by Rebecca Heap
Sean turned the car in the direction of the west coast. Both of them remained silent and lost in their own ruminations. Sean had in mind to dump her at a service station and then get back home, before the alarm was raised and there was any watch on the airports.
“Stop!” This cry from Kate surprised Sean so much he lost concentration and the car suffered a momentary wobble to the left. He turned to Kate with considerable annoyance in his eyes but this did nothing to deter her from acting even more surprisingly, removing the sunglasses and tugging on his left arm, urging him again to “Please, stop!”
At this, for sheer safety’s sake, he pulled over to the hard shoulder at the side of the road, sharply applying the brakes. His frustration with the whole situation re-ignited and fused with his mortification over what had happened in the bedroom. Whilst his rage had been directed at himself for losing his usual self-control, it now turned to direct itself at Kate. Wasn’t she the reason everything had derailed and he’d lost his focus?
“What do you want?!” he roared. “Why do you keep being so fuckin’ difficult?”
She now shrank from the fury she saw in his face but found enough courage to speak again. “Please,” she implored, “please, just listen.”
He glowered at her. The explicit entreaty he saw in her eyes gave him pause but he just assumed she was going to beg for his mercy. “Do you know how easy this could have been if you’d just gone along quietly? I am not going to kill you or rape you, if that’s what you’re thinkin!”
She interrupted his diatribe with, “We need to go back! Now! Please!”
“What?” he exclaimed, completely taken aback. “What the hell do you mean? Back to Angela’s?”
She nodded. “Please, please! I’m begging you.” She sobbed and lowered her head, overcome by emotion.
Sean stared at her, utterly thrown by this request. He leaned forward and shook her. “Explain to me. Why? Why do you want to go back there?”
She raised her head then and he could see that tears were flowing down her face and she was shaking with distress. This alarmed him. He let go of her and gave her time to compose herself.
She finally looked up, tears still looming in her eyes, and said softly “I don’t expect you to understand. I’ve lost something…..something incredibly dear to me. A locket. It belonged to my mother.” She choked back more sobs on this last word. “The mother I barely remember.” She put a hand to her throat, “It’s gone. It must have come loose somehow. It must be back there, at the house.”
He regarded her scornfully. “Going back is not a good idea,” he stated. “You’ll just have to live without it.”
She knew she had to do something, anything, to convince him otherwise. In desperation she promised, “I’ll not cause you any more trouble. I’ll do everything you ask!”
He regarded her contemplatively. Perhaps she was still playing games – was there a hidden ploy in all this? But then what advantage would she gain in returning to the house? He dragged his eyes from her anguished gaze with difficulty, trying to look at this logically. If she was telling the truth about the lost locket and he did not recover it, it might be found. It sounded like a unique item and so might identify her and place her at Angela's. At this point nobody, not even Kate, knew where they'd been. Once discovered Angela could also be connected to him and might report it to the police. There was a risk in doing nothing and it would only take half an hour to drive back. What difference could this make?
CHAPTER 5
Brenna emitted a small moan of bliss as she sank into the warm embrace of the hot tub. The water bubbled up to greet her, matching the fizzing excitement of her heart that hadn’t quite recovered from recent events. She was still sure they’d chosen the wrong person and any minute now someone would come in to brand her as an imposter and force her off the premises. She glanced towards the door. No sign yet of being disturbed. Grinning she sank back under the water. Better get on with enjoying herself. Gazing up at the stars above her she thanked her lucky star, whichever one that was, for guiding her here.
It was certainly good luck that she’d had an argument with her mother, one in an endless round lately, which had resulted in her decision to bunk off college and go into town. Not that her mother really cared what she was doing. All she cared about was herself and her current boyfriend- the one that apparently loved her too much to ever try it on with her own daughter. How dare she even suggest such a thing? Why would he want her anyway? She was nothing. She was an ugly, skinny, carrot-top and always would be.
How she hated her! She’d longed to get out from under her but her brother had insisted she get her qualifications first. It was easy for him to say this, not so easy to live it when her mother was such a bitch and her live-in lover was little short of a paedophile. Not that she’d mentioned the last part to Sean. She didn’t want him getting himself all in a sweat.
Why was she dwelling on this now? What had happened since proved she was beautiful, at least in someone’s eyes. ‘Exceptional’ they’d called her. She didn’t need college anymore and she definitely didn’t need her mother. As her body began to relax and her heart finally slowed, she took her mind back over the past few hours to see if reflection would make it any more believable. She’d never even considered modelling before; she’d never thought herself photogenic. But that man had obviously seen something in her and he’d been right! Because here she was.
At first she’d thought he was just making a play for her. Smiling, she remembered how flattered she’d been. He’d been gorgeous after all. Ebony hair, olive skin, with such a sexy angel tattoo on his right, incredibly toned, bicep. She’d been sitting by herself, cradling a cup of coffee when he’d taken the chair opposite. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew she looked vulnerable and had instantly dismissed the idea he was truly interested in her. She’d even steeled herself to get rid of him.
But then he’d surprised her by slipping out a card and saying, “Don’t take this the wrong way but I think you’re exactly what we’ve been looking for. There isn’t much time, but you could still make the interview.”
She’d frowned.
He’d continued. “There’s my business card. We’re a legitimate agency. I’ve written the time and place on the back. We don’t normally operate this way, so forgive my intrusion. But please give it some thought. There’ll be other girls but I think you have a real chance. No harm in giving it a go, right?” He’d smiled - and what a killer smile! Squeezed her arm and left.
It was only when he’d gone and she’d picked up the card that she’d even realised what he was on about. “Sebastian Sethos,” it had declared. “Business Agent. Faces of the Future Modelling Agency.” She’d flipped it over. The address on the back was somewhere she could vaguely place. One of the new shiny office blocks on Queen Street, she thought, and the interview time was only an hour away. She’d been cautious of course. This could just be a trick of some kind. Then she’d shaken her head. She’d read too many thrillers lately. This was real life. But nothing like this ever happened to her in real life! In the end, the safest thing to do, she’d decided, was to take her friend Stacey with her as back-up.
She’d turned up with a giggling Stacey in tow, who’d had to miss her last class but had been more than willing to share the adventure. The man at the front desk had directed them to the fifth floor. There they had found other girls sitting on a line of chairs in the corridor. This had both reassured and frightened Brenna. So much competition! She had no chance. They’d all looked immaculately made-up and had what looked like portfolios on their knees. She’d nearly turned away.
But then an efficient looking, matronly woman with a clipboard had addressed her, asking for her name. Brenna hadn’t given it and, blushing with embarrassment, instead she’d said, “I think there’s been some mistake. You won’t have my name. I don’t think I should be here.”
Raising her eyebrows, the woman had retorted, “I’ll be the judge of that. Now why are you here? Did
someone invite you?”
Brenna had stuttered something like, “I think I’ll just go. I’m sorry to have troubled you…” as she’d backed towards the lift.
It was then the woman had spotted the card clutched in her hand. She’d prised it from her and nodded. “This is your invitation. Good.” Taking her arm and taking control, she’d admonished, “Don’t be shy. Come with me,” giving Brenna no choice but to acquiesce.
Stacey had made to accompany her but had been stopped. “No, no. Not you. You must leave.”
Stacey had looked disgruntled but Brenna had mouthed, “Don’t worry. It all looks OK. Speak later.” She had been led swiftly past the other girls, who had fired daggers at her because of her special VIP, jump the queue treatment.
At the end of the corridor there’d been some double-doors. She’d been ushered through into an open, well-lit room before a long desk with three extremely serious looking, suited people behind it. A large man sat in the middle with two very attractive, well-groomed women on either side of him, one blonde the other dark-haired. All of them had immediately focused on her, eyes all different in colour but no different in intensity. Feeling like a contestant on one of those wannabe pop star shows, she’d made an attempt to flatten her awry hair and had looked pleadingly at her chaperon for rescue.
Smiling, her escort had said to the waiting audience, “This is…” and leaning down had quietly asked Brenna her name, before finishing off her introduction.
Then the man on the panel had said, “Welcome Brenna.” He’d stood and held out his hand. His smile had looked odd as though not suited to his face, which was rather pug-like, but it had seemed genuine enough. “I’m Harry, and this is Hilary and Margot.” He’d gestured first to his right then his left, introducing the two chicly dressed women.
“Hi,” replied Brenna nervously as she’d instinctively moved forwards and taken his hand. His grip had been firm, his large hand completely engulfing her small one. He’d held on to her, turning her fingers over in his and studying the nails and skin. He’d then looked up and scrutinised her face. Brenna had swallowed, uncomfortable. His dark eyes had felt like ants scurrying over her skin. She shivered at the memory.
She’d been relieved when he’d released her hand but he’d not released his gaze. Examining a lock of her hair he’d asked abruptly, “Is this your true colour?”
Brenna had simply nodded, her mouth too dry to form words. Apparently satisfied, he’d then dismissed her with a flick of his hand, instructing her to return to the middle of the room. He’d sat back down and perused some papers on his desk for a minute, a minute that felt like forever to Brenna, as she’d stood there feeling like an insect under a microscope.
Then the questions had begun. Strangely this had put her more at ease. She had expected questions.
“We don’t have much detail on you, I’m afraid. May I ask you your age?”
“Sixteen,” she’d responded truthfully.
He’d seemed troubled by this, his face creasing a little. “Not still in school are you?” She’d vigorously shaken her head. He’d nodded in satisfaction. Then after a brief conversation with his two colleagues, he’d asked. “Could you turn around for us? Slowly please.”
As she’d revolved, feeling very self-conscious, Brenna had become convinced this was a candid camera show and any minute someone would jump out and surprise her.
Then Hilary, the blonde, had risen from her seat and walked towards her, carrying out a quick, but concentrated appraisal of her. Wishing she was wearing something a lot more flattering than her skinny jeans and favourite but well-worn top, Brenna had thought if this wasn’t a wind up, then it must be some kind of weird dream. Hilary returned to her seat and all three of them debated intensely between themselves.
What came next had come completely out of the blue. “We’re prepared to make you an offer,” Harry had said. “Subject, of course, to age verification and parental approval.”
Despair had quickly followed on the heels of elation. “Parental approval?” she’d queried. Her mother would positively revel in denying her such an opportunity. “My mother will never approve of this.”
“Father?”
She’d shaken her head.
“Do you have an appropriate adult who might stand in for them?“
She’d thought of her brother but quickly dismissed the idea of asking him. He’d definitely want her to finish college first.
“This isn’t going to happen, is it? I don’t even have a portfolio.” She was sure this would be the nail in the coffin.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, honey,” Margot had piped up. “We don’t put much store in pre-produced portfolios. Once you’re with us, we like to design our own around our concept of your unique selling points.”
Harry interjected. “Look, we like you. We think you have potential. But we need you to sign a contract with us so we can act as your agent and promote you. Because you’re under 18, in the absence of parental consent, there’ll have to be a disclaimer as well, confirming you understand the agreement and have waived the right to parental consultation. You ok with that?”
“Absolutely!” she’d confirmed without hesitation, her hopes reignited.
“Great.”
Margot had then shuffled some papers and produced a two-page document that she’d handed to Brenna with a pen, offering up her chair and saying, “Please sit down, whilst you read through it.”
At least it wasn’t some mammoth agreement with lots of small print. This comforted her but she’d taken her time examining it. Her brother had always counselled her to read any legal document carefully. It had looked OK to her. It talked about promoting and marketing with something about a 15% share in her income and a finder’s fee once a contract was secured. She appreciated they needed their cut. Still she hadn’t been sure, though. Maybe she should speak to her brother or get some legal advice first?
“Is there a problem?” Margot had asked, when she’d deliberated over it for a while.
“Do I need to sign this right now?”
“Not at all. Take it away if you like.” She’d shrugged but then continued, “Although there’s no guarantee we’ll still want you if you wait. We have a lot more interviews to get through.”
At these words she’d thought what the hell? What was the worst that could happen? She had nothing to lose.
With the agreement signed and stowed away, the other two had then risen from their chairs. Brenna naturally followed suit but was left rather flummoxed. “That’s it?”
“Yes. We’re absolutely delighted to have you with us.”
Brenna shook her head. “But what does that mean?”
“It means you’re officially ours now, dependent on medical checks. Don’t look so surprised. You don’t have any hidden scars or birth marks we should know about do you?” Amusement had permeated her voice.
Brenna had shaken her head, numb with astonishment. “So, what happens now?”
“Go home. Pack.”
“Pack?”
“Yes. We like our model prospects to live on site, as stipulated in the agreement. Oh, and make sure to include some swimwear.” Brenna half recalled seeing some note about location but hadn’t fully appreciated what it meant.
“Gives us the opportunity to polish you, refine you and create your portfolio,” she’d expanded. A car will pick you up in say,” she consulted her watch, “an hour. That give you time enough to pack and say your goodbyes?”
“No kidding?” Brenna had asked, her whole body buzzing with nervous excitement.
“No kidding.”
That had been the start of this amazing adventure. She put a hand to her mouth remembering with glee just how much satisfaction she’d got in telling her Mum where she could stick it and just what she thought of her. Happily letting the resulting tirade wash over her, the words no longer having the power to hurt, she’d quickly packed, dashing out of the house as soon as she’d heard the car pull up. Her mother had h
ad it coming for a long time. Wrenching her at 6 years old away from her brother – the only proper family she’d ever known - just because she could.
That moment of loss came back to her suddenly, vividly. She remembered screaming as her mother dragged her away and her brother attempted to stop her, lashing him with the words, “She’s mine. You’re only her brother. You have absolutely no parental rights. Now get away from her.” She’d had no regard for Brenna’s well-being only for the power thrill it gave her to take something precious from someone else. This is what drove her. After all, how many marriages had she destroyed, not including her own?
Brenna bit her lip hard in an attempt to brook the tears that began to form. Silly girl! Why was she thinking of the past? She shook her head. No tears now, she swore to herself. Never again over her mother. It was time to concentrate on the future. She was free. Finally, and unexpectedly, free of her mother and her old predictable, painful life. It was crazy! Crazy but true! She pummelled the water with her fists in excitement and then she heard an exclamation of reproach and her head slipped under the water in surprise. She had a visitor.
She came back up spluttering, her face reddening even more when she saw that she had soaked him. She’d been so busy in her own head she had failed to notice his appearance. He stood at the entrance to the patio, brushing at the water she’d showered him with, an amused smile on his face.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself but I think it’s time you got out before you wrinkle up like a prune,” he remarked.
It was the man who’d left his card with her at the café. Sebastian. Goggling him and struggling to compose herself, she was at a loss for words. She almost sank back under the water so extreme was her mortification, not helped by how unnervingly attractive she found him. He must surely be a model himself?