Platinum Coast

‘Look at the state of me,’ she sighed, peeling the snagged black fish-net stockings down her slim legs and pointing to a large, sticky stain on her gaudy red-lace basque where a child had pressed a melting ice-lolly.

‘Whoever said modelling was glamorous ought to be shot,’ she commented.

Janine, clad in G-string panties with a stetson obscuring part of her face, was trying to pull a cowboy boot off one of her bruised feet. She nodded and replied through a haze of cigarette smoke.

‘It’s glamorous, Christina, when – or should I say if – you get into one of the big agencies in London. My friend Sharon works for Models One. She’s just finished a big calendar shoot with Patrick Lichfield. She went to the Caribbean for three weeks, came back really tanned and got signed up three days later to do another big tropical location shoot for Cosmo.’

Janine looked down at her distorted feet and then back at Christina.

‘Now that’s what I call glamorous modelling.’

Christina nodded and sighed, ‘I must admit I’ve thought about going to London lots of times, and if I have to do many more jobs like this I’ll be on the next train.’

Janine pushed the stetson to the back of her head and took a long drag on her cigarette, staring at Christina’s even profile.

‘You should go. You’re definitely pretty enough.’

Christina was about to accept the compliment when the girl went on, ‘I’m stuck here in Manchester whether I like it or not – that is, until my little boy gets older. At least here I can rely on my mum to look after him, and whatever I earn helps.’

Christina watched Janine stand up and pull on faded 501s and a blue chambray shirt.

‘How old is your son?’ Christina asked, and began to pull her own clothes out of a small leather grip.

‘Eighteen months.’ Janine hesitated before continuing, ‘He’s only got me, you see. I don’t even know where his father is.’ She shrugged, a resigned look on her pretty face. Picking up a shabby canvas bag, she said brightly, ‘Hope to see you around some time. I’m sure I will.’ She smiled warmly and her big brown eyes twinkled. ‘But take my advice and get yourself up to London. That’s where the real money and glamour are.’

‘Maybe I will,’ Christina replied, and waved as she left. She finished dressing, thinking about what the other girl had said. Perhaps it was time for a change, to try her luck in London? What had she to lose after all?

It was a few minutes after eight and raining heavily when Christina arrived at her small flat in West Didsbury, five miles south of Manchester city centre.

‘Susie, I’m home,’ she called as she turned the key in the front door and stepped into the narrow hall of the terraced house’s ground-floor flat. There was no reply. A few moments later she remembered that her flatmate was going out with Nick, her boyfriend, that night.

Christina was pleased to be alone. She was dog-tired and relieved not to have to listen to Susie’s incessant chatter. She walked into the tiny kitchen, planning to go to bed early with a large glass of white wine, a giant bag of Golden Wonder crisps, and Yuki, her Siamese cat, hopefully to be in a deep sleep before Susie and Nick could arrive back and keep her awake with their noisy lovemaking.

‘Shit.’ She slammed the fridge door shut angrily. ‘Thanks, Susie,’ she muttered, thinking how typical it was of her flatmate and the obnoxious Nick to drink the last drop of Christina’s Frascati.

She poured herself a large gin instead, filled the tumbler with warm tonic, and managed to find half an ice-cube under an out-of-date packet of frozen peas.

Christina picked up her cat, and carrying her under one arm, the gin and tonic in the other hand, and the bag of crisps held between her teeth, padded towards her bedroom.

There was a message sellotaped to her bedroom door, penned in Susie’s almost illegible scrawl.

Kate Mason from your agency rang. She asked if she could give a Mr Stephen Reece-Carlton your telephone number. He was trying to reach you urgently.

If he is the same Reece-Carlton I think he is, you’ve snared a big one, Chrissy!

Don’t wait up for me. Nick has been away for a week and is as horny as hell – had to do it before we left the house, so God knows what time I’ll emerge in the morning!

Sleep tight.

Susie.

‘Stephen Reece-Carlton?’ Christina said the name out loud. ‘Where have I heard that name before?’ she asked herself, and searched her memory whilst peeling off her clothes and hanging them carefully in the small fitted wardrobe.

She lay on top of the bed in a big baggy nightshirt and took a deep gulp of her gin and tonic. Yuki crept across the bedspread and snuggled close to her. Christina tickled the cat’s tummy, enjoying the softness of her warm coat.

It was then she remembered where she had seen the name before. Stephen Reece-Carlton was co-owner with Robert Leyton of the Westside Shopping Centre – his name had been mentioned in the Manchester Evening News a couple of weeks ago. Stephen … she remembered Robert Leyton’s behaviour towards the man she had been talking to at the mall. They had obviously been business associates. Pale-green eyes, a strong determined jaw … So that was Stephen Reece-Carlton!

Maybe this time she would let Kate pass on her number, something she had automatically refused on every occasion before now.

‘Christina, you must go out with him. You’re mad if you don’t,’ Susie said between mouthfuls of cornflakes.

‘Why must I just because he calls my agency and asks for my private number?’

‘Then he calls you ten minutes after he gets the number and asks you out. If that’s not keen, what is?’ Susie cut in.

‘I don’t even know the man. Why should I go out with a complete stranger?’ Christina said, and took a sip of tea from a Snoopy mug she was holding.

Susie scooped up the last of her cornflakes and pointed the spoon in her direction.

‘He’s filthy, stinking rich, that’s why.’

Christina raised her clear brown eyes, ‘I might have known that would be your reaction. For God’s sake, Susie, is that all you can think about? The size of their wallet?’

Susie pulled a face, considering. ‘The size of their dick?’

Christina burst out laughing in spite of herself.

‘I could get lucky, Susie. He might be blessed in both departments.’

‘Then, my girl, you’ve hit the jackpot. Go on, call him back and tell him you’ll see him.’

‘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.’

Christina shook her head. ‘No thanks, I’d be far better off working in Tesco.’

Several heads turned as Christina walked into the foyer of the Midland Hotel.

She had dressed carefully for her dinner date with Stephen Reece-Carlton. Fifty pounds drawn out of the bank and twenty borrowed from Susie had bought her a mid-calf-length dress and jacket in a dark emerald-green jersey wool. She had chosen black suede shoes and carried a matching suede clutch-bag. Her mane of hair had been blow-dried by Anthony at Headlines and fell past her shoulders in glossy soft waves.

She wore fake diamond stud earrings and a delicate antique watch which had been her grandmother’s.

‘Christina!’ She heard her name called as she walked through the hotel reception heading for the bar.

She turned, an anticipatory smile lighting her face, expecting to see Stephen Reece-Carlton. Instead she was surprised to see Martin Ward waving to her from the reception area. He was a prominent figure in the city, having been signed recently by Manchester United as their great white hope of a goal-scorer for the eighties. She waved back and watched him excuse himself from the two people he was talking to and walk over to where she was standing in the lift lobby.

‘Christina, how are you? Long time no see.’ A wide smile lit up his boyishly handsome face. She laughed.

‘The last time I saw you, Martin Ward, you were so drunk I don’t think you could see or hear anything.’

He hung his head in mock shame, and she noticed how his longish blond hair curled slightly in at the nape of his neck.

‘I do remember some things about that evening. You were wearing red and I was wearing black.’ He looked at her with amusement in his grey-green eyes.

She laughed, ‘I never wear red with this hair.’ She lifted a strand. ‘And to be honest, I can’t remember what you were wearing.’

She glanced at her watch. It was 7.45; she was late. He noticed.

‘Got a date?’

‘Yes, I have, and I’m late. Lovely to see you. Oh, by the way, how’s Carol?’

Martin pulled a face.

‘Carol has progressed to pastures greener. She met a man with more money than sense who is at this moment indulging her every fantasy.’ He winked. ‘Well, not every fantasy – you know Carol! – but she seems to be having fun.’

‘Sorry to rush, Martin, but I really do have to go.’

‘It seems like every time we meet we’re either in a hurry or with other people. How about we change that pattern and I take you out for a meal?’

Christina nodded. ‘I’d like that. You’ve got my number – call me.’

‘The club is organizing a big dinner-dance in a couple of weeks’ time, so if you can get the ball-gown and tiara out of wraps, I’d love you to be my guest.’

‘I would like Christina to be my guest this evening, if possible.’ Both Christina and Martin turned at the sound of the voice.

‘Stephen.’ Christina looked flustered. ‘Sorry, I met an old friend.’

‘Not so much of the old!’ Martin smiled with the confidence of a young man who has found fame and fortune in his early twenties. Stephen did not. An awkward silence followed, broken by Christina’s bright voice saying, ‘Stephen Reece-Carlton – Martin Ward.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Stephen said, his voice curt.

‘Likewise,’ Martin said, equally abruptly, and he turned to Christina with a smile. ‘Hope to see you soon. Take care.’

He walked back to join his friends. Stephen glanced at his watch.

‘I think we’d better push straight off. I made a reservation for 8.30.’

‘Where?’

‘A surprise,’ he replied, and took her gently by the arm, steering her towards the hotel entrance.

A uniformed doorman held open the door of a dark-blue Mercedes coupé, and Christina noticed that Stephen gave him a pound-note tip.

They drove south out of Manchester.

‘How long have you been modelling?’ Stephen asked after they had been driving for about five minutes.

‘For almost a year, since I left school with bad A-level grades. I met a woman called Kate Mason at a friend’s party. She’s the top agent in Manchester and suggested I should become a model. I got work very quickly and easily, and as you probably know, the money when you’re working regularly is pretty good.’

Stephen detected a flat note in her voice. ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic’

‘I’m not, really. I get so many boring jobs to do I sometimes feel I’m wasting my time.’

‘Like opening shopping centres?’

She laughed. ‘I’m afraid standing for ten hours in a busy shopping centre is not exactly the stuff of modelling dreams.’

‘I know that, but like you said on Saturday, a gal has to eat.’

‘I wish I could eat a little better sometimes,’ she said, and glanced at his firm profile.

‘Well, Miss O’Neill, I can guarantee you are going to eat well tonight.’

‘Where are we going? Please tell.’ Stephen thought she sounded like an excited schoolgirl.

He looked at the speedometer. ‘Ten more miles and all will be revealed.’

Fifteen minutes later they drove into the picture-postcard village of Prestbury, and pulled into the car park of the Legh Arms.

Christina let out a whoop. ‘The Legh Arms! I’ve always wanted to come here. Wait until I tell Susie. She’s going to be so green.’

‘Who’s Susie?’ Stephen asked.

‘My flatmate. She once said to me we would have to save up for a year to come to the Legh Arms.’

Stephen was pleased. He jumped out of the car and helped her out. Christina walked into the smart restaurant, head held high and face glowing with excitement.

She was oblivious to the admiring stares from other diners as she swept past, but Stephen noticed.

The tables were laid with pink cloths and silver cutlery. Stephen ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon.

‘I hope you like champagne?’ he asked, after the waiter had left. She was tempted to say no just to see his reaction, but thought better of it. ‘I love champagne,’ she said, and added, ‘When I can get it.’

Her experience actually amounted to a lukewarm glass which had been served with great pomp and ceremony at a cousin’s wedding, but there was no need to make herself appear gauche, was there?

Christina had never heard of half of the dishes on the big menu she was given, and decided to play safe and have whatever Stephen had to start and Sole Bonne Femme as a main course, a dish she had had at the same wedding. It seemed more sophisticated than ordering a plain steak.

The waiter arrived to take their order.

‘Christina, what would you like to start,’ Stephen asked.

‘I’m not quite sure yet; you choose,’ she answered from behind the large menu card.

‘I would like avocado and prawns to start, please,’ Stephen said, and paused. ‘And to follow, Steak Diane.’

‘How would you like it cooked, sir?’ the waiter asked.

‘Medium.’

‘And madam?’ The man waited, pen poised.

‘I think I will take avocado and prawns as well, please, and Sole Bonne Femme to follow.’

The champagne arrived and Christina drank two glasses in quick succession. She had eaten very little that day, so by the time the avocado arrived she was feeling lightheaded. She stared at the dark-green fruit on her plate, covered with prawns and a Marie Rose sauce.

‘Bon appétit,’ Stephen said, and pushed his spoon into the centre of his pear.

Christina did the same, and scooped up a big piece of avocado which she placed in her mouth. It tasted bitter and waxy and she was tempted to spit it out. But Stephen was watching her, a slightly bemused expression on his face. She swallowed without chewing and almost choked. A spluttering sound came out of her throat, followed by a violent fit of coughing.

‘You’ll have to excuse me.’ She stood up. ‘I’m sorry. Something must have gone down the wrong way.’

Stephen stood up, concerned. ‘Are you okay?’ Her face was scarlet and two spots of Marie Rose sauce stained the collar of her dress.

‘I’m fine, really. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

She rushed into the ladies’ room and began rubbing the unsightly stains off her dress, talking to herself in the mirror. ‘You idiot! Why did you order something you didn’t know? You’ve made a fool of yourself now.’

She returned a few minutes later, quite composed, and noticed the way Stephen rose from his seat as she sat down. Christina had never before been out with anyone who had such impeccable manners.

‘Okay now.’

He looked concerned. Her avocado had disappeared and in its place was a tiny crystal glass containing something white and frozen.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s lemon sorbet to refresh your palate. I can get the avocado back if you like?’

‘No thanks,’ she said quickly, and took a mouthful of the cool, refreshing sorbet. ‘Mmm, delicious.’ She paused and then looked across the table at Stephen. She could read nothing in his expression.

‘I have a confession to make,’ Christina said, and took another scoop of her sorbet.

Stephen took a sip of champagne and looked at her over the rim of his glass.

‘You hate avocado?’ he said, and chuckled as she blushed.

‘How did you guess?’

‘Not difficult if you’d seen the expression on your face when you took the first mouthful!’

‘To tell the truth I’ve never heard of it until tonight, and I don’t think I’ll be having it again in a hurry.’

‘It’s an acquired taste,’ Stephen said, and lifted his champagne glass. ‘Like good wine.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ Christina raised her own glass and touched his.

‘To acquired taste,’ she said.

‘And to the money to acquire it,’ he replied.

The Steak Diane and Sole Bonne Femme were perfection, as were the Chablis Grand Cru and the Belgian truffles and liqueurs served after dinner, Christina having declared herself too full for anything else.