Anya raised one fair and perfectly shaped brow.
‘OK, fine.’ Hero laughed. ‘Yes, I still have it, but it is less now, I promise. Probably half of it is just dehydration.’
‘Let’s just go back home then,’ Anya said, her voice soft and kind.
To Hero, that sounded like the perfect suggestion, but she knew Anya had been looking forward to this restaurant thing for ages now. Cooking and baking was sort of her thing. Not an ideal hobby when you were trying to keep your weight to a number decreed by the modelling agency. Hero had started running for longer since she and Anya had bought this flat together, and her friend demanded she be her guinea pig for each recipe she trialled in the gleaming steel and granite kitchen of their Kensington home.
‘No, honestly.’ Hero reached out for Anya’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze. ‘It really is going off now. I just need some water and some food and I’m sure that will take care of the rest of it. Come on.’ She moved and linked Anya’s arm through her own before tugging her along.
‘OK. But if it gets worse again, just let me know and we can leave.’
Hero nodded in agreement. ‘Promise.’
***
When Hero had begun modelling full-time, the world she had entered scared her and wore her down. She would sit at the castings, knowing that everyone there was analysing her, judging her, comparing her. She hated it. Finally, on a summer afternoon, she got up in the middle of one such go-see and walked out.
Hero sat on the wall of the ornate fountain in the gardens of the location and let out a huge sigh. It felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Another replaced it almost immediately. If she wasn’t going to model, she had to find a job. The summer breeze blew the fountain into a mist and the fine spray was cool as it landed on her face. She closed her eyes to enjoy its soothing touch.
‘Hello.’
Hero’s eyes flew open and she found herself looking up into the face of a beautiful blonde. She was of a similar age to Hero, and looked vaguely familiar.
‘Hello.’
‘Are you coming back in?’
Hero looked warily at the door, then back at the blonde, then back at the door again.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
The blonde took a seat next to Hero and held out her hand.
‘I’m Anya.’
‘Hero. It’s nice to meet you.’ Hero’s etiquette switch engaged automatically.
‘What a lovely name.’
‘Thanks. My parents really liked Shakespeare.’ She smiled awkwardly.
‘It’s very romantic.’ The blonde smiled warmly again. There was an accent there, something Scandinavian, and she was the epitome of the stereotype with long, shiny, natural platinum hair, pale blue eyes and porcelain skin. Hero now remembered that she had seen her at other go-sees. That was why she looked familiar. Anya had a fantastic figure, a little curvier than Hero’s. She wore no make-up, as per the preference for castings, allowing the clients to see bone structure and skin tone. Her long legs were clad in tight jeans and a white T-shirt clung to her upper curves. Anya dug in the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a fresh pack of chewing gum. She unwrapped the outer packaging then offered the pack to Hero.
‘Thanks,’ Hero said and began to pull a stick out of the casing. Halfway through, she stopped. ‘You bite your nails!’ she blurted, before looking up at Anya, suddenly realising her comment had sounded like a criticism, which it hadn’t been. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
Anya laughed. ‘It’s OK! I do! Terrible habit. They have to keep sticking on false ones if there’s any chance my hands are going to show in a shot. Or I have to place them where they won’t see them. It’s a bad habit but I can’t stop. I just tell myself there are worse habits to have!’ She laughed but both of them knew that the statement was true. Drug habits were rife within their world so, as a vice, nail biting was pretty damn tame.
Hero quickly stuck out her hands in front of her, showing her own bitten nails – a connection of imperfection with her new friend in a world of false flawlessness. She laughed properly, easily, for what seemed like the first time in ages.
Anya persuaded Hero to return to the studio, which had resulted in bookings for both of them. The encounter marked the beginning of a strong bond of friendship between the two young women. They travelled to go-sees together and eventually shared a flat, both dismissing the financially available option of each girl purchasing one separately. Anya came from a close family in Sweden and missed the company. Hero had almost no family and also missed the company. Anya kept Hero’s spirits from sinking and Hero returned the favour.
‘Hello, gorgeous!’ Rupert Thorne-Smith wrapped his arms around Hero from behind and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. The physical contact made a difference from all the air kisses she had received this evening. ‘You look bored as hell,’ he said, sliding into the empty seat opposite her.
Hero smiled. ‘Of course I’m not.’
Rupert screwed up his nose and made a loud ‘oink oink’ noise, startling the group of older, clearly loaded, women sitting next to them.
‘Stop it!’ Hero laughed, batting her friend on the arm.
Rupert gave one more oink for good measure before lifting his champagne glass to his lips, a devilish grin on his face. ‘That’s what happens when you tell porkies to Uncle Rupert.’
Hero shook her head. ‘Uncle Rupert’ was seven years older than her and the only man she trusted.
‘You on your own?’ he asked.
‘No, Anya’s here … somewhere,’ she replied, looking around the now packed restaurant. ‘I think she went off to try and talk to the chef. You know what she’s like.’
‘I also know what the chef is like. Real penchant for blondes. You should have brought a man. It’s unlikely you’ll see Anya again for some time yet.’
Hero shrugged.
‘So?’
‘So what?’ She frowned.
‘I wondered if there had been any change in the Ben Gale/Hero Scott situation.’
Hero fixed him with a look. ‘No. And there won’t be.’
Rupert’s face became more serious – the joker dispensed with for the moment. ‘You two seemed really happy. Is it not worth trying again?’
‘No. We were. Mostly. But between my career and his, it just wasn’t working out.’
‘But couldn’t you—’
‘No, Rupert. We couldn’t. Besides, he’s with someone else now, and so am I.’
‘If you’re referring to that sugar daddy, Jonathan Von Dries, then you already know my opinion of him, and your “relationship”.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need a sugar daddy!’
‘And yet you have one.’
Hero blew out a sigh. ‘I don’t. And anyway, you’re hardly one to talk. I’m not sure there’s a lot of meeting of the minds in your current “relationship”.’ She made air quotes just as he had done, purposefully letting her gaze drift over to the peroxide blonde perched on the edge of a chair. His date was now on her fourth champagne and getting louder by the minute. Rupert followed his friend’s eye line before looking back at her, unrepentant.
‘That’s completely different.’
‘Of course it is. And how is that?’
‘Because neither of us are wishing there was more to it than there is.’