Chelsea Wives. Anna-Lou Weatherley

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      A waiter approached the table.

      ‘Give us five, Marcello, there’s a poppet,’ Cressida cooed, watching his tight arse as it wiggled off to the next table. She turned her attentions back to Imogen.

      ‘So, darling, I want to know everything. Work, life, love … the whole shebang.’ She was disappointed to note that the plain platinum wedding band was still very much on Imogen’s finger. ‘How’s Sebastian?’ she asked tightly.

      Sebastian Forbes the man who had killed her protégée’s career stone dead with his controlling demands and ultimatums, forcing Imogen to choose between motherhood and marriage and modelling, cutting short her meteoric rise to stardom and taking her biggest cash cow with him.

      If only Imogen and Sebastian had never met, thought Cressida bitterly. She could have been the most successful, fabulous model that had ever lived; forget your Twiggys and your Shrimptons, your Campbells and your Mosses, Imogen Lennard (as she was then) could’ve cleaned up, and moreover, so could she.

      ‘Seb’s … well, Seb’s still Seb,’ Imogen shrugged almost apologetically. Cressida had never made her dislike for her husband a secret. ‘Bryony is thirteen now,’ she said, deliberately changing the subject. ‘She’s so grown up, Cress, you wouldn’t recognise her.’

      Bryony Forbes attended the highly respected Mont-Fleuri Swiss boarding school in Montreux and it had been eight weeks, though it felt like eight months, since Imogen had last seen her daughter, something that caused a lump as hard as granite to form in her throat whenever she thought of it. She hated being apart from her beautiful, sweetly shy Bryony who was so much like she had been at that age; gangly and awkward, yet to grow into her own skin, but Seb had insisted she must receive the best education money could buy, even if that education happened to be hundreds of miles away from her family.

      ‘If she’s inherited your looks darling, I’ll get her signed on the spot,’ Cressida said in all seriousness.

      ‘As if Seb would ever allow it! Anyway, she’s far too busy trying to save the planet and the plight of the African elephant at the moment.’

      ‘Ah, beauty with a conscience, a devastating combination,’ Cressida smiled. ‘Listen, darling,’ she began, feeling the sudden need to get to the point, ‘the reason I’ve asked you here … well, it was for business reasons as well as pleasure.’

      Imogen clutched her chest, mock wounded.

      ‘And there I was thinking you just missed me after all this time.’

      Cressida smiled. She was glad to see that being married to such a controlling dullard all these years hadn’t completely robbed Imogen of her sense of humour.

      ‘It’s L’Orelie,’ she said, suddenly leaning in closer. ‘They’re looking for someone to become the face of their fab new make-up range for the forty-plus market. It’s top secret though, poppet – you know what a competitive business the beauty industry is. It’s an absolutely fucking huge contract. We’re talking national and international campaigns, billboards, TV ads, the whole goddamn enchilada.’

      Imogen placed her starchy white napkin over her lap and tried not to look as excited as she suddenly felt.

      ‘I’m not entirely sure how your name was thrown into the ring,’ Cressida tore up a bread roll and continued, ‘but out of the blue I get a call from Lorraine Harlech, the CEO, asking if I still had contact with you and if you’d be interested in testing for the campaign. Apparently she was flicking through an old copy of Vogue, saw you and wondered what had happened to such a beautiful rising star after all these years. She asked me to track you down and sound you out. That’s about the size of it, really,’ Cressida concluded. ‘Oh, that and you stand to make yourself a very rich woman in your own right, if you agree that is,’ she added poignantly. ‘So, darling,’ she drew breath and looked at Imogen expectantly, ‘tell Mummy what you’re thinking.’

      Stunned, Imogen took a swig of water, wishing she had ordered something stronger.

      ‘Well, I, me … modelling again. I don’t know, Cress. I’m thirty-six now and …’

      ‘Thirties are the new twenties!’ Cressida interjected, sensing her reticence. ‘Everyone wants the thirty-somethings nowadays. It’s the market with the most cash to spend.’

      Imogen shook her head.

      ‘I’m not even sure I’ve got what it takes anymore.’ She felt her heart pounding loudly inside her chest and hoped that Cressida could not hear it.

      ‘Nonsense,’ Cressida snapped dismissively. ‘Darling, listen to me. You were the best back in the day, a born natural in front of the camera. You owned it. I know as well as you do that you weren’t ready to leave the modelling world when you did and this is your chance at another shot. Oh, come on, Ims, offers like this hardly come by every day as well you know. What do you say?’ She cocked her head to one side and held her breath.

      Imogen looked up from the table.

      ‘Oh, I don’t know, Cress,’ she eventually said. ‘I’m different now. I’m not that girl you found at the train station. My life’s changed. I’ve changed.’

      Cressida felt the first flutters of panic settle on her intestines. She knew that if she could just get Imogen to test she would win the job hands down, just like she always used to, and then all her problems would be solved. She had to get her to agree.

      ‘If this is about Seb …’

      ‘No, no,’ Imogen shook her head. ‘It’s not Seb.’

      But it was Seb, partly at least. Imogen knew he would unequivocally hate the idea, that he would forbid her to do it and she was not sure she had the strength for another war between them.

      ‘Then what is it?’ Cressida asked, the softness in her voice masking desperation. ‘This is a golden opportunity, darling, the sort the likes of Cindy Crawford would cut her mole off for.’

      ‘I can’t even begin to tell you how flattered I am to be asked but I just don’t think I can do it. I’m not a model anymore. Those days are gone, Cress. I’m sorry.’

      Cressida placed her glass down carefully. It was not something she had wanted to do but backed into a corner like this, she was left with little choice. It was time to revert to Plan B.

      ‘It’s OK, darling, I understand.’ Cressida slid her hand across the table and placed it on Imogen’s. ‘I’m disappointed, naturally. After all, you were my first big star. I had hoped you might be my last and that I might go out on a high note.’

      ‘Go out on a high note? Don’t tell me you’re planning to retire?’

      Cressida lowered her eyes dramatically.

      ‘Something like that.’

      Now it was Imogen’s turn to feel a flutter of panic.

      ‘Listen, darling,’ Cressida said, fixing her with an earnest stare. ‘What I’m about to say, well, I don’t want any fuss or tears, promise me now.’ Imogen’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

      ‘You’re scaring me,’ Imogen said, taking a sip of her СКАЧАТЬ