Gold Diggers. Tasmina Perry

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      ‘Or her?’ asked Kirsty, pointing at a toothy blonde.

      ‘No way! Check out that mouth. She looks like a rabbit.’

      ‘She did do the Prada show last season,’ offered Kirsty weakly.

      ‘Kirsty! The girl fronting this campaign represents our brand,’ snapped Karin. ‘She is our face and body. I want our potential customers to look at our campaign and think, “I can be that sexy and chic and gorgeous”. Even if she’s fat, I still want her to think that three hundred pounds is money well spent if she can be magically transformed into the gorgeous creature in our campaign.’

      ‘I thought you didn’t want any fat and frumpy housewives wearing Karenza designs,’ said Kirsty sulkily.

      ‘That’s not the point,’ replied Karin briskly. ‘We need someone hot. Someone who can fill a bikini like she’s been poured into it, not some six-foot stringy teenager. We want a woman.’

      She spun round her Eames chair so it faced the window overlooking the street. ‘She’s got to be out there somewhere.’

      

      Dan Stevens, one of Europe’s hottest fashion designers, was crossing Regent Street when he saw her. He was already late for his next appointment – his last meeting at Vogue House had gone on forever – but something about this girl, standing on the other side of the road, made him stop and look. Even from fifty feet away he could see her right-angle cheekbones, her poker-straight pale blonde hair and her dancer’s posture. Dan frowned; why didn’t he know this girl? He worked with top models and actresses every day; he thought he knew all the beautiful women in London, but he had never seen this one before. Surely she must work in fashion? He thought, she was too stunning, too stylish to be a civilian. He quickened his pace to catch up with her and, drawing level, tapped her on the shoulder. She was dazzling. How many hours had he spent retouching photographs of stars with bad skin, all those smoker’s lines around the mouth, or the eyes deadened from drugs and parties. This girl, though: wow. Those enormous, slightly startled lavender-blue eyes, her incredible bone structure: she was a knockout. Not for the first time in his career, he wished he was single.

      ‘Hi! I, ah, I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Dan Stevens, I’m a photographer. Are you a model by any chance?’

      Dan Stevens. Holy shit! Summer’s mouth dropped open. She’d only come shopping to cheer herself up because she hadn’t had a go-see in a week and here she was being stopped by one of the world’s hottest photographers. You couldn’t open W or US Vogue these days without seeing his name on a cover story. Molly would be really impressed.

      ‘Oh, I know who you are,’ she smiled, butterflies fluttering round her tummy. ‘And yes, I’m a model, although you won’t have heard of me.’

      ‘Good,’ said Dan. ‘Are you busy for the next hour?’

      ‘Just spending money I haven’t got,’ smiled Summer.

      ‘In that case, could you come with me to my next meeting? There’s someone I really think you should meet.’

      

      Dan Stevens walked through the door grinning from ear to ear. Karin, however, did not think he had much to smile about. He was two hours late for the casting – she couldn’t abide lateness – and she met his grin with a stony face. Dan knew he was getting off lightly: Karin Cavendish in hell-hath-no-fury mode was a fate you wouldn’t wish on an enemy. But she was in no position to make a point; she was very, very lucky to have secured Dan’s services for the campaign. If she hadn’t given Dan his first break, setting him up an appointment to see her fashion editor friend at Elle when he was a struggling nobody, she would never had the kudos to book him. But Karin’s irritation immediately melted away when she spotted the petite blonde girl trailing in nervously behind Dan. The girl was exquisite. Long pale blonde hair hung at either side of a perfectly oval face with a cute upturned nose, full lips and lovely almond-shaped eyes.

      ‘You’re a little late for the casting,’ said Karin, holding out a hand. ‘Can I see your card?’

      Summer stood in the doorway, nervously playing with the strap of her handbag. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have one with me,’ Summer replied politely, a little intimidated to be face to face with Karin.

      ‘She wasn’t sent for the casting,’ said Dan quickly. ‘I found her shopping on Regent Street. I’ve taken some quick Polaroids and – here – I really think you should take a look.’

      Karin quickly studied the Polaroids, a crucial tool for casting. Pictures in a model’s portfolio were so retouched that it was often impossible to tell whether she photographed well or not. But these Polaroids were amazing. She really was beautiful; in the flesh and on film.

      ‘How tall are you?’ asked Karin, still looking at the photographs.

      ‘Five eight,’ lied Summer.

      ‘Five seven,’ said Karin coolly, scribbling it on the bottom of the Polaroid.

      She looked up at the girl again; she looked familiar but she couldn’t place where she had seen her before.

      ‘Have I met you before?’ she asked.

      Summer felt uncomfortable. She didn’t want to mention her mother. It always sounded as if she was cashing in on Molly’s fame.

      She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

      Suddenly the penny dropped: seeing that long hair swishing about was a dead giveaway. Now Karin saw it – the nose, that wide, luscious mouth, that long curtain of platinum hair. She felt herself stiffen with displeasure. The platinum hair suddenly looked a little too brassy, her generous breasts just a little too large.

      ‘You’re Molly Sinclair’s daughter, aren’t you? You came to my benefit dinner.’

      ‘Really?’ asked Dan, congratulating himself for spotting talent.

      ‘Really,’ smiled Summer, flushing.

      ‘Well, thanks for coming in. Goodbye,’ Karin said quickly, gesturing towards the door with her eyes.

      Summer’s heart plummeted and she slowly turned and left. She was gutted: Dan Stevens hadn’t even spoken out for her.

      ‘Are you not even going to get her to try a swimsuit on?’ said Kirsty after Summer had left. ‘She was lovely.’

      ‘A pretty girl, yes,’ offered Karin brusquely. ‘But she’s too small and too curvy.’

      ‘Karin, she’s fantastic!’ laughed Dan incredulously.

      ‘She belongs on a Sports Illustrated cover!’ snapped Karin.

      ‘I thought you wanted the campaign to be sexy?’

      ‘If the girl is too obvious it’ll look tacky.’

      ‘Well I can’t believe she hasn’t fronted a big campaign before. The second I take to her into Vogue, every magazine and fashion company is going to want her. Her day СКАЧАТЬ