Lynne Pemberton - Platinum Coast

‘I’ve already told him I’m busy next Thursday. I promised to go to Robin’s party and that was the only night Stephen could make it. He lives in London and only comes up here occasionally.’

Christina looked at Susie, who shook her head in disgust. ‘Robin Hargreaves is the biggest wimp in the entire county – possibly the whole country! Come on, Christina.’

She agreed with Susie and her voice was lame when she said, ‘But I’ve promised Robin. He’d be so disappointed.’

Susie ignored her. Standing up from the tiny kitchen table, she walked to the sink and filled the kettle with water to make a fresh cup of tea. She caught sight of herself in a small mirror stuck on the front of the fridge door and groaned.

‘God, I look like death warmed up. That Nick is insatiable. In fact, I’ve decided the man’s an animal.’ She giggled, and Christina smiled.

‘I must say I have seen you looking better, but you’re crazy about him, so don’t complain.’

Susie nodded. ‘But he’s broke and I get sick of always having to take him out.’ She paused. ‘Now, if I had your looks and the opportunity to go out with a big fat fish like Reece-Carlton, I’d be there with my boots blacked and my pussy powdered.’

‘Susie!’ Christina pretended to look shocked before saying, ‘I will call him back, I promise, but not today. I’m sure Mr Reece-Carlton can have plenty of girls at the snap of his fingers, so it won’t hurt to play hard to get.’

Susie winked. ‘Good girl. But whatever you do, don’t keep him waiting too long. Let’s be fair – Robin Hargreaves will wait forever, but I doubt Stephen Reece-Carlton will do the same.’

‘Good morning. Metropole Leisure. How can I help you?’

Christina’s heart began racing as soon as she heard the receptionist’s voice.

‘Mr Reece-Carlton, please.’ She made her voice sound crisp and businesslike.

‘Mr Reece-Carlton is in a meeting,’ the impersonal voice informed her. ‘If you wish to leave a message I can transfer you to his secretary.’

Christina was about to say she would call back when the secretary’s voice came on the line.

‘Good morning, Rachael Newton speaking. How can I help you?’

This voice sounded older and kinder. Christina felt more at ease.

‘I would like to speak to Mr Reece-Carlton, please.’

‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting. Can I help you with anything?’

Christina paused, deliberating as to whether to leave a message or not, when the secretary said, ‘Oh, Mr Reece-Carlton has just walked out of the meeting and will be able to speak to you now. Please hold.’

Christina was holding the receiver with one clammy hand whilst doodling on a message pad with the other. She was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming urge to put the telephone down when she heard him say, ‘Hello, this is Stephen Reece-Carlton.’

His voice sounded deeper than she remembered from their brief meeting at the shopping mall and even briefer telephone conversation two days after that.

‘Good morning, this is Christina O’Neill.’

There was a short pause which seemed interminable, and she thought for one terrible minute that he had forgotten who she was.

‘Sorry, Christina. Can you hold for one minute? My private line is ringing.’ He did not wait for her to reply, and she held the silent receiver for a few minutes more before Stephen’s voice returned, bright and enthusiastic now.

‘How are you?’ He seemed genuinely pleased to hear from her. She felt encouraged.

‘I’m fine, thanks, and you?’

‘Busy as usual, but delighted you rang. I’m planning to come up to Manchester on Thursday as I said, and the offer still stands. I’d love to take you out to dinner if you can make it.’

‘I did have a date, as I told you when you rang, but the party has been cancelled,’ she lied. ‘So the answer’s yes, I’d really like to go out for dinner with you.’

‘You don’t sound sure about that, Christina.’ Stephen had detected the hesitation in her voice.

She forced herself to sound more self-confident. She wanted to see him again, but wasn’t used to such a high-powered approach. Packed schedule, private line, deferential secretary – she had a sneaking suspicion that Stephen Reece-Carlton was out of her league.

‘Of course I’m sure,’ she forced herself to say lightly. ‘I wouldn’t be calling you otherwise, would I.’

He laughed. ‘That’s true. Okay, Miss O’Neill, we’ve got a date. I don’t know where you live but I’ll be staying at the Midland Hotel on St Peter’s Square, so if you give me your address …’

She interrupted. ‘We could meet at the Midland. I’ll be working in town that day so that would suit me fine. Say 7.30 in the bar, if that’s okay with you?’

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Till Thursday, then, Christina. I’ll look forward to it. Bye for now.’

He rang off as she was saying goodbye.

She replaced the receiver, pleased that her heart had stopped racing and excited now about her forthcoming date.

‘Finished?’ her agent, Kate Mason, asked as she walked into the small, cluttered office where Christina had been using the telephone. She walked towards her desk, a large envelope in her elegant, manicured hands.

‘Yes thanks, Kate. I’ll pay you for the call. It was urgent and couldn’t wait until I got home.’

‘No problem, be my guest.’ Kate detected a slight nervousness in Christina’s voice. ‘Are you okay?’ she enquired.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Christina nodded, and her long, glossy chestnut hair fell in thick waves across one cheek. She looped it back and looked across the desk.

‘You’re going to be pleased with these.’ Kate held up the envelope. ‘These, young lady, are fantastic’

She moved a stack of other photographs and papers to one side and laid out the composite sheets before Christina, who stared at the forty or fifty small images through a hand lens, barely recognizing herself.

The photographer had caught a sensual yet innocent quality in her perfect oval face.

‘Look at that shot. If we can’t sell that to one of the glossies, I’ll eat my hat.’

Kate pointed with a long, red-painted fingernail to the white cross marking an image of Christina wearing a black full-length silk jersey-dress by Bill Gibb. The photograph had been shot in a misty dawn light against the backdrop of the Pennine Chain. Her hair was loosely caught up in a diamante pin, and stray locks tumbled down to play about her face and shoulders.

‘They don’t look like me at all,’ Christina gasped. ‘I look like a wanton young gypsy girl.’

Kate tapped the sheet. ‘They do look like you, but in a different guise. Like I said, they’re fantastic.’ She sounded excited. ‘Colin is a bloody expensive photographer but he’s worth every penny. These could make you a fortune.’

The light in Kate Mason’s eyes suddenly reminded Christina of a similar expression she had seen so often shining in her father’s, before he had killed himself chasing impossible dreams.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Kate looked at her expression, baffled. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. This shoot is the best I’ve seen for years.’

Christina stared at the composite sheet.

‘I am pleased, believe me, Kate. Sorry, I was miles away. Colin promised he’d destroy that one.’

Kate looked at the photograph showing Christina clad in nothing but tiny black panties, her hand covering one breast whilst she pointed an accusing finger at the camera. Her head was thrown back and she was laughing.

‘On the contrary, Christina, Colin has already told me he’s sold that one to Penthouse .’ Kate’s voice was deadly serious.

Christina looked shocked. Before she could speak, Kate burst out laughing. ‘Only joking! But don’t write the girlie magazines off, they pay bloody good money.’