The Price of Beauty

by McCabe, Helen

  ‘Yes! So what changed your mind?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘I like getting to places quickly. Time is money.’

  Lauren looked out of the window again. He had plenty of money. In this case, he was sure to have another agenda. If he’d really wanted to stop, he would have. She also sensed whatever he was hurrying to the sun for was something she wasn’t supposed to know about.

  When he’d suggested the stop over, then taken the phone call, which he’d answered in a series of quick fire responses, she’d been relieved, because the break in their journey would have made things difficult. She’d have had to say ‘No’ to him outright.

  Maybe he’d got the message she wasn’t keen – or thought he’d win in the end – but, in reality, she knew his decision was nothing to do with her. She retrieved her compact mirror and winced at her reflection.

  ‘You never look a mess,’ he said, grinning. ‘I wish every girl looked like you in the morning.’ He took his hand off the wheel and reached over. She looked down at the tanned, strong fingers closing over her hand. He must have felt her withdrawal, because after a slight pressure, he returned to his driving.

  Lauren put on her sunglasses, which did a great job masking her expression. She leaned back and the sunlight streamed in, washing away her tiredness with its dazzling warmth.

  The rocks had been replaced by gently-sloping hills and tiny fields full of vines. Red tiled roofs made the houses look like the Spanish ones they had photographed recently for another of Gary’s travel books. She knew how lucky she was to be the personal assistant of a global entrepreneur, but also that her value was measured in how well she managed the publicity for the book side of his business. He had a surprising talent for writing travel books which tied in exceptionally well with his extensive dealings around the planet. Much of Gary’s other business was a mystery to her – and she knew that’s how he wanted it. Being part of it was exciting, but she was aware now of its drawbacks, certainly more so than when she’d first joined Grey and M Associates.

  Lauren glanced at him. He’d said in her job interview that he’d expect her to drive him around sometimes, but that hadn’t happened yet. He had several cars, but the powerful seven-seater land cruiser was the work horse. It was big to handle, but she’d been fairly annoyed when she hadn’t been offered the wheel although he’d been happy to let Paul drive about three hours ago. However, his photographer’s driving was less frenetic and Gary had lost patience. Now, Paul was cat-napping, slumped across the back seats, his camera right next to him. It was an extension of him and like every professional photographer, he was ever ready to capture that one special shot. He had a wariness about him that told Lauren he hadn’t always been so laid back, but he certainly knew how to handle a camera. She sighed. Sometimes, she wondered what the hell she was doing travelling the globe with two men who purported not to have a past. Gary’s details could be looked up in Wikipedia andWho’s Who. He was listed as, ‘influential in both the business and travel sphere. Author of a number of successful books in both areas...’ On the other hand, Paul was a regular guy who appeared to live for the moment. He was useful to have around and he knew how to party! How the two of them met she didn’t know, or how they got on, seeing as they were so different. She was sure though that they had mutual secrets, although Gary had let one slip; that Paul had an ex-wife.

  Lauren knew Gary had two – but no children. Lauren had neither, except some regrets born of a couple of past relationships that had never come to anything. At present, she had no time for one. However, when she’d accepted the challenge in Gary’s eyes, after he said, ‘I promise you the trip to the Riviera is not going to be all business, Lauren,’ the smile that followed might have won another girl’s heart, but not hers. As far as she was concerned, she intended their relationship remain on a professional footing. At least, she’d have Paul to back her up. Lauren knew he wasn’t keen on his boss getting together with her either.

  Lauren liked Paul. He could be relied on to break an awkward silence with a joke and make things better than they generally were, especially when everyone was on edge. When matters became serious, Paul was indispensable. How many times had she been glad he was coming along on this particular trip, the reason being she didn’t want to be alone with Gary. Her boss was good company, paid her a lot of money and the perks were seriously good when they didn’t become too personal, but he was also driven, unpredictably moody and secretive.

  She remembered how happy she’d been when her interview had been successful. What had attracted her when she had seen the advertisement was the opportunity to travel.‘Businessman seeks experienced personal assistant.Excellent salary and prospects.Must be prepared to travel at short notice...’

  Could it be a year ago since she had taken the job? she wondered. She’d won it in the face of heavy competition, but she had both publishing and marketing experience as well as a business degree. She also had a good grasp of three languages. French was her best. She was practically bilingual, given her background. She knew she’d been lucky, but she’d also discovered that Gary had a high turnover of PAs. She’d learned a lot since she’d started working for him, but she’d had no chance of knowing everything as his business was so complex.

  At present, things were difficult and once or twice she’d considered giving in her notice, but then she’d decided she was tough enough to cope. She felt she was up to the challenge. What she was doing looked great on her CV and when she’d had enough and learned enough, she’d most likely move on. When days were really bad, she always told herself things would get better. Lauren sighed at the thought of what was to come. She’d never been to the French Riviera, although she loved France and visited her grandma’s old home there several times, but she knew she probably would never even have the chance to look around in the style she enjoyed now unless she had been working for Gary.

  It would be so easy to go along with what she suspected he wanted from her at present, but Lauren had her principles. She worked for him and that didn’t mean she was going to end up sleeping with him. It would have made things very difficult and would be extremely unprofessional. She had an unshakeable instinct it would be the wrong thing to do and also the suspicion that was what had happened to several of her predecessors. Besides, Gary wasn’t the kind of guy she went for. She was still waiting for the right man to come along and she was sure that man wasn’t her boss.

  Maybe she’d meet her ideal man on this assignment which he’d told her was just another commissioned travel book. They were heading for Port Grimaud where Gary had taken a villa. She remembered him coming off the phone, grinning. ‘Hey, Lauren,’ he said, ‘a couple of months on the Riviera will do us both good. Grim’s more private than St Tropez, which is full of celebs and wannabe starlets. I hate the place. But you’ll love Grim! Remember this could be a holiday for both of us.’

  Lauren wouldn’t forget that emphasis on us. Both of us. At that moment, she’d wondered if that was the time to say she was handing in her notice, but she was confident she could handle the situation. She could manage him and if the fun became too serious then she might well call it all off, but two months in the Riviera was a very tempting prospect.

  Her present dilemma was trying to decide whether Gary really felt anything for her or that her attraction lay in the fact she hadn’t fallen into his arms like every woman he charmed. Plenty of girls wanted a relationship with a man who figured on the broadsheets’ rich list! Lauren knew she couldn’t go on stalling for ever and, finally, she might have to make a clean break. Gary didn’t like losing. But she was optimistic. That’s my problem, she said to herself as they drove on into the sun.

  ‘Hey, Paul. Man up. We’re stopping,’ Gary barked. At that precise moment, he swung the heavy vehicle into the slip road. Lauren heard the stage-managed groan from the back. In front, the traffic was beginning to queue and Gary swore under his breath.

  She leaned back and studied her reflection in the small mirror. T
ousled waves of hair framing an oval face. Skin lightly golden coming from the last expedition to Spain. Phew, she thought. Let’s hope this one’s not as manic. Gary had been late on his deadline owing to other commitments as he called them, and she’d spent too many hours checking and re-checking the whole document before it was emailed to his editor.

  Lauren applied a touch of bronze lipstick and ran her fingers through her mane. She looked behind. Paul was hastily combing through his thick, shaggy, brown hair with one hand and trying to fasten his shirt buttons with the other. It was only at that moment she noticed the scar deep under his hairline! It looked like it had been a serious head injury. She looked away, but she knew he’d seen the question in her eyes.

  Gary pressed the ignition button and the engine died. He leaned back still looking cool, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. See Gary, think Hugh Grant, was what Lauren had first thought. Now she knew he hadn’t the film star’s fluid foppishness. Gary was hard-edged. You only had to be at one of his board meetings to know that.

  ‘I don’t want a full meal,’ he pronounced. ‘Café?’ They nodded. If she and Paul had wanted the restaurant, it would have been just the same. Gary liked his own way about everything. But, then, he was paying!

  Gary opened his door and stretched his long lean frame. Opening hers, she was hit by the cool, dawn air. As she put out her leg, Gary was round, waiting for her to jump down from the high chassis. She avoided his arms, then shivered as the wind caught her.

  With Lauren between them, the trio walked across the tarmac towards the low complex of buildings flying the flags of the European Union. Then Lauren caught the unmistakably French scent of hot croissants, strong coffee, wine and garlic. At the same moment, the wind cut into them.

  ‘Mistral,’ said Paul. ‘Blows all night, whines through the trees, then disappears into the heat of the day. Straight from Africa!’

  ‘Bit like us then,’ joked Paul. He and Gary had spent the last two weeks in West Africa, while Lauren had been tussling with the Spanish edits. That trip had nothing to do with this present Riviera book, but was referred to as ‘just a recce for some other business’. And there here had been no photographs, which wasn’t what usually happened. But she’d been told nothing, which she annoyed her as she’d presumed he’d be working on a West African assignment which he’d dump on her at the last minute. And he evidently hadn’t wanted her along either. Just Paul.

  ‘Mistral!’ repeated Lauren. ‘I like that word. It’s so – French.’

  ‘You mean romantic,’ Gary said.

  ‘Maybe,’ she quipped. Paul squeezed her elbow. Lauren knew the photographer understood the situation between her and Gary. He saw it as a game and had even made a £5 bet with her that Gary would win. Lauren was confident she wouldn’t lose her money, because everything was in hand. As they reached the café, Paul was looking behind him again.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘The usual,’ he replied. ‘Wash and shave.’

  ‘Not in the car park,’ she quipped. She knew Paul better than that. He was the least smart man she knew. That’s why she’d been surprised the first time she met him. He looked scruffy, except for his ring, which he wore on the middle finger of his left hand and never took off. The stone was brilliant, but the claw setting was ugly and ostentatious. She asked about it once.

  ‘That’s an unusual ring,’ she had said. ‘Where did you buy it?’

  ‘I inherited it.’

  ‘Is that a diamond?’

  ‘Russian,’ he’d said. ‘Made in the lab.’ She didn’t understand until she looked it up. Evidently, Russian diamonds were rare and much sought after, mined in inhospitable places like Siberia, but synthetic ones were manufactured in the lab. Ever since then when it had caught her eye, she was pretty sure it was cubic zirconia. Lauren loved jewellery.

  ‘Come on, you two!’ shouted Gary. They joined him and were all about to cross well ahead of a massive slowing lorry, when a red Ferrari shot past them with a screech of tyres and swung into a parking space opposite.

  ‘Idiot!’ shouted Gary, as he caught Lauren’s arm to steady her. She could feel herself shaking. Then the right hand door opened. A tall, tanned man wound himself out and hurried over.

  ‘Pardon, monsieur, je regrette...’

  ‘What was your driver doing? Trying to do kill us?’ a glaring Gary interposed. The Frenchman was about to reply when the driver of the Ferrari stretched up and out. Lauren had forgotten it was a left wheel drive.

  The woman was model-beautiful with a sheet of blonde hair, a white, belted raincoat, matching silk designer scarf and slim, wonderful legs encased in expensively-flimsy, leather boots.

  ‘Great pins,’ murmured Paul in Lauren’s ear. Gary was staring at her in silence. As though oblivious of their notice, the girl shrugged and walked straight past them. Then the Frenchman shrugged in turn and looked at Lauren. Up until then, she had not encountered such an enchanting little smile. The stranger’s casual clothes, the scarf, the cut of his jacket had a style that said St Laurent. She didn’t find only his clothes interesting. She was looking at his profile. He reminded her of the statue that Paul had photographed in Athens, the one that Gary had used for the frontispiece of his Greek travel guide. Instead of hard stone curls, this man had glossy black hair cut in the French way so that it seemed hardly cut, golden skin, dark eyes. Everything about him reminded her of all the rich young men she had met while she had travelled the world with Gary. There was one difference however. It was only a quick impression. He seemed sad.

  ‘Pardon, mam’selle.’ His dark eyes studied her directly with a challenging stare, which at the same time was full of fun. She looked away, feeling naïve and foolish and, a second later, Gary grabbed her arm hard. Lauren pulled away from him. Immediately, the Frenchman turned and followed his haughty, travelling companion.

  ‘I thought they’d given up that mam’selle stuff,’ Gary snarled to no one in particular, swore then exploded. ‘Women drivers!’

  ‘Good start to the day,’ murmured Lauren to Paul, but he wasn’t listening. He was taking a photograph of the Ferrari.

  ‘One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. What a beaut!’ he said.

  ‘Give me a Lamborghini any day,’ snarled Gary.

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