Escape for the Summer (4 page)

“Then sort yourself out,” Chloe said sharply. “I don’t know what’s been going on but you look a state.” Pulling out her BlackBerry, she scrolled through the calendar and punched decisively at the keys. “We’ll meet again at the start of September and regroup. If by then you seem committed and have been proactive, then I’ll continue to represent you and be more than willing to put you forward for any roles that may be suitable. But if not...”

The words unsaid hung heavy in the air like something out of
Harry Potter
. Gemma nodded. It was fair enough, she reflected miserably as her agent stalked off, leaving her to continue the shoot in the revolting underwear. She had let herself go, hadn’t she? While she posed as best she could, stomach in and chin out and horribly conscious of the comparison she made to the other skinny models, Gemma thought how unfair it was that she had always struggled with her weight. Even as a child she had only to look at a saffron bun to be pounds heavier. Add to this a mother who was a fantastic cook and who dished out huge stews and buttery mash to her strapping sons and husband when they came home after a hard day’s graft on the family farm, and it was no wonder she’d always piled on the pounds. Gemma loved to cook too and adored the magic of throwing ingredients together that resulted in flavours bursting across her tongue. The only problem was that she didn’t adore the subsequent bursting waistbands quite so much.

“Turn left, love; cover your belly with your arm,” called the photographer. Woodenly, Gemma obeyed. No more just thinking about it, even if it was the thought that counted: she’d go on a diet when she got home, she really would. Once she’d finished up all the goodies in the fridge first, obviously. There were those rather scrummy rock cakes and last night’s lasagne too. It would be wrong to bin that lot. Mum would have a fit at such waste. Along with the Diet Angel and the Diet Devil, her mother also spent a great deal of time in Gemma’s head.

Once the shoot was over – it hadn’t escaped Gemma’s notice that she’d spent most of it draped on a chaise longue with her fat bits disguised by gravity and a cunningly draped shawl – she retreated back to the cramped changing room. A gaggle of models hogged the mirror, dabbing at their make-up with cleanser and elbowing each other out of the way as they jostled for pole position. Sinking into a corner and hoping to stay off the radar, Gemma wrestled herself out of the control pants and slumped on a chair while her internal organs rearranged themselves. All this humiliation and pain for a measly few hundred quid? Maybe she should just cut her losses and look for a normal job?

But what about her ambition to be an actress? All those childhood dreams couldn’t be wasted just because she was a greedy pig. Maybe when she got home she’d borrow Angel’s laptop and check out Weight Watchers? All you had to do was count the points, apparently, so maybe you could have all your points consisting of chocolate and vodka? That was Gemma’s idea of a balanced diet – a Dairy Milk held in each hand. At this thought she instantly felt much more cheerful. That was Project Weight Loss sorted. By September she’d be a size ten if it killed her. All she had to do now was find a way of raising her profile. Short of shagging a Premier League footballer though (which wasn’t likely, as they didn’t tend to hang out in the Dog and Rabbit
off Fulham Broadway), she was a bit stumped. Maybe Angel would have an idea? Gemma perked up at this thought. Yes, Angel was always good for an idea. After all, hadn’t she nearly managed to gatecrash Peter Andre’s party?

Gemma’s plotting was cut short by a flurry of excitement at the far end of the room. Looking up, she noticed that one of the models, a tall brunette with collarbones that could take someone’s eye out, was shrieking excitedly into her iPhone while the other girls twittered and squeaked. At first Gemma ignored them; during the shoot the brunette had made some particularly bitchy comments about Gemma’s weight. But after a moment her curiosity got the better of her, especially when she heard the word
Cornwall
. Pretending to be engrossed in teasing her hair into an updo, she sidled up to the mirror for a good earwig.

“Oh my God! You lucky cow, Emily!” one of the girls said enviously. “You seriously get to spend the whole summer in Rock
and
you get paid for it? I’m well jel!”

Emily flipped her silky tresses back from her face and pouted at her reflection. “The filming starts next week and you should see the house the production team has hired! It’s lush!”

The other girls twittered excitedly, but only Gemma really knew just quite how lush this house would be. She came from the less glamorous town of Bodmin, famous mainly for its gaol and its beast, but she’d visited the upmarket holiday destination lots of times. Although she’d yet to bump into Wills or Harry, Gemma was always struck speechless by the stunning properties facing the estuary, the superyachts bobbing on the pontoons and the endless four-by-fours driven by women as glossy and highly strung as thoroughbreds. Rock was the playground of the rich and famous, that was for sure. With Rick Stein’s just a boat ride over the Camel Estuary and Jamie Oliver’s a few miles away at Watergate Bay, it was a kind of Chelsea on Sea: the likes of Gemma could just about afford a latte at one of the stylish new coffee bars, and that was only on payday. Still, expense aside, Rock was one of Gemma’s favourite places and her ultimate dream was to be a famous movie star, buy a house there and bake lots of yummy cakes in her luxury kitchen.

Err, she meant go running and eat salads. Or something like that anyway. Emily, who probably got full just staring at a lettuce leaf, would fit in perfectly.

“But to film with Callum South,” breathed another model enviously. “You’re so lucky, Em! He’s smoking hot!”

Emily shrugged her skinny shoulders nonchalantly, enjoying every moment of having a captive audience. Everyone knew that ex-Premier League star Callum, who’d battled against and conquered his booze and junk-food addictions in a blaze of red-top glory, was the hottest thing on reality TV. His last two shows had pulled in over six million viewers and now you could scarcely go a day without seeing his handsome face plastered across a billboard or in a magazine. Gemma had had a secret crush on him for years.

“So what’s this show about?” asked another model. “I liked the one where he did a boot camp for six weeks. It was hilarious.”

In spite of herself Gemma nodded. She’d loved that show. Callum South’s ongoing battle of the bulge was well documented in the tabloids and his stint at an army-style fat camp had been compulsive viewing. She’d genuinely felt for him when he’d first arrived and been bullied over the assault course. And when his calorie-counted supper arrived she’d shared his pain so greatly she’d been forced to call for a Domino’s.

“It’s some get-fit thing again,” Emily said dismissively. “He’s got to spend the summer doing all sorts of water sports, losing weight and competing against members of the public who’ve been picked to take part. He’s a right lard-arse at the moment, so he might as well work it off and make some money.
Fat Camp for the Famous
is what they should call it!”

The others tittered sycophantically. Gemma’s hands curled into fists. Still raw from the photo shoot from hell, she couldn’t stand to hear somebody else criticised for his weight. What was it with these bloody diet and exercise Nazis?

“That’s a mean thing to say!” she said hotly.

Emily’s top lip curled. “Why? Because it’s true?”

“No! Because it’s a horrible way to speak about someone!”

Gemma’s heart was pounding but Emily just laughed, with the shrill screech of a hyena about to go in for the kill. Too late, Gemma realised that she’d laid herself wide open. So much for keeping her head down. Maybe next time she’d wear a helmet?

“Touched a nerve has it?” sneered Emily. “Don’t think we didn’t notice they had to shoot with a wide-angle lens today! Well, I tell you what, if you feel sorry for Cal why don’t you take a leaf out of his book and join him? You could call it
Fat Camp for Failures
!”

While the other girls shrieked with mirth, Gemma racked her brains for a witty comeback, but by the time she’d collected her thoughts Emily and her cronies had long since shuffled their UGG boots out of the room. The brunette clearly thought she’d won the day – but if she’d turned around she’d have seen that, rather than tears, an expression of excitement was spreading across Gemma’s face.

Oh my God! For such a brainless bimbo Emily was a genius. Gemma could have risked being skewered by a hipbone and hugged the girl! That final cutting comment, designed to wound in the worst possible way, had had exactly the opposite effect. It had given Gemma the most fantastic idea and maybe the solution to all her problems!

Gemma dug her mobile out of her bag and began to text Angel. There was no time like the present…

Chapter 4

By the time Andi arrived at the office she was running horribly late and was none the wiser for having spent twenty minutes with the bank manager. All she’d managed to discover was that although all of her available funds had been withdrawn, none of her security had been breached. Whoever had managed to make the transactions had done so by using all her online passwords. This only meant one thing: whoever withdrew the money was either some kind of online evil genius or somebody she trusted. Andi didn’t need her economics degree to figure out who that might be.

As she rode the elevator to her office, Andi chewed her nails and tried to quash her growing sense of panic. The conversation she’d had with her bank manager played on a loop through her mind.

“I really don’t understand this at all,” he’d said, leaning forward and frowning at his computer screen. “According to our records all the transactions have been authorised by you.”

Andi had shaken her head. “I haven’t been near my accounts or my credit cards! You’ve let somebody else withdraw my money!”

“If that has happened then I can’t apologise enough,” the bank manager had said with a grave expression. “I assure you we take our customers’ security very seriously indeed. However, according to our system you made the withdrawal of funds yourself using your Internet banking access codes.” His brow had crinkled. “This is very strange: you appear to have gone through the three highest levels of security and used the correct PINs and passwords too. That isn’t standard practice at all for card cloning.”

Andi had had the horrible sensation that she was whizzing down to earth even faster than Jeb Corliss in his wingsuit.

“My money was taken over the Internet?”

He had nodded. “It’s very unusual for this to happen. Is it possible that somebody could have got access to your security? Could anyone else know your PINs? A family member, maybe?”

Andi closed her eyes. There was only one person she’d trusted with those details. Not a family member – if Angel had had access to any of her money she’d have done a trolley dash round Gucci before you could say “credit card” – but there was one person, one person she’d trusted totally...

“My boyfriend,” she’d whispered.

The bank manager had stared at her. Incredulous didn’t come close to describing the look on his face. “I’m sorry, for a minute I thought you said your boyfriend had access to your online security?”

Andi had nodded miserably. “I’m at work a lot and Tom’s at home. He does a lot of our shopping online.” He also did the lion’s share of their poker playing and porn viewing too, which had been the cause of this morning’s enormous row. Tom had thought her most unreasonable; what else was he supposed to do all day? Andi had almost suggested getting off his backside and finding a job, but had stopped herself just in time. After all, she knew how sensitive Tom was to any suggestion that his career as an actor might have to be reconsidered. He was convinced that it was only a matter of time before his talent was spotted. Andi was all for matters of time, but just how
much
time was starting to become something of an issue. Was he talking weeks? Months? Or, as she was starting to fear, aeons?

Talking of time, maybe it was time she called exactly that on their relationship? She wasn’t happy and it wasn’t working. The fact that she believed Tom could steal her money spoke volumes.

While her thoughts had raced, the bank manager had taken off his glasses and sat pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d looked like a man on the brink of nervous collapse.

“So you’re telling me that you have given your boyfriend permission to access your accounts? Then it isn’t a case of theft, Miss Evans.” The words
it’s a case of stupidity
had hung in the air like subtitles.
“
This really isn’t the bank’s fault, is it?”

What could Andi possibly have said to that? She had fled from the bank feeling so stupid that she wouldn’t have been surprised if the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of the word had been
Miranda Evans.
She tried calling Tom but he wasn’t answering and was pointedly ignoring her private Facebook messages.

The lift doors hissed open and Andi somehow managed to make her way to her desk. The office clock glared down at her, balefully announcing that she was over forty minutes late. Her heart sank even further when Zoe stalked over. So much for hoping to come in undetected. What was she thinking to even imagine that would be possible? Zoe was a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out office misdemeanours.

“You’re late,” Zoe said when she reached Andi’s workstation. The air was instantly choked with the cloying scent of Poison
,
which made Andi feel queasy. She took a deep breath and prayed she didn’t hurl all over her line manager’s Kurt Geiger shoes.

“Sorry, Zoe, it won’t happen again. There’s been a bit of a problem with my bank account and—”

But Zoe was holding up her hand and looking bored.

“I don’t need to hear any excuses, Andi. Time is time, remember? And what does time cost?” She fixed Andi with a pebble-eyed stare.

“Money,” said Andi dully. This little mantra was one of Zoe’s favourites.