Chapter Fourteen
Paddy was sitting outside wrapped up in a blanket and enjoying a cup of soup as she watched the waves gently lap back and forth across the shore. The sea and sky reached out towards the horizon in a wall of blue as large white clouds swept overhead. Contemplating how lovely life was, Paddy was shaken out of her daydreams by her phone ringing and she struggled to dig it out of her pocket.
‘Holly, darling. I know you’ve said you want to take a break but Ginger has only gone and broken her ankle. Could you walk this weekend? For me? Darling, please? It’s Giovanni’s show?’
Paddy smiled. It had been a while since anyone had called her Holly. When she had started modelling, the agency felt she needed a bit of privacy and they had suggested a working name. Her sisters had agreed it made sense and so Holly McDonald had been born. It went perfectly with her pale freckled skin and curly red hair. Everyone expected a Scottish burr when they first met her and were surprised by the East End accent. Of course her colouring came from her Irish father but in keeping her family life private, the modelling agency had suggested a bit of misdirection with a Scottish name.
Now she thought about Duncan’s request. She wanted to say no; however, she genuinely liked her agent and he had done loads for her over the years.
Yesterday, the German film company had been in touch asking if she could come up to town, as they had something they wanted to discuss. Now Duncan was calling. It seemed the universe wanted her to go to London, no matter how much she wanted to stay in her cottage. She wondered what the company wanted. They had been rather insistent. Maybe she needed to sign another release form. She had requested she remain uncredited, to Duncan’s annoyance. No credit meant no fee, so she felt she owed him this.
Agreeing to Duncan’s request she asked him to send her the details and then, hanging up, she got on the phone to the production company to arrange an appointment. It was Tuesday now, she’d catch the night train on Thursday, be in London for the show on Friday, meet the production company on Saturday and maybe get back to Cornwall on Sunday. She had called Nick to see if she was free, but she was in the Far East for the next few weeks so there was no point in staying any longer.
Paddy was looking forward to a few days catching up with the old crowd though. See if she knew any of the models in the show. She had walked for Zac Posen a few years back and he had introduced her to Giovanni Zousa, a daring Italian designer she hadn’t worked with before. They had hit it off immediately and he made a point of always booking her. Typical Zac, he was always so supportive to the industry. Always introducing people and forging new connections.
***
As the night train pulled into London she prepared for a busy day; as usual, she had a full diary. Today, she had a fashion show; hopefully she’d be able to skip out of the after-show party, although it seemed unlikely. Tomorrow, she had a meeting with the producer from the film shoot the previous month; whatever it was shouldn’t take long. She had plans to have lunch with Aster. She had wanted to catch up with the others as well, but Nick was away, Clem was in Scotland and Ari was in Norfolk. Besides, Aster shone one on one; she tended to watch when she was in a larger group, but when there was just two of you, she was a riot. Hailing a taxi, Paddy shivered in the cold spring air. Was she already acclimatising to the warmer Cornish climate? She didn’t remember London being quite so bone chillingly cold. As she headed straight to the show she saw the paparazzi were already in place even at this ridiculous time of the morning. Slipping on her large sunglasses she pulled down her beanie and brought her coffee cup up to her face. Who the hell wanted to have their photo taken having just slept on a train for six hours?
With a sigh she discovered she wasn’t going to miss this life at all. Heading into the dressing room she was greeted with a barrage of hugs and kisses. She recognised lots of faces, mainly the dressers and make-up artists. She was laden down with pots of clotted cream and as she handed them out some of the models groaned at her and she ducked as a hair roller was thrown at her. She headed over to the hair section and asked Billy to have a look at her tresses. After a bit of hissing and tutting he loaded her up with some serums and masks and told her to try and avoid going anywhere near the sea. Promising him she would, she gave him a kiss and left, hoping he never found out her new daily routine. The backroom was filling up now as more of the models arrived and the volume lifted. There was always a great buzz before a show.
The industry was so lovely. Despite the media slant that everyone was a gossipy bitch, it was actually an incredibly hardworking, creative community.
‘Oh look, now she’s got a title she gets the first spot.’
Well, nearly everyone was lovely, thought Paddy. There were a few exceptions and God knows, Lori excelled at being a bitch.
Another voice called out over the throng, ‘She got the front spot because she doesn’t walk like a camel with the shits.’
The room broke out into laughter as Paddy’s make-up girl told her to keep her face still.
When news of the sisters’ change in circumstances was revealed they had all kept it low-key. No one gave any interviews and soon the papers and magazines had to accept that, whilst it was a great story, there wasn’t much they could do if no one was going to talk. Tatler and Harper’s had loved the fact that Holly McDonald, a regular face in their magazine, was actually Lady Patricia de Foix. The copy editors who knew her, pleaded for an exclusive, but she just smiled and carried on turning up for work as if nothing had happened. Gradually the fuss died down and the news cycle moved on.
Now Giovanni came through the throng and gave her a huge hug, thanking her for stepping in and demanded a pot of clotted cream.
‘And how is your clever sister doing up there in bonny Scotland? I have seen some of her designs and she scares me. She is too good and she has my favourite model!’ He held Paddy’s hands and gestured widely. ‘Why do you turn your back on us? You are too selfish!’ He smiled warmly, taking the sting out of his words. ‘Now, I have given you the opening position. Knock ’em dead. I want everyone talking about this collection.’
She was wearing a stunning bone crinoline over leather trousers with a stitched pinstripe detail. They were going to be tricky to walk in without looking like a knock-kneed foal. But she’d walked in much worse. As the dresser, Emile, put her into her boned waistcoat there was a little bit of huffing and he called out for Giovanni.
‘Baby girl, have you put on weight!?’ All three of them looked at Paddy’s bust line straining over the top of the corset. ‘Hmm.’ Emile tapped his teeth and then loosened the front buckles. ‘Voila! Superb. But Paddy? Less of that clotted cream for you, yes?’
Paddy laughed and apologised. Really, she wouldn’t miss this aspect of the job at all. She was surprised though, her diet had actually been healthier since she got to Cornwall and she was swimming and walking daily. Maybe all the sea air was fattening as well as being a hair wrecker?
***
‘For heaven’s sake, Henry, what are you wearing?’
Hal looked down at his Loakes; admittedly they were a bit scruffy but damn they were comfortable. ‘Is that mud? God darling, we’re in London, not the sticks, surely you’re not going to the meeting dressed as Farmer Gump. What if they want you for more scenes? Won’t that be exciting?’ Bianca started rummaging through his wardrobe and pulled out his evening jacket from last night’s theatre show. ‘Here you go. You look so smart in this outfit.’
Hal sighed. He much preferred his rugby top and chinos. He wasn’t interested in impressing some film producer. It had been a laugh but the idea of doing that every day filled him with horror. Plus, if he was honest, he didn’t care much for someone shouting at him all day long. He’d had enough of that in basic training. If he was in a room, he was used to being the one in charge. Except, of course, for when his fiancée was present.
He was already regretting having told Bianca about the meeting. Between that and the wedding they’d talked of nothing else for the past few days. Hal stifled a yawn and slipped into his Savile Row suit and polished Oxfords. Bianca was going to go shopping whilst he had his meeting, then they would meet up for lunch and carry on talking about the wedding. He wasn’t put off by wedding talk, it’s just he had very little input into it. There was no sense of excitement at all. He wasn’t sure who to talk to about it. Most of his acquaintances thought he and Bianca were a fabulous match, but his father and stepmother had seemed a bit cooler and his oldest friends had straight out told him he was a fool. If he had a best friend, it was probably Jamie or Hugo: one was still on active service, the other deep in a jungle somewhere, filming for the BBC. Both were heading back for the wedding but he could really do with them here now. Hal was concerned that neither cared much for Bianca either. And now on top of all that, there was Paddy. Paddy, who he had probably thought about every single day since he had first laid eyes on her.
‘Henry! Henry, stop daydreaming. You’ll be late.’
Straightening his cuffs, Hal kissed her on the cheek and then opened the door for her as they headed out of the hotel. The day was blustery and a sharp wind was whipping empty crisp packets and leaves along the pavements. At least the blue skies meant they would be spared getting wet as well as cold. The roads were still wet from last night’s rain, though, and buses and taxis were throwing up plumes of water as they drove through puddles, the regular shouts of protest from pedestrians and cyclists adding to the general London soundtrack. Hal stood on Bianca’s right, shielding her from the traffic and steering the pair of them through the morning crowds. The producer’s offices were just off Leicester Square, which meant they were trying to navigate probably the busiest section that London had to offer. Ahead of them, a homeless man, sitting on the pavement, was creating a pinch point as the crowds tried to navigate around him and a delivery truck.
‘Really. Look at him,’ tutted Bianca, ‘he’s in everyone’s way.’ She gingerly stepped over his cardboard sheets. ‘Ugh. I mean look at how much space he’s taking up. What’s wrong with these people? The mayor should do something about them.’ Realising he wasn’t answering her she turned back to look at her fiancé. ‘What are you doing?’
Hal stopped, patting his pockets for change, realising his loose change was in his other trousers.
‘You can’t give him money! It will only encourage him and his sort. They’re all on drugs you know.’
Hal paused frowning at Biana. She was probably right but the chap was right in front of them, he could hear everything he said. Realising that he had no change, he mumbled an embarrassed apology to the hunched over figure, who hadn’t even looked up.
Side-stepping a group of tourists, Hal moved to the left of the man and continued along the street until they arrived at the production company’s offices. Giving Bianca a quick kiss goodbye he headed in towards the main reception, thoughts of the homeless community already gone from his mind as he wondered how quickly he could get out of the meeting and get back to Cornwall. He visited Tregiskey several times in the past few weeks in the hope of bumping into Paddy and apologising again for his behaviour. Maybe he could get the producers to tell him where she was staying, they were bound to have her contact details. If he was being honest this was the only reason he had bothered with the meeting at all. Bounding up the steps he hoped that he would soon be closer to meeting Paddy again.