When Josie didn’t reply to Mark’s question, he looked sideways at her. ‘You’re jealous of her,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Why, because she’s Miss Perfect with her worthy job, or because she’s sexy and you aren’t?’
That stung Josie, for there was a time when Mark used to tell her she was the sexiest girl he’d ever known. It was of course before he conned her into love-making by telling her it would help her to relax when he was photographing her. But then he’d said he loved her too, and he didn’t act as if he did now. She wished so much that she had refused him, perhaps he’d have a bit of respect for her then. But when he crooked his finger, she obeyed him.
It happened for the first time on her sixteenth birthday. He took her for a Chinese meal, then back to her flat with a bottle of champagne. He sweet-talked her, telling her how beautiful she was, and describing the wonderful life they were going to have together.
Josie knew from other girls that the first time wasn’t usually very good, so she didn’t expect much. But suddenly he went from kissing her and telling her he loved her to brutality. He didn’t even stop to undress her, or let her get into bed properly. He just got on top of her like a wild thing. He was so rough, pushing her legs apart, thrusting his fingers inside her so hard it hurt. And all the time he was saying crude, dirty things.
She truly became his property then; he took her whenever he felt like it. There was never a warm cuddle first, or any tender kisses, just animal behaviour, as though he was the stallion and she was the mare.
Pretending to like it seemed the only option. On a few occasions when she had tried to refuse him, he just got nasty and hit her, and then it took longer because he seemed to enjoy it more. So mostly she put on Oscar-winning performances of total bliss. But perhaps he wasn’t fooled after all?
‘Who says I’m not sexy?’ she snapped. ‘That’s not what men in the street think. Don’t you remember that newspaper article that said men all over England have pictures of me stuck up in their garages and sheds?’
‘Just because you look sexy doesn’t mean you are,’ he said, and laughed. ‘I think it’s time I put you through a little test.’
‘What kind of test?’ Josie asked.
‘Wait and see,’ he said.
The test came when Josie had long forgotten that Mark had ever said he was going to set her one. In May the following year they went to the South of France for a photo shoot with six other models. Things had been very bad between her and Mark for months. She felt insecure because he was always saying he was going to drop her, and the more she tried to please him, the nastier he was.
He had gone from demanding sex practically every day to going weeks without as much as kissing her. And although this should have pleased her, she was afraid it meant he had someone else. He was always criticizing her too, saying she was stupid, lazy, that her Cornish accent irritated him, and that she did too many drugs.
It was true that they dominated her life. Sleeping pills at night, speed to wake her up in the mornings and cope with the pressure of work. She smoked pot or drank to mellow herself out, then took another sleeping pill at night to calm herself down. Yet Josie couldn’t see how he could blame her for this, he’d introduced her to drugs in the first place, and he smoked joints all day, and snorted coke too.
When Mark did seem to be really concerned about the weight she was losing, and said he’d arranged this job as it would be something of a holiday, she thought he’d begun to realize how badly he’d been treating her. They would be staying at a luxury hotel, dining out with millionaires and film stars on their yachts, and she would also have time to lie in the sun and recuperate. In a rare moment of real tenderness he said she was very precious to him, he even agreed he was overworking her. He promised the hectic pace would slow down soon, that he’d arrange for her to have driving lessons and get her a car when they returned from France.
Josie was overjoyed at that. Ellen had already learned to drive and bought a car, and from what she said about her visits back to their parents, they were more impressed by the car than anything.
Josie often wondered how she’d get by if she didn’t have Ellen. She was so utterly dependable, the only person in her life she knew she could rely on, whatever happened. She wrote every week, she would catch the train up to London whenever Josie asked her to, and Josie knew she could turn up at her flat at any time and always get a welcome. Not that she went very often, she wasn’t organized enough to catch trains. But she did phone her at least once a fortnight, wherever she was working.
Ellen could be counted on to listen to her grievances, to be impressed when Josie had met someone famous, to collect up her press cuttings and stick them in an album. She was even trying to lay the ground for their parents to accept an apology from Josie and forgive her. But that was her all over, she liked her life nice and tidy, and it couldn’t be, not when her sister wasn’t welcome at home.
As Josie set off for France with Mark she was feeling confident and optimistic. Mark seemed to value her again, and once she could drive she could go down to Cornwall and put everything right there. Her parents might not be impressed with her pictures in the papers, but tangible evidence of success, like a car, and perhaps buying them some luxuries, was bound to change their opinion of her.
Yet as soon as the photo shoot started in St-Tropez, Josie felt inadequate. The other models were older and far more sophisticated than she was, stunningly beautiful girls who’d made their names on the catwalks of Paris and Milan. They were chilly with her, perhaps resentful that she hadn’t paid her dues in gown showrooms and couture houses.
The hotel where they were staying and being photographed in evening dresses and ball-gowns was the grandest Josie had ever seen, with its white marble terraces, fantastic gardens, huge lounges and vast chandeliers. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt so intimidated if the French press hadn’t kept swarming round her, or if the hotel guests had been banned from the photo shoots. She felt so awkward, and for the first time in her life plain, as she watched the other models glide regally around as if they were born to such surroundings.
Normally she had no opportunity to drink while working, but here in a luxury hotel, she had only to wave her hand and a waiter brought her a cocktail. That and the heat made her drowsy and less receptive to instructions. She knew Mark was growing angry with her, but somehow she couldn’t seem to do anything right.
On the third afternoon when the shoot was over, Josie ran off down to the beach and leapt gleefully into the sea for a swim. She had only been in for a few minutes when Mark appeared and ordered her out and back to the hotel.
‘But why?’ she kept asking. He’d said the trip was to be a holiday too.
‘You can’t risk getting sunburn until the whole shoot’s over,’ he said curtly. ‘Now, go on up to your room, and put something fetching on, I’m bringing someone up to meet you.’
Mark never shared her room when they were working on location, he said it was because he had to treat all the models the same. This time Josie hadn’t minded at all, for the room was beautiful, with a six-foot bed, a white marble floor and its own balcony overlooking the sea. It was nice to have it all to herself and not have to put up with Mark urging her into sex games.
She had just showered and changed into a white mini-dress, when a waiter called with a bottle of champagne for her. He opened it and poured her a glass, then left. Assuming it was Mark’s way of making up to her for not letting her go swimming, Josie drank it down and poured herself another glass.
She had finished the whole bottle by the time Mark arrived, bringing with him a man he introduced as the Duke. He was a big Frenchman, with a large Roman nose and soft brown eyes, wearing a white linen suit.
Josie was too drunk and giggly to care whether he was a real duke or not. He was charming, kissing her hands and her cheeks and telling her how lovely she was in perfect English, and it didn’t even cross her mind that it was odd for Mark to get them to meet in her room.
Another bottle of champagne arrived and they drank most of it, Josie having the lion’s share, and then suddenly the Duke was urging her back on the bed and kissing her.
At first it seemed like a bit of fun, for Mark was sitting on the bed watching them and laughing. But as the Duke began unzipping her dress Josie grew alarmed and struggled.
‘Don’t be silly, Jojo,’ Mark said reprovingly. ‘I said I was going to set you a test to see how sexy you are. The Duke’s got a reputation of being the best lover in France, so just lie back and enjoy it.’
In her fuddled state Josie couldn’t tell whether the test was really to see if she enjoyed sex with another man better than with Mark, or if it was to see how loyal she was to him. But Mark seemed cross when she struggled, so she gave up and let the Duke make love to her.
It was lovely at first, he was far more gentle and sensuous than Mark, and a good kisser, so she closed her eyes to shut out Mark watching and just gave herself up to the pleasure of his probing fingers.
But suddenly she felt something cold and hard being pushed into her, and her eyes flew open. The Duke was naked now, and she could see he was hairy-chested with a pot-belly which almost hid his penis. He was kneeling up in front of her open legs and he was pushing what appeared to be her plastic shampoo bottle into her.
She looked at Mark in alarm, but he had his trousers open and he was masturbating as he watched. It was clear from his rapt expression that he wasn’t going to take kindly to her calling a halt to the proceedings.
In that moment she saw how little she meant to him, yet at the same time she also knew that if she broke up this scene, he would abandon her altogether. Better, she thought, to play along with it. Mark might even get jealous and value her more. She forced herself to let out a deep moan of simulated pleasure as the Duke pushed the bottle into her. She arched her back and thumped her arms down on the bed as if in the grip of passion.
It hurt, but as she glanced towards Mark she saw he was flushed with excitement, his eyes screwed up and his mouth open. Her reward was getting the bottle shoved into her even harder, and it was all she could do not to scream out in pain.
‘You like it, leetle one,’ the Duke said, leering down at her as he pushed the bottle in harder still. He had an erection now too, but his penis was a lot smaller than Mark’s.
‘Fuck me with your cock,’ she yelled out, thinking that was the only way out of it.
‘Not yet, my pretty one,’ he said, sweat running down his face. ‘I like to see you take all this first.’
She didn’t think there was room inside her for it to go any further, but still he forced it in, ramming it so hard that the pain went right through to her back.
‘Enough!’ she screamed out. ‘I want your cock, now.’
All at once he was into her, but even though his penis was half the size of the bottle, she was so sore it still hurt terribly.
His rasping, laboured breath seemed to fill the room, and she bucked under him trying to speed him along. But he was in no hurry, grinning down at her, his sweat dripping on to her face. Mark was watching them, gradually moving closer and closer to her until the tip of his penis was by her cheek. Josie knew he wanted her to take it in her mouth, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t do that.
With a guttural roar from deep inside him, the Duke came, and at the same time Mark did too, and his semen spurted all over her mouth.
It was shameful enough during the act, but even worse to be left there on the bed naked, as the two men hurriedly got up.
‘Thank you, madam,’ the Duke said, giving a little bow before reaching for his clothes.
Josie couldn’t bear even to look at Mark. She just hoped he would leave immediately and never come back.
‘There’s one more glass of champagne in the bottle,’ he said as he opened the door to go. ‘Enjoy!’
The door was hardly closed behind them when Josie began retching. She only just reached the lavatory in time. Again and again she vomited until there was nothing left but green bile, and the marble floor beneath her knees hurt her as badly as the bottle had.
She lay in a hot bath for hours, constantly sinking right under the water and staying there for as long as she could hold her breath. She had locked the room door from the inside so even a pass-key wouldn’t let anyone in. She hoped she would lose consciousness and drown so her misery would end.
When she finally came out of the bathroom, she saw it was dark outside, and she could hear the sound of music, laughter and clinking glasses wafting in through the open balcony doors from the terrace three floors down. The lights festooned on trees and along the seashore looked so pretty against the blackness of the sky and sea, it made her break down and sob like a small child.
It had been said so often in the press that she had the world at her feet. Yet it seemed to her that her life was more like being in one of those ghost trains at a funfair, lurching from one frightening and sickening scene to another, unable to get out of the car.
What had she done to deserve such humiliation? How could Mark say he loved her, then force her to do that with another man?
She was tempted to pick up the telephone and ring Ellen, to tell her what had happened. But she couldn’t. Ellen would tell her to pack her case and insist that she be given her ticket home immediately.
While the thought of walking away from Mark, the cameras and the other haughty models and the press was very appealing, she knew she’d pay dearly for it. The shoot had another two days to go and Mark would take his revenge by cutting her off from any further work. He’d stop paying her rent, and she’d be finished.
Mark came knocking on her door at midnight. By then Josie was all cried out, and she pulled on a long tee-shirt and opened the door readily, hoping for an apology.
Mark looked very distinguished in a black dinner jacket and a frilly dress-shirt, with the black tie hanging loose at his collar. His dark hair was slicked back into a pony-tail. ‘Why have you been skulking up here all evening?’ he asked coldly.
‘You know why,’ she said, turning away from him. ‘How could you do something like that to me?’
‘I didn’t do anything to you,’ he said with a shrug, walking into her room. ‘You let it happen.’
‘I didn’t, I didn’t want to.’ She began to cry again. ‘How can you share me with someone when you’re supposed to love me?’
He shut the door and turned to face her. His eyes were narrow with scorn. ‘Love you?’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘I don’t even like you most of the time. Look, get this straight, Jojo. I gave you what you wanted. I made your name for you. We have a business relationship, nothing more.’
‘But why do you sleep with me then?’ she bleated, her lips quivering.
‘You are such a child,’ he said contemptuously. ‘I have to get you up in the mornings, tell you what to wear, what to eat, what to do. So I fuck you now and again too. It doesn’t mean anything to me, but you expect it.’
Josie felt as though she had been punctured, as if all the beliefs she’d held on to were now whistling out of her. She hadn’t got the words to be able to tell him what he’d done to her. She felt completely powerless.
‘Let me go home,’ was all she could think of to say. ‘If you don’t love me, let me go.’
He caught hold of her arm and twisted it up and around her back. ‘Listen here, you silly bitch,’ he almost spat in her face. ‘I’ve invested a lot of time and energy in you. You will stay with me as long as I want you to. There’s no let-out clause.’
‘I won’t stay with you,’ she screamed at him. ‘You can’t make me.’
He let go of her arm and caught hold of her by the neck, digging his fingers hard into her skin. ‘You will stay,’ he said, his dark eyes boring into her. ‘I have enough material about you, your drinking and pill-popping to make the biggest stink you’ve ever smelt. Walk away from me and you’ll never work again as a model. All you’ll be good for is blue movies and tits-and-arse magazines. That won’t last long e
ither, a few years down the line and you’ll be washed up, no one will want to look at you. So wake up. See how good you’ve got it. Or else!’
Josie was frightened now, she knew he meant it. But she had to say one more thing while she still had the courage.
‘You’ve got to pay me what I earn then!’ she said, wriggling out of his grip. ‘I want real money, not pocket money. I’ll pay my rent myself, get my own car and all that. And I want to be able to go out without you around.’
He just stood there for a moment, a slight smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually, ‘if that’s what you want. You haven’t got a brain in your head, Jojo, and I know you’ll end up spending it all on drink and drugs. But as long as I get another year or so out of you, that’s all right with me.’
He turned and left then, banging the hotel door shut behind him. Josie reached for her bag and took out a sleeping pill.
Chapter Fifteen
1970
Ellen sat at the table in the window of her flat, a pile of photographs and press cuttings of Josie in front of her. It was the end of September and raining too hard to go out for a walk as she usually did on Sunday mornings, but she was happy to stay in and paste all this in her scrapbook. She’d been meaning to do it for weeks.
She loved her little flat above a shop next to the post office. It was on the busy Wells Road going out of Bristol, and a bit noisy from the traffic, but the open countryside was only a mile up the road, and the school where she worked only a ten-minute walk away. The rent was very low because when she first saw the flat, it was in a bad state, and the landlord was too old to cope with getting it done up. Ellen took one look at it and decided she could never find anything better in her price range. She liked the idea of scrubbing it out and doing it all herself anyway.
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