening.

Mark was waiting in the restaurant on the first floor of Divine Comedy, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot standing proud on the bare wooden table in front of him. The restaurant was modishly rustic and minimalist, a stark contrast to the insanely over-the-top bar downstairs. After spending a good twelve hours fucking Karolina on the Linda Lovelace boat (during which they had ordered in three times for more coke), he had felt so guilty that he'd checked into a small hotel on his own, until he had felt ready to face Sam again.

He had been so sexually enraptured by Karolina that, had he not caught her, red-handed, trying to pinch all the cards out of his wallet, those twelve hours could have stretched much longer. Now, though, he felt an enormous rush of love for his sweet Sam, and wanted to show her how much he cared. He also had the ineffable rush of having
got away with it
.

As Sam entered the restaurant, looking absolutely gorgeous, all legs, tits and long red hair, Mark rose to his feet, smiling. Until he realized that Sam wasn't smiling.

‘Hello, beautiful,' he said nervously. ‘Everything OK?'

‘I don't know, Mark. Is it?' He'd never heard her sound so cold. And then she did something that made
him
go cold. She held her phone up to his eyes, and – oh, fuck, bollocks and cunt – there was a naked picture of Karolina on it.

‘Just tell me you didn't do it.' She looked at him steadily, her enormous dark brown eyes gleaming with intelligence.

‘I …' He faltered, and realized, at that moment, that the game was up.

Sam's eyes darkened and hardened. Mark was never to know that it was to stop her crying, the only thing she could do to hang on to her last remaining shred of pride.

‘Never –
ever –
try to contact me again. You
cunt
.' She was grateful to Sienna for making the word come more easily to her lips than it might have otherwise.

And she walked out of the door with her head held high.

Once she had descended the wrought-iron spiral staircase, though, she allowed herself to cry. Sobbing so hard she could hardly breathe, she stumbled through the downstairs bar until she had made her way outside. The sun was still hot and she just wanted to go home, to have a proper, comforting hug, but she knew she couldn't burden her parents with her trivial problems, when they had so much more on their plate. Not knowing what to do for the best, she just stood there and let herself cry for a bit.

Bella and Andy, enjoying an early evening drink at one of the mismatched tables outside Divine Comedy, both saw Sam at the same time. She cut a woebegone figure, standing against the wall on her own, sobbing her little heart out. Bella jumped to her feet and ran over to her.

‘Sam, are you OK? What is it, sweetheart?'

‘M … M … Mark … Karolina … He's been
fucking
some porn-star bitch called Karolina … While I was doing my exams …' Sam sobbed some more, and Bella gave her a hug – a big, proper, comforting hug, just like the one she'd been longing for from her mum.

Bella, who remembered all too well the pain and
humiliation
of being cheated on, turned and raised her eyebrows at Andy, mouthing, ‘Shall we get her out of here?' Andy nodded. Their planned night out could wait.

Over Sam's shoulder, Bella could see Mark inside the bar, looming towards the open door, his features contorted in dismay. She shook her head violently at him, then gave him the finger for good measure.

God, you dick, Mark
,
she thought, steering Sam gently away from the door. She had always had a certain
tendresse
for him, and he'd been very kind to her in the past. But seeing this sweet, pretty, clever girl go to pieces over him was a different matter entirely.

‘Listen, Sam. Andy and I only came here for a quick drink anyway. Do you want to come back with us for supper at our place? I was going to make some yummy salad-y stuff and we can all bitch about Mark and his ridiculous slapper to our hearts' content, if you want …'

Sam laughed a little maniacally.

‘Oooh, yeah, I'd like that.'

Realizing that Sam was trying to be cool (cooler than Bella had ever been), and was possibly still a little in shock, Bella guided her towards Andy's car, an old but spacious and very comfortable dark green Renault.

By the time they'd arrived at Portobello Road, Sam had poured out the whole sorry story, displaying some of the grit and courage that had got her out of Romford in the first place.

‘My God, Nikki sounds like an evil bitch,' said Bella. ‘She has to be soooo jealous of you.'

‘Let's not forget Mark,' said Andy.

They climbed the rickety steps to Bella's flat. Inside, it was welcoming and homely, crammed to the rafters with books, paintings, flowers, cushions, mirrors and rugs – all quite clearly Bella's style. In one corner, a laptop sat on an old-fashioned writing desk, messy with papers and
reference
books. Quite clearly, Andy's workstation.

Bella lit some lamps and a couple of candles before turning off the overhead light.

‘That's better, isn't it?' She smiled. ‘Much more cosy. Could you put on some music, darling? I'll get us some drinks. What would you like, Sam?'

‘Oh, I don't mind. Whatever you're having would be great. Thanks.'

‘White wine it is then!'

Bella padded, barefoot, into her tiny kitchen. She was wearing a halterneck maxidress in the palest of pale pink cotton, with
broderie anglaise
trim around the neckline and hem. Her long dark hair fell in tousled waves around her smooth brown shoulders and her tanned cleavage looked maternal and inviting. Neither skinny nor plump, Sam thought that Bella looked like some sort of lovely hippy earth mother, radiating happiness. She felt happier herself already, just being around her.

Andy had put something that sounded like classical Spanish guitar music on the CD player. It suited the hot night air. In fact, it was so hot, even with all the windows open, that he had to unearth an ancient electric fan from a cupboard somewhere. With its intermittent cool wafts, the heat was just about bearable.