Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       About the Author

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       Endpage

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘BUT YOU HATE this kind of occasion,’ said Clive. ‘You always have. You call them “meat auctions” and “slave markets”. You know you do.’

      Carly, seated at her dressing-table, applying blusher with a practised hand, gave his irate reflection the smile the camera loved. ‘That’s quite right.’

      ‘Then why in hell are we all going to the Flawless reception?’

      ‘I changed my mind.’

      ‘Now, that I don’t believe.’ Clive turned on his wife who was lounging on Carly’s bed, leafing through a copy of Harpers Bazaar. ‘Speak to her, Marge.’

      ‘Waste of breath,’ said Marge serenely. She eyed wistfully a photograph of a reed-slender black cocktail dress. ‘Oh, why haven’t I got thirty-four-inch hips?’

      ‘Because you have three children,’ said Clive, and brightened. ‘Now there’s a thought,’ he said beguilingly. ‘Why don’t we scrap the Flawless do, go back to the house, and challenge the monsters to a team game of Trivial Pursuit?’

      ‘No,’ Marge and Carly said in unison, and he glared at them.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because they always beat us,’ said his wife.

      ‘And because we’re going to the Flawless party.’ Carly reached for a mascara wand, and began to pay minute attention to her eyelashes. ‘It’s important to me, Clive.’

      ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ The end of Clive’s tether seemed to be fast approaching. ‘They want a pretty girl to launch a new range of cosmetics, that’s all. Just because they’ve hyped it into the search for the new Scarlett O’Hara, it still doesn’t make it any big deal.’

      Carly sighed. ‘Clive, you’re my agent. Don’t you want me to get work?’

      ‘You do get work. I get you work. I have things in the pipeline now that will make the Flawless deal look like yesterday’s news.’ He dragged a chair forward and sat down. ‘Sweetie, you’re at a crucial point in your career. I don’t think the Flawless job would be a particularly good move for you.’

      ‘Is that what you’ve told all your clients?’

      ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘It will be a fabulous chance—for somebody.’

      ‘Then why not me?’

      ‘Because it would place you under an exclusive contract to them for a year and probably far longer. You wouldn’t be able to take other assignments, and you’d be typed as the Flawless Girl for ever after.’

      ‘I’m ready to risk that.’

      ‘But why?’ howled Clive. ‘You’ve trusted my judgement in the past. Why are you doing this to me—to yourself?’

      Carly replaced the mascara in her make-up kit. ‘I have an instinct about it. Besides,’ she paused, ‘it’s an ambition of mine to be photographed by Saul Kingsland.’

      Marge looked up. ‘Now you’re talking,’ she said. ‘I hear he’s an absolute dish. Good-looking and sexy as hell.’

      ‘Oh, do you?’ snorted Clive. ‘Well, I hear he’s a complete bastard. His models end up in tears, and his assistants have nervous breakdowns.’

      Carly’s brows rose. ‘But he’s a genius with a camera. And I suppose genius has to be allowed a certain amount of—artistic temperament.’

      ‘That’s not all Flawless are allowing him,’ Clive said sourly. ‘He also gets a free hand to pick The Girl.’ He exhaled, frowning. ‘Carly, every hopeful in modelling will be there tonight, parading themselves in front of him, and a few that should have given up hope by now,’ he added grimly. ‘You don’t need to do this. If you’re really so set on the damned job, I’ll get on to Septimus Creed. His agency’s handling the campaign, after all, so he should be able to pull some strings with Kingsland—and he owes me a favour …’

      ‘No!’ Carly banged her fist on the dressing-table, making the jars and bottles jump. Clive and Marge jumped too, and stared at her.

      She bit her lip. ‘I—I’m sorry. But I don’t want any string-pulling. I want to go to the reception, and be chosen on my own merits.’

      ‘And if you’re not? It could be a pretty public rejection, sweetie. Everyone there will know you tried for it and failed.’ Clive’s face was sober.

      ‘O, ye of little faith,’ she said lightly.

      ‘I’m serious. Supposing Saul Kingsland’s idea of flawless is a five-foot blonde with baby-blue eyes, and a peaches-and-cream complexion?’

      ‘That’s your fantasy woman, darling, not Mr Kingsland’s,’ his wife said, getting to her feet. ‘You’ve badgered Carly long enough. Now let’s leave her to finish dressing in peace.’ At the door, she paused. ‘Have you ever actually