Vintage Babes (16 page)

‘He’s no oil painting,’ Tina conceded, ‘and a younger guy would be nice the next time. Especially one who didn’t snore. But Peter’s very well-off.’

Was she serious about wanting another husband, and so soon? She seemed to be. Did this rate as a calculating desire for a meal ticket… or a sad lack of self-confidence?

‘Is that Peter there now?’ Jenny asked, looking out of the window.

‘Where?’ Tina said.

‘On the left-hand side, halfway down. A pale man, pale hair, standing still. You can just see him beyond the bushes.’

I followed her pointing finger. ‘I think you’re looking at a statue of David the giant slayer, Jen.’

‘Am I?’ She narrowed her eyes, then hooted with embarrassed laughter. ‘Oh, yes. Sorry, my long sight isn’t as good as it used to be. I really ought to get glasses.’

‘Contact lenses are more flattering,’ Tina said. ‘I wear them all the time.’

Jenny grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t fancy putting them in and taking them out.’

‘It’s simple. I’ve got coloured contacts, too. Blue ones, green and hazel. I wear different ones to go with different outfits.’

Hah! I thought. All is explained.

‘Want to come upstairs and see?’ Tina suggested to Jenny. ‘And I can show you how easy it is to put lenses in and take them out.’

‘Okay,’ she agreed.

‘Coming, too?’ Tina asked me.

I shook my head. Although I wear spectacles for reading, I’m happy with them. I like to think I look professorish, but cute. Though I’m probably kidding myself.

‘No, but I could murder a drink of water. Alright if I help myself from the kitchen?’

‘Go ahead.’

I was gulping down a refreshing glass of cold water when the doorbell rang. I listened for sounds of my hostess coming downstairs to answer it then, when the bell rang again and there was still no response, went to open the front door myself.

‘Hello,’ I said, finding Max stood on the porch. ‘You’ve forgotten something?’

He shook his head. ‘Tina told me you’re a reporter with
The Dursleigh Siren
and I was thinking that you might like to write an article about me? Or about how people are using personal trainers and how life-enhancing they can be,’ he continued quickly, when I looked dubious. ‘I have several clients in Dursleigh and –’

‘How many?’

There was a pause. ‘Three.’

‘But you think exposure in
The Siren
could bring you some more?’

He grinned. ‘A dash of publicity never goes amiss. And if my photograph appears in the paper and Tina shows it to old man Fernandez, maybe it’ll jog his memory and encourage him to speak to the TV guys.’

‘Or a talent scout could spot it and, stardom here you come?’

‘Stranger things have happened. How about it?’

I considered the proposition. On the one hand, he would be using me. On the other, our female readers would slaver over his picture which would add va-va-voom. And hadn’t Steve suggested I write something about aerobics?

‘Done,’ I said. ‘Do you know where the newspaper office is?’

‘Yes, but we could meet at The Barley Mow this evening and do the deed there.’

After a million-pound refurbishment which included a new Spanish restaurant and an expanded, ultra-classy, bar area, The Barley Mow had become Dursleigh’s ‘in’ place. Village bigwigs and the trendy young flocked there, while the ageing pop star was a regular. When Lynn and Justin had taken me to the restaurant for my birthday, he’d been sat at the next table. Sat with a girl young enough to be his granddaughter, I might add, and wearing a naff green leather suit.

‘In public, so that you’re seen being interviewed,’ I said. ‘You’ve worked this out.’

‘Sure.’ Max was smiling and unrepentant. ‘Dinner is my treat, babe. Table already reserved for eight o’clock.’

‘As if.’

‘It’s true.’

I spread my hands. ‘I’m easily bought.’

‘
Ciao,’
he said, and left.

I had returned to the kitchen to refill my glass with water, when Tina and Jenny appeared.

‘Max came back to suggest I write a piece about him for
The Siren,’
I told them, ‘so we’re meeting at the Barley Mow tonight. Dinner at his expense.’

Tina looked sulky. ‘He’s never taken me out.’

‘It isn’t a date, it’s business. I’m interviewing him.’

‘And you were married until very recently,’ Jenny reminded her.

Tina nodded. ‘That’s right,’ she agreed, then continued, ‘I’ve been explaining to Jenny how I’ve been left with very little money and living in this flea pit.’

‘So difficult. Such a shame,’ Jenny said sympathetically.

‘Did you and Duncan never consider updating the house, renovating it?’ I asked.

‘I tried to persuade him. So many times, I said we needed a new kitchen, new bathrooms, new furniture, new everything. But his sons always objected. They claimed the house was a shrine to their mother and it would break their hearts if anything was changed. Crap! They just wanted to stop me spending money, but Duncan believed them and was used to things as they were. He didn’t fancy any upheaval, either. So, here I am. The money I got for the Merc won’t last long –’

’You’ve sold it already?’ I said.

‘The dealers where Duncan bought it took it straight away. Joe reckoned I would’ve got a better price if I’d sold it privately, but I needed the cash. Max is helping me sell my brooches.’

‘Max?’ I queried.

‘He has all kinds of contacts and he’s going to show the brooches to a man he knows who’ll give me a fair price. But whatever I get, the money won’t last long.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I’m not into scrimping and saving.’

‘If you modelled again that would bring in some money,’ Jenny suggested.

Tina shook her head. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not as young as I used to be,’ she muttered.

‘Sixty isn’t that old these days,’ Jenny said.

‘Sixty?’ Tina’s chin lifted, her spine stiffened. ‘I’m not sixty, nowhere near.’

‘One should never trust a woman who tells one her real age. A woman who would tell one that would tell one anything,’ I recited. ‘To quote Oscar Wilde.’

Tina gave me a puzzled look, then said, ‘If I did the rounds of the agencies chances are I’d be offered jobs advertising back ache pills or mobility scooters or those pads you can buy if you’re afraid you might wet yourself.’ She shuddered. ‘I couldn’t bear to be photographed using geriatric stuff.’

‘I have no experience of the modelling scene, but, to me, you look too young and too sophisticated to appear in that kind of advertisement,’ I protested.

‘Far too young,’ Jenny agreed. ‘But you could at least go along and see what work the agencies have to offer.’

Tina shook her head. ‘No.’

CHAPTER
SEVEN

I was sure Max
had been spinning me a line when he said he’d already booked a table at The Barley Mow, but when I arrived he was installed at one with a ‘reserved’ ticket on it, while all the other tables were taken.

‘Aren’t you the peacherino,’ he said, rising to greet me.

To demonstrate I could aspire to more than a sweaty T-shirt and shorts, I was dressed in a white satin tunic over slim black pants. Golden hoops hung from my ears, my strappy black sandals were vertiginous and I had taken special care with the eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick. I’d considered I looked pretty glam when I had swanked in front of the wardrobe mirror.

‘Thanks. You, too.’

He wore a well-cut silver grey suit with a white shirt. The shirt had generous lapels and was open at the neck, revealing a silver medallion nestling amongst dark curls of chest hair. Add his muscled physique and the dreadlocks, and Max was one cool dude. On the flashy side maybe, but definite eye candy. It wasn’t just me who thought so. Our table was in full view of the entrance to the bar and over the evening it was noticeable how almost everyone who came in registered his appearance. Some, usually women, though there were a couple of guys, gaped in open admiration.

We ordered drinks and food from a young waitress with a nose ring who became his instant fan, then I took out my notebook. In public, I find it is often easier to use shorthand than run a tape recorder.

‘Before we start, there’s something I need to tell you,’ Max said gravely. He hesitated and frowned, as if about to impart thunderbolt news.

‘Which is?’

‘I’m not really an actor.’

‘You could’ve fooled me,’ I said.

‘But I didn’t?’

‘No way, Jose.’

‘I told Tina and Joe Fernandez I acted, because I thought it’d impress them and give me a better chance of getting on TV. And, fortunately, they haven’t asked what parts I’ve played or where.’

‘So I’m not to describe you as an actor in my article?’

‘Please don’t. Someone could ask for evidence, my acting history and –’

’I won’t.’

Max took hold of my hand and, to my great surprise, and the surprise of the waitress who was arriving with white wine for me, a lager for him, raised it to his lips and kissed it.

‘Thanks, babe.’

‘You’re soft-soaping me,’ I said.

‘I’m trying.’ He smiled. ‘But you liked having your hand kissed.’

I had. It was gallant. Fun. Different. And a young blonde who had just walked in had looked choked with envy.

‘I think we understand each other,’ I said.

‘I reckon so, too.’

‘Do you want to be an actor?’

‘I want to be famous, whatever it takes.’

‘What about running your own health club?’

‘I want to be famous and rich. I
will
be famous and rich. And you writing about me in
The Dursleigh Siren
– well, the longest journey begins with a single step.’

‘Come out with another cringeable quote, buster,’ I said, ‘and that step could land you in a pothole, deep and filled with muddy water.’

Max laughed, showing his strong white teeth. ‘Yes, ma’am. Though I reserve the right to use quotes in my classes. You may not go a bundle on them, but plenty of women do.’

‘And you’re looking for a woman to sponsor you? A wealthy woman?’

‘It’d be a help if one came along.’

As we waited for our meals, I started to question him and take notes – about his qualifications, why working in physical fitness had appealed, any anonymous case histories of clients who had benefited from his training which he could give me. By the time the waitress appeared, I had ample information for an interesting piece. I had also requested a sexy photo to accompany it.

‘Is being a personal trainer a lucrative occupation?’ I enquired, as we began to eat. I had chosen hake in white wine sauce, while Max had opted for fillet steak. Both, we told each other, were delicious. ‘Does it support you? Off the record and for my ears only.’