Platinum Coast. Lynne Pemberton

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СКАЧАТЬ was greeted by loud whistles and jeers from a group of crested and tattooed punks pushing precariously close to the platform.

      ‘These beautiful girls will be mingling amongst you today …’ Chris held up his hand for quiet as the youths shouted in unison: ‘Get ‘em off.’

      ‘Later, lads, later.’ Chris grinned, and the punk rockers roared their approval. ‘The girls are laden with lots of free goodies for all of you.’ He paused before going on to say, ‘Westside Leisure Centre has something for everyone, and we are offering free gifts today and all of next week. Don’t forget to enter our free prize draw and you could be the lucky winner of a holiday for two in Majorca.’

      This announcement caused another wave of whooping and yelling.

      ‘I do hope you will all enjoy shopping at Westside Leisure Centre.’

      Chris Gowan stepped down from the small rostrum to join the six models, all wide, gleaming smiles, posed bodies and pouting lips directed at the press and local television cameras. He stood very close to one particular chestnut-haired girl, obviously appreciating the view over her low-cut boned bodice.

      ‘Do you mind?’ she hissed.

      He winked and laughed. ‘No. Do you?’

      Christina O’Neill remembered that he was the visiting celebrity and she was just one of the glamorous bodies recruited for the punters to ogle at during the opening ceremony. With a smile fixed firmly in place she moved off through the crowd, handing out brochures.

      ‘Can I interest you in one, sir?’ she asked a grinning, shaven-headed spectator, and instantly realized her mistake.

      ‘D’you hear that, lads?’ he asked his mates. ‘She fancies me. Yeah, come on, darlin’. I’d fancy one with you any day.’

      Christina was about to tell him to get lost when he hooked his finger through the bright-red garter she was wearing and twanged it so hard against her leg that she jumped and dropped the pile of brochures she was holding. They scattered at her feet, some of them sliding across the ground.

      Christina glared at him before bending down to retrieve the brochures.

      ‘I get so sick of men like you,’ she said angrily, as she rose to her feet and found herself staring, not at the leering youngster, but at a man in a beautifully cut dark-grey chalk-stripe suit. His thick brown hair was brushed away from a high forehead. She caught a hint of the subtle, tangy cologne he wore. Without knowing exactly how, she realized it was a very expensive one.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ She felt her face flush. ‘I wasn’t talking to you. I was about to tell that creep …’ – she pointed towards the punk, laughing and joking with his gang – ‘… exactly what I thought of him.’

      She sighed and added, ‘Men!’

      ‘Not all of us are like that, you know.’

      Christina looked directly into his pale-green eyes.

      ‘I’m beginning to wonder. So far I’ve had the misfortune of meeting too many of that variety.’ She smiled wryly and added, ‘I’m afraid it’s an occupational hazard.’

      He glanced at the scanty saloon-girl’s outfit that accentuated her narrow waist and exposed most of her long, shapely legs, and nodded.

      ‘I can understand why.’

      ‘I must be mad, getting dressed up like this for a measly twenty-five pounds a day, but a gal’s got to eat.’ Her laughter held a hint of mischief, and he thought again that she was more than just another pretty girl.

      ‘At least I’ve met one gentleman.’ She smiled at him under downturned lashes as he handed her the brochures she had dropped. It seemed he was about to speak to her again when an older, slightly corpulent man approached, looking very agitated. She recognized Robert Leyton, one of the mall’s developers, who had contacted the agency to hire girls for the opening.

      ‘Stephen, there you are! Charles Naylor is waiting in the hospitality lounge. He’s scheduled to tee off at two and would like to see you before he goes.’

      ‘Mustn’t keep the man from his golf,’ Christina’s rescuer commented, then, before Robert could steer him away, he said, ‘By the way, I didn’t catch your name?’

      Robert glared in their direction. ‘Stephen, Charles won’t wait much longer.’

      He ignored the impatient voice and smiled at her, showing even white teeth.

      ‘My name’s Christina.’ She paused. ‘Christina O’Neill.’

      ‘I’ll see you later, Miss Christina O’Neill.’ His tone was emphatic.

      ‘Come on,’ Robert shouted, walking ahead.

      Christina watched the two men walk away before being tapped on the shoulder by the tattooed arm of the punk rocker who insisted on showing her his fascinating assortment of chains attached to various parts of his anatomy. He took a dozen free offers and asked her out for a drink, much to the amusement of his motley crew of friends, who collapsed into shrieks of laughter when she refused the date.

      She spent the next six hours giving away hundreds of free special-offer coupons, chatting to pensioners about the cost of living, placating fraught babies, fending off the unwelcome advances of gangs of unemployed youths, and being battered by an assortment of baby buggies, prams, and huge shopping bags.

      ‘A free gift of six bags of sugar, three jars of coffee and four boxes of tea with every purchase of food over £50 in Tesco.

      ‘A record voucher with every two LPs bought at Virgin Mega Store.

      ‘Two for the price of one with every purchase of an exotic new fragrance from Estee Lauder.

      ‘A holiday for two in Majorca in the Westside bumper holiday draw.’

      Christina’s voice had lost all its sparkle and her throat and head ached as she repeated the list of free offers for the final time and handed out the last of her brochures.

      It was seven o’clock and the last few stragglers were leaving the shopping centre. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ Christina said to Janine, a girl she knew vaguely from the same model agency, as they walked into the staff-room.

      Janine sighed. ‘It’s bloody slave labour. I wish someone had warned me modelling was going to be like this.’

      She took out a packet of cigarettes and handed one to Christina.

      ‘No thanks, I don’t smoke, but at this rate I think I might have to soon.’

      They both sat down on a narrow wooden bench. Christina eased her aching feet out of the high-heeled black patent-leather shoes and wiggled her swollen toes.

      ‘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, СКАЧАТЬ