by Havana Adams
Alex was filled with an unexpected embarrassment that this short, strident, argumentative thing, his little sister’s best friend no less, could so comprehensively burrow under his skin. They had reached the front steps of the house and Talia stopped on the first step. She turned around to face him.
“Well then Alex Golden, I am your friend, you can finally look yourself in the mirror and accept that you live in the 21st century and men and women can be friends.”
Alex let out a laugh.
“A female friend. Who’d believe it?” He said dryly. “Don’t tell Daily World or my reputation will be in tatters.”
They both laughed quietly, the sound carrying gently on the warm night air. They were silent for a moment and as she looked up at him, her wide brown eyes meeting his blue ones, Alex felt a shift between them. Without conscious thought, his eyes drifted to her lips and then back to her eyes. In the dim light, he could see her eyes widen a fraction; she too sensed this thing between them, this unexpected and yet not unwelcome charge of electricity. Alex raised his hand and rested it on her arm.
“Talia….” he began and knew at once that by speaking he had broken the spell. He watched Talia’s eyes snap back to focus.
“I should get inside,” she said quickly. “I’ll see you on Monday.” Alex nodded and watched as she disappeared into the house.
Slowly he began the walk back up the road, hailing a black cab as one swung into view. As he settled into the back seat, Alex was filled with a sense of something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but a sense nonetheless that he had just begun something momentous.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Helena was striding through the Eurostar Terminal at St Pancras train station in Central London with an expression so glacial that any of the men who were taking second and even third glances at her, rethought any intention of approaching her. In leather stiletto Gucci ankle boots, she was close to 6ft and as she walked purposefully through the terminal she made an arresting sight, mobile phone in one hand and her Mulberry Piccadilly travel bag hooked in the crook of her elbow. If she’d been on a catwalk, Tyra Banks herself would have deemed her walk fierce and in her skinny fitted black jeans, a stripy Agnes B Breton t-shirt and a cropped biker leather jacket, Helena’s edgy look matched her mood.
After the initial meeting and several heated phone calls with Tobias, she’d had to concede defeat. Gabe had gone over her head and Tobias adored the idea of Sula on the cover alongside the magazine’s very own deputy editor. Sula too had apparently fallen in love with Gabe’s proposal. For Helena to have continued to argue the point would have been probable career suicide and so she had agreed to the photo shoot. She gritted her teeth as she swiped her ticket through the automatic reader and moved towards the Eurostar first class departure area. The train had already begun boarding and she headed down the platform to the carriage, spotting Gabe ahead of her wearing a pair of Ray Bans as he strolled onto the train.
Helena entered the quiet carriage, which thankfully was half empty with only half a dozen or so suit-wearing executive types. She and Gabe made eye contact as she entered the carriage and she watched his eyes scan her appearance but wisely he remained silent. Her temper had been on a knife-edge all weekend and perhaps Gabe sensed that she needed only the slightest of provocation to really lose it. Helena reached up to stow her bag in the overhead luggage racks and then she dropped into a seat opposite Gabe. Immediately, she pulled out her large leather-bound notebook and began making notes. On her blackberry she tapped out emails to the team at Époque House who would be helping co-ordinate the logistics for the French shoot. The train had slowly begun to pull away from the station, the glass roof of St Pancras Station giving way to open blue sky, before Gabe finally spoke.
“Are you going ignore me all the way to Paris?”
Helena glanced up from her blackberry only momentarily.
“That is the intention – yes,” she replied sharply and bent her head back to the notes in front of her.
Talia was still gasping from her run on the heath as she let herself into the Hampstead house. Kicking off her running shoes, she moved into the kitchen, gulping down a glass of water as her breath slowly returned to normal. As she caught sight of her sweat soaked face in the hallway mirror, she grimaced. Once, she may have been a schoolgirl cross-country champion but those days were now long gone. The hectic schedule when she’d been working on Encounters, the long days, early mornings, story conference away days - had given her little time to get to a gym and the fatty canteen food and the carb heavy bagels and muffins that were always laid on for story meetings hadn’t helped either. Her body which had always been athletic with curves in all the right place had started to inch slowly towards the dumpy side of the fence and being only 5ft 4, didn’t help matters either. But since she’d been out of a job, Talia had tried to begin a new routine of exercise and her body was slowly starting to adjust. In her fitted training top and running leggings, Talia sucked in her stomach, her shape was once again returning to the right side of hourglass but she would always have to work to stay in shape, she wasn’t one of those women who easily kept the weight off. She started to head up the stairs when she heard the insistent ring of her phone. Talia ducked back down the stairs and immediately accepted the call not pausing to check the caller ID.
“You’ve made it girl.” The words were followed by a squeal of laughter and Talia recognised the voice of her friend Simone.
“What are you talking about?” She asked.
“You haven’t seen it?” Simone demanded. “Go to the shops and buy a copy of Buzz. Actually open your laptop and get on to their website.”
Talia groaned. Much as she loved her peripheral involvement in the entertainment industry, she had little interest in the weekly gossip magazines. Simone by contrast lapped it all up with relish.
“You know I don’t read that shit,” Talia replied.
“You’ll want to read this one, trust me.”
“Fine, fine,” Talia answered already opening her laptop and waking it from sleep mode. She tapped some keys and navigated to the Buzz home page waiting as the page loaded. “What am I looking for?” she asked.
“You’ll know when you see it,” was Simone’s cryptic response and Talia sighed, feeling sweat running down her neck. All she wanted was a shower and then to get on with the pile of scripts she had to read.
“Oh my god.”
Talia gasped the words out as the Buzz page finally loaded and she was confronted with a photograph of herself alongside Alex, a photograph that must have been snapped the night before.
“Told you,” Simone responded with a laugh.
“I’ve been papped.”
“You’ve really made it now,” Simone agreed.
“I look like a bag lady,” Talia moaned as she scanned the photograph. Her shirt-dress over leggings combination now seemed even more of a fashion faux pas. Her legs looked dumpy in those flats and her hair was an unsightly disastrous frizz ball.
“Well, I wouldn’t read the comments,” Simone replied diplomatically. But already Talia’s eyes were scanning down to the 59 readers comments.
“ ‘That dress is Fugly’,” Talia read.
“Stop reading,” Simone instructed. But Talia was skimming down as the words jumped out at her.
“ ‘Hot mess, Dumpy, minger…. Old…’ Oh my god. These people are so harsh.” She wailed.
“The people who read this rubbish are arseholes with no lives,” Simone said firmly.
“You read these mags and you’re not an arsehole with no life,” Talia pointed out.
“That’s true.” Simone agreed.
“They’re right,” Talia finally said, “that dress is Fugly.” She rose from the kitchen table, already a plan was formulating in her head.
“You’ll be yesterday’s news by this afternoon,” Simone assured her but Talia’s mind was already made up.
“What are you doing today? She asked her friend.
<
br /> “Supposed to be doing a shot list for this shoot… Why?”
“We’re going shopping.”
After she’d showered, picking her nicest pair of rather too snug skinny jeans and a v-necked vest that flattered her breasts giving her an attractive cleavage, Talia assessed her wardrobe. Most of it she’d put in storage after moving out of Nina’s but a lot of those clothes, Talia knew could be thrown away. The things she’d moved into the Hampstead house with were similarly unimpressive. Baggy jeans, oversized tops and apart from the DVF dress and Charlotte Olympia shoes that Helena had given her, little that could be called feminine or sexy. She’d been saving most of her pay from Alex towards her flat deposit but today, Talia decided she would carpe diem – she was on a new path now and that demanded a whole new image.
Some women ate when they were depressed, others turned to alcohol when the blues hit but for Tamara shopping was her drug of choice. Not that she would ever admit to being depressed. In the days after she had spotted Vassily and his young lover, she had readied herself for his call. Rich men all had multiple mistresses and for a billionaire she was ready to adapt, she would simply have to suck it up. But once again Vassily had failed to call. Again he had left her high and dry. Acid rage boiled in Tamara and she lashed out at anyone stupid enough to cross her. On set she had been shorter than ever and poor Casey had gone home crying more times in the last week, than in the preceding two years of working for Tamara.
Tamara had stalked down Sloane Street almost without seeing, even as she’d purchased a pair of two-tone Chanel ballet pumps, three pairs of Jimmy Choo heels, a bracelet at Cartier and a scarf at Hermes. Never mind that just the week before she’d received a panicked call from her accountant warning her that her finances were at buckling point, that she could not keep spending so much more than she earned. Her agent too had called with an offer of a TV commercial for probiotic yoghurt and Tamara had scoffed. She’d left modelling behind and she would not, could not face the ignominy of doing a yoghurt advert. Maybe fragrance or a cosmetic ad but yoghurt… Never.
Having exhausted the shops and boutiques of Sloane Street, Tamara had felt a yen for Central London and had hopped into a cab that dropped her outside Selfridges. She strode into the Department store when ahead of her she spotted a young black woman staring at her. For a moment she fought to place the face and then it came to her; the storyliner – Talia; who somehow was now working for Alex. She would have liked to simply pass the girl by but somehow they seemed to be on an inevitable collision course and within moments, they were face to face. Tamara would have left her acknowledgment at just a nod but as she moved to go past Talia, a hand snaked out to stop her.
“Don’t you have something to say to me?” Talia demanded. Silently Tamara gave the girl a bravo, it seemed the mousy little thing had learned to roar.
“Darling is that you.” She watched Talia’s mouth drop open and next to her, her friend, a tall black girl with incredible bone structure stared at her with daggers in her eyes. But Tamara wasn’t fazed. She had several years on these children and she had faced bigger enemies than them.
“You screwed me,” Talia snapped. “You destroyed my career.”
“You’ve landed on your feet now, haven’t you? Working for Alex and obviously he pays you well,” Tamara replied nodding at the bags that Talia and Simone were weighed down with. You were just a nobody. I did you a favour, so just thank me and run along.” Tamara watched the shock flicker across the girl’s face and waited for her comeback. In her dark mood, Tamara was enjoying the confrontation and she wondered how far the girl would take it. She watched Talia’s eyes flicker and then she nodded and turned and walked away, her friend following closely behind. For a moment Tamara was disconcerted, she’d been sure that Talia would push harder, cause a scene but what she had seen in the girl’s eyes had been different, there’d been a hardness there and Tamara understood, more than most, what hardness did to people. For a moment she wondered if she’d played it wrong, perhaps she should have been a tad more remorseful or at least heaped the blame on Damian. Then with a shrug Tamara shook it off moving towards the perfume counters. In the grand scheme of things this storyliner was a nobody. She need not concern herself with her.
Helena looked up with trepidation at the imposing façade of her mother’s building on the Rive Gauche of Paris. Gabe emerged from the car that had ferried them directly from Gare du Nord and he too looked up at the building and whistled, it was an impressive sight, majestic even. It had been a while since Helena had visited her mother in Paris and if she’d been alone she might have stopped and allowed herself to admire the grandeur of the architecture, she might have turned to stare at the lapping waters of the Seine, which today was dappled with streaks of sunshine. But in her current mood, she simply wanted to get the impending ordeal over with as soon as possible.
“You ready?” Gabe asked her with a smile. The first words they’d exchanged since boarding the train at St Pancras in London.
“Are you ready?” Helena replied with a measured expression. As Gabe nodded with his usual casual confidence, Helena turned and walked towards the concierged entry to the building and she smiled inwardly. Gabe had no idea what he’d let himself in for with Sula and that, she thought grimly, was the only up side to the mess she was in. They rode up the lift in silence and as they stepped out onto the penthouse floor, Helena smiled as her mother’s friend and assistant Segolene stepped forward, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek in the customary Parisian way.
“Segolene Ça Va?” Helena asked with genuine warmth. If not for Segolene’s work no doubt Sula would have bankrupted herself by now. “Vous êtes bien?” Segolene nodded as she took in Helena’s outfit.
“Helena you look well, very thin,” she finished with a nod of approval as she turned to acknowledge Gabe. Before Helena could make the introduction. Gabe had stepped forward himself.
“Gabe Tynan,” he said. Segolene smiled leaning forward to kiss him on both cheeks too.
“But of course, I know your work,” Segolene said before turning to walk back into the apartment with Helena and Gabe behind her.
Though the apartment had been in the family since she was a child, Helena never grew tired of the incredible spacious sitting room. One whole side of the room was dominated by three sets of French doors, which opened out on a magnificent view of the Seine and the île St Michel and beyond that the spires and gargoyles of Notre Dame cathedral. Helena felt a smile spread across her face, as she remembered summers spent in the apartment as a child, when Alex would chase her around while they waited for Sula, and whichever lover was currently in tow, to return from some glamorous party or dinner. Behind her she heard Gabe whistle as he moved to one of the open French doors and took in the view.
“Nice,” he said and then he turned back to Segolene, an expectant look in his eyes. Helena meanwhile dropped into a comfortable armchair, as Segolene took a seat primly in another chair. Gabe remained standing watching them both with a puzzled expression.
“So...?” He finally asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice as he watched Segolene pluck at an imaginary thread on the hem of her skirt. Segolene looked to Helena who shrugged.
“So where is my dear maman,” she asked flatly.
“She was very excited when Tobias called, but you know how she gets, excited, hyper and then nervous…. She’s gone.” Segolene finished. Helena rolled her eyes even as she saw Gabe start in shock.
“Gone!” He exclaimed, “Gone where?” Segolene gave a quintessentially French shrug.
“With Sula who knows. But she always comes back usually within days sometimes weeks.” Segolene nodded with finality even as Gabe gaped at her before spinning around to face Helena.
“What the hell are we supposed to do now?” He practically shouted. Helena rose with a bland smile.
“You want her for your cover? Then we wait,” she said. Turning to Segolene, Helena bestowed another pair of kisses on her. “Vous
me téléphonez quand elle returner?” As Segolene nodded, Helena turned to watch the bemused expression on Gabe’s face as he reluctantly fell into step behind her following her out of the apartment. As they waited for the lift, Gabe turned to her a look of accusation in his eyes.
“You knew this would happen didn’t you?”
Helena gave him a tight smile.
“I told you my mother was… difficult.” They stepped into the lift and Gabe stroked his stubbled jaw with frustration. “Don’t worry,” Helena assured him with a smile, “she almost always turns up.” She heard Gabe mutter a curse under his breath and Helena hid her smile. Welcome to my world, she thought with a burst of schadenfreude.
Talia sat at a small table in the garden, luxuriating in the bright midday sunshine as she typed up yet another set of script notes for Alex. Thankfully the quality of the scripts had improved slightly but Alex seemed hardly inclined to read her notes let alone the scripts. She tossed another script onto the pile and was leaning over to pick up the next one when she jumped as she noticed Alex standing in the kitchen doorway looking out onto the garden, watching her.
“Damn,” she muttered. “Alex, you scared me.” Slowly he walked towards her.
“Sorry.”
Talia watched him as he came towards her. The sun seemed to spark off him, making him seem even more, well, golden. She shook her head as she tried to dispel the daft notion, but there was no denying that in the long khaki shorts and linen white shirt he looked like a male model who’d just stepped off a Ralph Lauren catwalk.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked hoping he would not notice that he’d flustered her.
“A while,” he said as he took a seat at the table and continued to stare at her. “Nice hair cut.” Talia’s hand darted to smooth down her sharp new bob and she smiled, her face warming at the compliment.
