Practised Deceiver

‘The key concept is danger,’ he went on. She had almost forgotten that voice—slightly husky, as if his vocal cords had been sandpapered by the raw Clydeside air of his youth. ‘We’re going to be emphasising the danger to the skin from excessive exposure to the sun. The lab people at Loziers have come up with a new UBA/UBV sunblock which is being introduced across the whole product range.’

‘And the ingredients are all from natural sources, of course,’ Bobbie assured her. ‘There’s been no animal testing. Alysha feels very strongly about that,’ she added to Ross. ‘She’s frequently turned down even very well-paid jobs because she won’t wear fur or use cosmetics that involved cruelty to animals.’

Those steel-grey eyes glinted with unmistakable cynicism. ‘She’s lucky she can afford to stand by her principles,’ he remarked, a sardonic inflection in his voice.

Alysha returned him a frosty glare. Did he think it was no more than a fashionable stance, taken by someone who would barely notice the sacrifice? Well, she certainly wasn’t going to disabuse him; her money struggles were a secret she guarded behind a carefully constructed illusion spun of rich-girl gloss and expensive designer clothes—bought wholesale or second-hand.

Very few people knew of the scandal about her father—fortunately it had attracted little publicity outside the financial circles of the City. And that was exactly the way she wanted it; the shame of finding out what he had done had been extremely painful, and she still hadn’t really got over it.

‘Could we stick to discussing the campaign?’ she requested, her voice laced with icy dignity.

A faintly mocking smile flickered at the corners of that hard mouth, but he acceded smoothly to her request. ‘There’ll be massive coverage in the glossies, as well as television slots and personal appearances. The Lozier Girl embodies the image of Lozier—a hedonistic indulgence for the woman who can afford that little bit more. That’s why we insist on an exclusive contract; any other work you do has to be subject to my personal approval—we don’t want the Lozier Girl showing up in some shoddy mail-order catalogue. And of course we’ll be paying very handsomely for the privilege,’ he added on a note of dry sarcasm.

Instinctively she was on the defensive, watchful for any hint that he had seen through her façde. ‘Money isn’t my primary consideration,’ she informed him with lofty disdain. ‘I’m interested solely in furthering my career.’

A glint of amusement lit those steel-grey eyes. ‘I stand corrected.’

She acknowledged the apology with a slight inclination of her head. ‘You...said there would be personal appearances?’ she enquired a little stiffly.

He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of the Perrier water he was drinking—he was reputed never to touch alcohol. ‘It’s going to be a global campaign, involving a great deal of travel. There’ll be promotional visits to major cities throughout Europe and North America, Japan, Australia—I hope you have plenty of stamina?’

Alysha mirrored his coolly sardonic manner, lifting one finely arched eyebrow a fraction of an inch. ‘I can cope,’ she returned levelly.

‘I’m glad to hear it. It would be a major inconvenience if you were to become ill.’

‘I’m never ill, Mr Elliot,’ she assured him, her eyes glittering. ‘I’ve never missed a single appointment, or even been late, as Barbara will confirm.’

‘You certainly have an excellent professional reputation,’ he accorded, a sardonic inflection in his voice. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t even have considered you.’

Why had he considered her? she wondered with a lingering sense of disquiet. She was under no illusions—there were dozens of other girls with similar attributes to herself, who could meet the exacting criteria he had laid down. But the gossip-machine, normally so efficient, hadn’t come up with a single other name that was in line for this contract.

Why her?

‘What’s the timetable for the campaign?’ she asked, her voice commendably even.

‘Phase one will be the television commercials, co-ordinated with saturation coverage in all the major fashion monthlies,’ he explained succinctly. ‘The main launch will be at the beginning of April, and we’ll be pushing heavily right through into August/ September. We’ll be shooting the video for the commercials simultaneously with the stills, mostly on location in Thailand.’

‘Starting when?’

‘December.’ He lifted one dark eyebrow in sardonic enquiry as a flicker of uncertainty passed across her face. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Only if it would mean being away over Christmas,’ she responded in carefully measured tones. ‘I usually spend it with my family.’ And she could just imagine her mother’s reaction if she were to announce that she would be away for the festive season!

He shrugged his wide shoulders in a gesture of almost contemptuous dismissal. ‘We have to fit in with the climate out there—December is the time when it’s most likely to be dry and comparatively cool,’ he returned brusquely. ‘Whether you’ll be home in time for Christmas depends on the shooting schedule and how well the work goes.’

‘I see.’ She wasn’t going to waste her breath arguing with him; she really wouldn’t put it past him to cancel Christmas—he was just the sort of task-driven, ambitious rat who would, and be damned to anyone else’s feelings.

‘Alysha’s diary can be clear by then,’ Bobbie assured him, crisply efficient. ‘There are a few things lined up, but we can reassign them easily enough—it won’t be a problem.’ She turned to Alysha, her eyes sparkling. ‘I do envy you going to Thailand—it has to be one of my all-time favourite places. I hope you’ll give her a chance to do a little sightseeing, Ross,’ she added, slanting him a teasing glance. ‘You really must see the Grand Temple in Bangkok—it’s just fascinating.’

Alysha forced herself to look Ross straight in the eye, unflinching. ‘Mr Elliot hasn’t confirmed yet whether or not he’s going to offer me the contract,’ she pointed out coolly.

Again she found herself subjected to that detached professional assessment, and she struggled to return him a level gaze. Though she had long grown out of the adolescent vanity that had been so affronted by his indifference at their first meeting, recognising that her looks were no more than a fortunate pattern of genetic inheritance that she could exploit to earn her living, she had found that even in the glamorous world of the fashion business, where beauty was the common currency, they gave her an edge, a measure of power, in most situations.

But to Ross Elliot, it seemed, she was no more than a piece of equipment, on a par with the props and the lighting and probably rather less important than the cameras. If he could have replaced her with a china doll, that would do his bidding and never get tired or need a break, he would happily do so.

‘Don’t cut the hair,’ he ordered.

Her eyes flashed in icy indignation; she had never had any intention of cutting her hair but for one brief moment she found herself toying with the idea, just to defy him. But that would be foolish, she reminded herself briskly—she was a professional, and she was being hired to do a job of work. Her personal feelings mustn’t be allowed to come into it.

‘Do I take it that that’s a yes?’ she enquired.

‘Do you want it?’

He was forcing her to spar with him, and she felt an odd little tug of visceral excitement in the pit of her stomach. She did want it. It was more than just the money—though heaven knew how much she needed that! But having been forced to sacrifice her own aspirations to the need to support her family, she had transferred all her ambition into her modelling career. She wanted to get to the top—and this was a big step in the right direction. And she’d be damned if she’d let Ross Elliot and his mocking grey eyes scare her off!

‘Yes, I want it,’ she returned, will-power alone keeping her voice steady.

‘Then I shall discuss the details with Bobbie.’

For a moment Alysha felt giddy, caught up in a wild vortex of conflicting emotions. Satisfaction, of course, at beating the field to such a lucrative and prestigious contract, and relief that it would absolve her of the ever-present worry about money for at least the foreseeable future; but panic, also, that it would mean seeing far more of this disturbing man than she liked.

Fortunately at that moment the waiter arrived with their starter, and she was able to divert her attention to the cool, delicious melon. She was fortunate that keeping her figure had never been a problem for her; she naturally preferred fresh fruit and vegetables to sweets and pastries, she swam almost every day, and practised the ballet exercises she had enjoyed since childhood, which kept her body strong and supple, able to hold an awkward pose for as long as necessary, or repeat a single movement over and over until the photographer caught the exact fall of limbs and hair that he wanted.

Bobbie glanced across the table at her plate, and sighed enviously. ‘Melon! I wish I’d thought of that—I’ve never been able to get out of the habit of eating rabbit-food.’ She forked her green salad around her plate in disgust. ‘You girls don’t know how lucky you are these days—you’re allowed to carry those few extra pounds. When I was in the business, you had to stay as thin as a stick-insect. I’m sure the look’s much more attractive now—don’t you agree, Ross?’

A flicker of dark amusement danced behind those changeable grey eyes. ‘Speaking as a photographer, lean looks good through the camera,’ he acknowledged. ‘But as a man...I prefer a little more to get hold of.’ That disturbingly sensuous mouth curved into a slow smile as he glanced across the table at Alysha. ‘Of course, the girl who has good bone-structure and nice, well-shaped breasts has a distinct advantage,’ he added, the husky timbre of his voice making her shiver. ‘Not too large—about the size of a ripe peach is just about right.’

Alysha swallowed thickly, struggling to control the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat. It took a considerable effort of will to stop herself glancing down to check that she really was properly dressed; the way he was looking at her stirred memories so vivid that it seemed as though the years had evaporated, and she was once again the naïve and vulnerable little fool, posing for him half-naked, her breasts aching and ripe beneath his assessing gaze...

The most sensible course of action, she warned herself astringently, would be to tell him she wasn’t interested in the contract, simply to get up right now and walk out; but that would only let him know how deeply she had been affected by what had happened—how deeply she was still affected.

Did he remember? Was this some kind of twisted power-game he was playing for his own amusement? Or did he just not think it worth mentioning? After all, it had meant nothing to him—no doubt he would expect it to mean no more to her.

Well, fine, she could play it like that; her whole career was based on her ability to create illusions—a few deft touches of make-up, a different hairstyle, a change of clothes, and she could be a winsome ingénue one moment, a cool sophisticate the next, a purring sex-kitten or mysteriously exotic, Latin or oriental or suntanned English gamine. That was her stock-in-trade.

‘Who else is going to be on the team?’ she asked, adopting a pointedly businesslike tone.

‘It isn’t all tied up yet,’ he responded, accepting her change of subject with just the faintest glint of knowing amusement in those cool eyes. ‘Alastair Grant will be the make-up man, and Gemma Caldwell the stylist.’

‘Gemma?’ Bobbie queried, slanting him a look of teasing amusement.

He nodded, seemingly unaware of any reason why employing one of his previous girlfriends should be any cause for surprise. ‘She’s one of the best in the business.’

‘Oh, I agree,’ Bobbie conceded graciously. ‘And Alastair is an absolute genius, of course. And what about the photographer? Or will you be doing the pictures yourself?’

To Alysha’s intense relief he shook his head. ‘I’m talking to Harry Keaton.’

Bobbie lifted an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Harry? Is he off the sauce?’