ENTERTAINING ANGELS WEB SITE COPY

							ENTERTAINING ANGELS - INTRODUCTION

He watched her watching him.

 His small, arctic blue eyes narrowed further as he absorbed her beauty, her

innocence, her need.

 The tip of his tongue appeared between his thin lips as if he were tasting her

on the air, like a snake.

 His flesh warmed and stirred.

 But his heart remained cold.




                                     -1-
SEBASTIAN

‘You stupid, ugly bastard!’

 She lifted her hand, topped by perfectly-manicured nails, and slapped him

hard across the face.

 He staggered backwards.

 ‘Showing me up like that, in front of all my friends! I don’t know why I bother

with you – you’re nothing but an embarrassment to me.’

 He opened his mouth to protest. ‘But-’

 ‘Shut up, you!’ she shouted into his face, ‘I’m talking!’

 ‘Please –’ he tried again.

 ‘I said, shut up!’ she screamed and dealt her son another sharp blow.

 The little boy burst into tears.

                                       *

Annette studied herself in the dressing table mirror. She had spent the last

hour examining her face, turning her head this way and that as the multiple

mirrors reflected her image to infinity. Every pore had been inspected, every

wrinkle – real or imagined – had been scrutinized and stretched and now the

whole visage was being subjected to the extended twice daily routine of deep

cleansing, toning and moisturising.

 Sebastian sat silently on the bed behind his mother, entranced by every

slight movement that she made, even though he had been present at every

performance of this particular show for years now. He watched her fingers

caress her neck and gravitate in sweeping arcs upwards and across her

cheekbones. Her hair, golden blonde with the odd tell-tale strand of silver, was

pulled back and pinned up high on top of her head.



                                       -2-
 The boy closed his eyes and savoured the smells of his potion-drenched

mother, saturating his senses, and he ached to touch this beautiful creature.

 But he knew that it was not allowed. And that made the ache all the more

acute.

 Having finally finished her ablutions, Annette stood, without a word, and

drifted from the room.

 Her son seized his chance and climbed onto the stool, enjoying the echo of

her warmth.

 But he did not look into the mirror.

 He was ugly. He knew this because his mother had told him so … many,

many times.

                                        *

When he was sure that she was asleep, he crept back into her room, his ears

thudding in the dark silence, and held his breath as he studied her sleeping.

 His small eyes, set in a long thin face, widened; his pupils dilating greedily to

absorb every nuance of her beauty.

 She stirred and he retreated, quickly and quietly.

 As she turned, the empty bottle slid to the floor.

                                        *

‘Mrs King, I presume. Good to meet you … at last.’

 Sebastian’s mother glanced at the teacher but didn’t bother to stand. The

boy fidgeted anxiously.

 ‘Won’t you come through?’ the teacher asked, gesturing to the classroom

door.




                                        -3-
  With an almost imperceptible shrug, she rose and made her way into the

classroom. She studied the place with an air of disdain before settling herself

on the larger, padded chair.

 So the teacher perched on the edge of the desk instead. He did not intend to

disadvantage himself with this particular parent by sitting on one of the pupil’s

chairs.

 She neither spoke nor smiled and the teacher noted that her nervous little

charge made no attempt to sit in his mother’s presence. Instead, he stood,

staring at the floor, attempting, unsuccessfully, to suppress the tic bothering

the corner of his eye.

 ‘Would you like to know how Sebastian is doing?’ the teacher asked.

 The woman virtually ignored him, and the implication of his question.

 ‘Actually, he is doing very well. In the top 10% for both Maths and English.

His verbal skills, in the classroom at least, are excellent and he has a

particular skill for the artistic.’

 Annette continued to examine her nails for a full ten seconds before replying.

She fixed a small smile to her face and looked up.

 ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ she said, ‘I would have expected no less – especially

considering the fees that this school charges.’

 ‘In fact, the only area in which Sebastian needs to improve,’ the teacher

ploughed on ‘is social interaction.’

 Annette’s smile remained tightly fixed.




                                       -4-
‘He does not always find it easy to develop relationships with the other

children. He can be rather nervous …’ Sebastian’s tic increased slightly ‘… or

if he cannot find a way to communicate effectively with his peers, he can

become rather – aggressive.’

 ‘Ha!’ Annette did not try to suppress the cry of mirth as she studied her

skinny, stooped son. ‘Look at him – oh, please!’

 But the teacher did not smile. ‘Not all abuse is physical, Mrs King.’

 She waved her hand dismissively.

 ‘We should be looking to nip this behaviour in the bud,’ the teacher went on.

‘We certainly wouldn’t want it developing into adulthood.’

 ‘Oh, I agree, completely.’ Annette’s smile was pure saccharine now. ‘So what

do you intend to do about it?’

 The teacher raised his eyebrows. ‘Me?’

 ‘The school,’ Annette replied. ‘After all, that is what I’m paying for, isn’t it?’

 ‘Well,’ the teacher flustered, ‘admittedly, the school does regard the

education it provides as a holistic experience –’

 ‘Good,’ Annette cut across him, ‘I shall look forward to a significant

improvement in the future then!’

 She stood to leave. As she stretched out her hand to lift her coat, the teacher

noticed the boy flinch slightly.

 ‘Mrs King,’ the teacher interjected.

 She paused, her smile still static.

 ‘Have you considered the option of boarding for your son?’ He thought he

saw a brief shadow of colour rise up her neck.




                                         -5-
‘Well …’ she said.

 ‘As an only child, with ‘relationship issues’, Sebastian may well benefit from

the experience.’

 ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she began.

 ‘Our rates are very reasonable,’ the teacher continued, ‘and it would no

doubt help provide the time to meet the commitments of a lady of society,

such as yourself.’ He smiled sweetly. Two could play at that game.

 ‘Well of course,’ Annette blagged. Suddenly, she could not longer meet his

eye. ‘But – oh, poor Sebastian, he’d miss me so much.’

 ‘Unlikely’ the teacher thought to himself as Mrs King threw the expensive

jacket over her shoulder and left without another word.

 The boy followed obediently.

 The teacher had heard that, despite maintaining the glamorous façade, there

had been significantly less money in that household since Mr King left.

 He grinned. All fur coat and no knickers indeed!

                                       *

The evening’s routine complete, Annette turned and clapped her hands at her

son. ‘Bed!’

 He approached cautiously and was allowed a quick peck at her sharp

cheekbone before retreating.

 As the door closed, Annette turned back to the mirror and studied the

photographs of the wistful face, stuck to its sides. A perfect face, a radiant

face, her face … once upon a time. When she was young, when she was

beautiful, when she was a sought-after socialite.



                                       -6-
 When she was loved.

 A single tear carved a milky path through the lotion on her cheek as she

opened the dressing table drawer and heard the reassuring clink of glass.

 Her one faithful companion in whose discreet company she could relax and

forget.

                                      *

Sebastian studied his young face in the privacy of his own room.

 The beige hair fell in lank swathes above his almost porcine eyes, their bright

blue being an incongruously attractive feature. His sallow skin dipped into the

hollows of his cheeks and his chin, which dissolved quickly into his neck, was

beginning to sprout both a downy fuzz and angry red spots.

 He sighed deeply and retreated to his bed, sliding his hands down in an

attempt to comfort himself.

                                      *

He didn’t often accompany his mother to social events and she seemed to

prefer it that way.

 But the high society invitation was very specific and so Sebastian trotted

along dutifully behind Annette as she mixed and mingled, shining and

sparkling among the great and the good.

 The boy was uncomfortable in the stiff linen suit but knew better than to

speak, much less complain, as he followed his mother around. He noted the

looks of admiration that she received from most of the men present, as well as

the sharp stares from their wives, and he felt strangely proud.

 He may not have been a good-looking child but there was obviously no

doubt that his mother was a very beautiful woman.



                                      -7-
 ‘Mrs King, Annette.’ A portly gentleman in an expensive suit kissed her hand.

 His wife wore a tight smile that, Sebastian noted, seemed to paralyse the

rest of her face.

 ‘Lord Rainham,’ Annette smiled, ‘how are you?’

 ‘Well, all the better for seeing you, my dear,’ he grinned. ‘I must say that

dress,’ he eyed her cleavage appreciatively, ‘is simply divine.’

 She inclined her head graciously as he moved on.

 Lady Rainham did not immediately follow her husband. Instead, she studied

Annette coldly. ‘Good evening, Mrs King,’ she said, careful to emphasise the

difference in their social standing. She turned her attention to the boy. ‘I must

say that – erm –’

 ‘Sebastian,’ Annette supplied the unnecessary prompt.

 ‘Yes, the boy is growing up very fast.’ Her gaze was critical. Sebastian

fidgeted under the scrutiny. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fitting into that face in no time’

she concluded.

 Sebastian’s mother did not give the woman the slightest satisfaction by

acknowledging her in any way.

 ‘And that dress,’ Lady Rainham returned her icy attention to Annette, ‘an …

‘interesting’ choice, admittedly.’

 Her expression did not change but Sebastian felt his mother stiffen slightly.

 ‘So brave to display a decolletage that is, shall we say, no longer quite in its

prime.’

 Annette returned the grimace. ‘Well,’ she said airily, ‘I think that gentlemen’

she shot a quick look in Lord Rainham’s direction, ‘will always prefer the




                                        -8-
classic bust to – Another pointed stare, this time at Lady Rainham’s bulging

twin set, ‘the more … ‘bovine’ variety!’

 And with that, Annette swanned off, the smirk nailed securely to her face and

her hand grasped tightly around her son’s to disguise its tremor.

 They sat in silence during the drive home. When they reached the house,

Annette walked with exaggerated deportment into her room and sat in front of

the mirror.

 With some caution, Sebastian followed.

 His mother leaned forward and ran her fingers across her chest.

 The storm clouds were gathering.

 Sebastian edged back a little.

 Annette put her other hand to her chest until her fingertips touched.

 That contact was the igniting spark.

 She suddenly grabbed the delicate neckline of the dress and with a roar of

rage, ripped it straight down the front.

 Sebastian stared.

 His mother screamed and cried, wordlessly pounding her fists on the

dressing table.

 The frightened boy stood to leave but as he did so, the woman grabbed him

and pulled him into her embrace. She held him tightly as she rocked in her

distress, her tears running into his hair.

 He put his arms around her back and held her awkwardly; her sudden

weakness meant that he could at least touch her – but not too hard for fear

that she might suddenly break.

                                        *



                                        -9-
‘Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!’ the other boys chanted, circling their haunted

prey.

 Sebastian hunched his thin shoulders and tried to turn away from his

tormentors but they had him hemmed in on all sides now and were pushing in

ever closer. There was no respite, no escape, no air left to breathe in the

tightening circle.

 And then the jabbing started. Pointed fingers stabbing into his ribs, his back,

his face.

He contorted further, trying to defend himself as the chant increased in both

speed and volume.

 ‘Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!’

 Suddenly he could take no more. He sprang open and out whipped a bony

fist, straight into the face of his nearest attacker.

 The boy’s nose exploded as the sharp knuckles sheared through his skin.

                                        *

‘No, violence is never justifiable behaviour,’ the headmaster told him.

 Sebastian’s narrowed eyes flashed with fury.

 ‘Even under provocation.’

 ‘Extreme provocation,’ the boy snapped.

 ‘Any kind of provocation,’ the head spoke over him, ‘and that includes the

sarcastic remarks, insults and general verbal abuse that you are not adverse

to dishing out to all and sundry on a regular basis, boy!’

 Sebastian glared.

 ‘Whilst that may not excuse their behaviour, your attitude is hardly conducive

to smooth social interaction, is it?’



                                        - 10 -
 Sebastian’s anger was becoming tangible, turning the atmosphere acidic.

 ‘Two - or three or four - wrongs do not make a right – ever! Remember that,

Sebastian King!

 He shook his head.

 ‘What’s the matter, boy?’ the head asked. He didn’t catch the mumbled

response.

‘Pardon?’

 Sebastian’s look of utter exasperation said it all. ‘Why doesn’t anyone ever

let me speak?’ he cried.

 The head regarded him with some sympathy. He knew that this strange

young man didn’t have the easiest of lives.

 ‘Okay,’ he said in a gentler tone, ‘what do you want to say?’

 Sebastian was, in fact, momentarily silenced by the unexpected opportunity.

‘Er – well,’ he flustered, as if unfamiliar with the sound of his own voice.

 ‘Yes?’ the head encouraged him.

 ‘They were calling me “bastard”,’ he finished quietly.

 ‘Right.’ The head paused for a moment. ‘And why do you think they were

doing that?’

 ‘Because I haven’t got a father, I suppose.’

 The head pursed his lips.

 ‘Well, that is one meaning of the word!’

                                       *

Sebastian lay stretched out on his bed; thinking, always thinking. He had such

a busy brain – very creative but so restless.




                                       - 11 -
 And the steadily increasing teenage hormones were only making it all worse.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to settle himself. But

even as his thoughts began to still, his body remained irritable and

demanding.

 This was a real double-edged sword for him. He hated being dictated to by

something as lowly as his physical being. But the pleasure, the exquisite

pleasure. And the sense of release, relief and peace afterwards.

 He unfastened his jeans.

                                      *

‘Seba-’

 His eyes snapped open. But it was too late.

 His mother stood and stared as the silky liquid sprang from his body onto the

bedclothes accompanied by a deep groan; a strange mixture of desire and

despair. He had suddenly descended from heaven into hell in one straight

drop.

 He grabbed at the soiled sheet in a vain attempt to cover his ‘sin’.

 ‘You – you –’.

 The eloquent Annette was temporarily lost for words but the suspense only

accentuated her son’s agony.

 ‘You filthy child!’ she managed at last, shaking with fury, slopping the tea

that she had been carrying back to her room.

 He closed his eyes as his face flamed.

 ‘You disgust me.’ The venomous hiss was worse than the initial shriek of

outrage. She threw the rest of the boiling liquid at her son, turned and stormed

out of the room, slamming the door behind her.



                                     - 12 -
 Hot tears ran with the scalding splashes as Sebastian burned with the pain

and the shame.

                                      *

The house was quiet – dangerously so.

 Sebastian looked at his bedside clock. One a.m. She wasn’t usually asleep

yet.

 And if could hear her, at least he knew where she was.

 He stepped out of bed and made his way to the toilet, treading carefully

across the hall. But as he returned, his ever-alert ears picked up a strange

sound.

 He crept cautiously to just outside his mother’s room. Was she ill? She

sounded in some kind of pain.

 He placed his eye to the crack in the door.

 His mother was sitting up in bed with her back to him. Her long hair swayed

back and forth as she rocked.

 Should he intervene in her distress?

 Suddenly she threw back her head and released a loud cry.

 His heart leapt and he grabbed hold of the door handle.

 ‘Oh – my – God!’

 That wasn’t his mother’s voice!

 ‘Go, Anni, go!’

 A deep, urgent, almost brutal baritone.

 Sebastian’s mouth loosened.




                                     - 13 -
His mother responded to the frantic instructions by increasing the force of her

thrusts until her lover was calling out the crescendo of his pleasure in loud,

carnal cries.

 Sebastian found himself suddenly suspended between agony and ecstasy,

his face slack with horror, his groin tightening with arousal.

 He fled back to his room, dived under the covers and began to make love

furiously to the only reliable constant figure in his life – himself.




                                        - 14 -
JACK

‘Don’t come the blue-eyed boy with me, son.’

 The burly man towered over him, glaring. ‘You can’t get round me like you do

with your mother. She still thinks that the sun shines out of your arsehole!’

 ‘John!’ the woman snapped. ‘Don’t talk to the babe like that!’

 ‘The babe!!!’ the man snorted. ‘He’s eight years old now, Bet.’

 ‘He’s still my baby; last of the brood and the only boy’ Jack’s mother cooed,

opening her arms, ‘come and have a cuddle, darlin’.’

 Jack grinned broadly at his father and headed off to the sanctuary of his

mother’s embrace.

 His father raised his eyes and cuffed him gently as he went.

                                        *

‘It weren’t me, Sir. Honest.’

 Jack bit his lip for maximum effect.

 The primary school teacher looked from this vision of cherubic innocence to

his grubby, snotty-nosed, all together less attractive accuser.

 ‘But-’ the boy opened his mouth to protest.

 ‘Stop wasting my time,’ the teacher snapped at him, ‘run along now and don’t

bother me with any more tales!’

 The boy sighed as he turned.

 Jack just smiled.

                                        *

The three boys waited expectantly.




                                        - 15 -
 Each had given their best possible performance for the audition; opened

their mouths wide, projected their voices and sung their hearts out. Now they

stood, still, for the final selection.

 The teachers looked at each of them, murmured to each other, consulted

their notes and looked again. The contest for the play’s leading man, and the

‘benefits’ that that incurred, was always hard fought and this year it was a

particularly close run.

 Jack stole a surreptitious look at the lesser physical specimens standing on

either side of him or his mouth twitched.

 The teachers looked from him to the already-selected female lead,

undoubtedly one of the most attractive girls in the secondary school, who was

making obvious moon eyes at him, and decided that they would make the

perfect pair.

 And so the lead role went to Jack.

                                         *

The youths sat in the locker room getting their kits together.

 Jack’s chest was broadening into a triangular torso, muscles were beginning

to develop along his shoulders and back and his blond locks had been

cropped into the latest style.

 Many of the other boys, wrestling with their awkward, irregularly developing

bodies and rebellious skin, regarded him enviously. But, in spite of his

abundant natural blessings, he was difficult to dislike.

 ‘So who aren’t you taking to the Christmas dance?’ one his many mates

asked him, ‘that might be an easier question!’

 Jack laughed.



                                         - 16 -
 ‘So?’ the friend persisted.

 ‘What?’

 ‘Which dozen hotties shall the rest of us not bother asking?’

 ‘I’m only taking one.’

 ‘Jessica Watkins’ the boys chorused.

 ‘Of course’ Jack smiled. He and the ‘queen of the fifth year’ had been going

steady for several months now.

 There was a moment’s pause as one boy considered whether or not to ask

the question. ‘So –’ he ventured finally, ‘have you done it with her yet, then?’

 Jack did not look up from the boots that he was lacing.

 ‘Well, have you?’

 He did not reply.

 ‘Betcha have then!’

 Aware of the inexperience around him, ill-concealed by loud bravado, Jack

decided to bluff it out. After all, he had promised her that he wouldn’t tell.

 He shook his head.

 ‘Yah – go on!’ the others jeered at him.

 He fixed them with his best big blue stare. ‘Of course I’ve tried but she won’t

let me,’ he lied.

 His audience laughed. ‘Never mind, Jack. Not quite as lucky as you seem,

eh?’

 He just smiled.

                                       *




                                       - 17 -
Jack’s father frowned. ‘I don’t think so!’

 But his mother remained defiant. ‘Why not?’

 ‘ ‘Cos the boy needs a proper job, that’s why.’

 ‘It is a proper job, John. It ain’t offered to just anyone, you know. Only the

real good-looking ones!’

 ‘Think about it, love,’ Jack’s father said patiently, ‘he may be a bit a looker at

the moment, I’ll give you that. But beauty, of all things, don’t last forever.’

 Bet snorted at her husband’s jowly face. ‘Well, ain’t that the truth, John

Bailey!’

 But he was non-plussed. ‘Just proves me point then.’

 Bet sniffed. ‘I think the boy should choose for himself – he’s old enough.’

 John nodded. ‘The ‘boy’ certainly is.’

                                        *

Jack considered the offer.

 ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘Is modelling a proper job?’

 John raised his eyebrows at his wife.

 Bet ignored him.

 ‘Of course it is, babe,’ she assured her son. ‘Only offered to the elite, mind.

Good money too.’

 ‘But I never approached -’

 ‘No, your soft mother did,’ John told him, ‘just cos they took a few snaps of

you when you was little, she reckoned-’

 ‘An’ I was right an’ all!’ Bet barged in. ‘Very interested in a good-looking, they

are. So whad’ya say, love?’

 Jack looked doubtful. He turned to his father. ‘What do you think?’



                                       - 18 -
 Bet tutted.

 John shrugged. ‘It’s your call, son. All I’d say is make sure you get a proper

trade under your belt at some time too because – as your mum keeps

reminding me – age ain’t no friend of beauty.’

 Jack looked back to his mother’s hopeful face; bless her!

 ‘All right,’ he decided, ‘I’ll give it a go. Why not?’

 Bet beamed at her ‘golden boy’.

                                         *

And she was right.

 The agency signed Jack Bailey up straight from school and soon his

handsome face was advertising everything from food to fashion.

 And the money was good. Unlike most of his peers, he could afford to move

into his own place within a year. But he was a family man at heart and chose

to stay with his parents, sharing his earnings with them; his proud mother who

still cooked and cleaned for him and his father who still worked down the

docks and helped to keep his son’s feet firmly on the ground.

 As he had promised his ‘old man’, Jack decided to learn all about the other

side of the camera whilst he was on the job, developing considerable skill as a

photographer in addition to the fortune of his face. Soon he was equally at

home on both sides of the lens and his promising work caught the attention of

a young entrepreneur rising quickly in the business, named Sebastian King.

 Jack would always remember the first time that he set eyes on Sebastian.

 They were both at an industry party, mixing and mingling with the assorted

brains and beauty of the latest scene. Though well used to beautiful women,

Jack’s attention that evening had been captured by a striking, raven-haired girl



                                         - 19 -
called Helena whose wit, somewhat unusually Jack noted, more than matched

her wiles. She had been coaxing his ready laugh for about an hour when the

pair of them were approached by a tall young man with an upright stance and

piercing eyes.

 Jack noticed that Helena immediately fell silent. He frowned.

 ‘Good evening, Mr Bailey’. The ‘strange’r introduced himself. ‘My name is

Sebastian King.’

 Jack shook the cold thin hand. ‘I’ve heard of you.’

 The man looked pleased. ‘Let’s talk business,’ he said, placing his fingers on

Jack’s shoulder.

 Despite the warmth of the party, Jack felt a sudden chill.

 Helena remained where she stood, her eyes slightly downcast.

 ‘Run along, there’s a good girl.’ Sebastian threw her a sticky smile and

waved her away. ‘I’ll call you later.’

 The shiny, sparkling creature left without a word.

 Jack stared after her.

 ‘Fabulous, isn’t she?’ Sebastian said smoothly, guiding Jack to the bar.

 ‘I was just finding that out,’ Jack complained.

 ‘I think you two would work really well together. I’ll talk to her about it.’

 ‘She works with you?’ Jack asked.

  ‘She works for me,’ Sebastian corrected him. ‘Great girl. Camera loves her.’

 ‘I can see why,’ Jack said.

 Sebastian smiled, absorbed that line and filed it away for future use. He

helped himself to two glasses of champagne and pressed one into Jack’s

hand. ‘So, how about it?’



                                         - 20 -
 Jack’s mind was still on the girl. ‘Wot?’

 ‘Working for me.’

 Jack thought about it. It seemed a good opportunity but … he had, indeed,

heard of Sebastian King and first impressions only deepened his caution.

 ‘I’m contracted to David Robinson at the moment,’ Jack began.

 Sebastian shrugged. ‘So?’

 ‘So …’ Jack said carefully, ‘I’m contracted to him.’

 ‘I can offer you a better one’ Sebastian said simply.

 ‘Yeah, but a contract is-’

 ‘Only a piece of paper,’ Sebastian cut across him, ‘just like a marriage

licence – and just as easy to break!’

 ‘But Dave-’

 ‘Is a good friend of mine,’ Sebastian went on, ‘I’ll have a word with him if that

will help to salve your tender little conscience, Mr Bailey.’

 A slight sneer.

 ‘Well-’

 ‘Good,’ Sebastian cooed, ‘that’s settled then.’

 Jack took a sup of his drink but found it strangely difficult to swallow.

                                        *

Helena observed Jack lazily as he began to set up his equipment in

Sebastian’s studio. The place was certainly more ‘modest’ than David

Robinson’s hi-tech set up but Jack knew that some amazing work had already

come out of this place.




                                        - 21 -
Helena took another long drag on her cigarette. Jack wrinkled his nose; okay,

most models smoked in an attempt to control their weight but it was still a dirty

habit.

 ‘He’s got you hooked now then,’ she said finally.

 Jack straightened up. ‘I wouldn’t say hooked,’ he replied, aware of his

defensive tone, ‘he made me an offer that I decided to accept.’

 Helena’s mouth curled slightly. ‘Or couldn’t refuse?’

 Jack began to feel a little uncomfortable; it must be the heat of the lights. ‘I’m

looking forward to working with Sebastian.’

 This time, Helena actually laughed. She strolled over and sat down on one of

the flight cases, her long legs crossing just in front of Jack’s face.

 ‘Nobody actually works with Sebastian,’ she told him, ‘he’s far too …self-

contained for that.’

 Jack frowned. ‘Meaning?’

 Helena took another long drag and thought about her reply. ‘He’s a strange

man,’ she began.

 Jack raised his eyebrows; obviously something of an understatement.

 ‘He is very creative, of course,’ Helena went on. ‘He has a unique, rather …

warped take on the world around him. Extremely interesting.’

 Jack watched her warming to the subject.

 ‘His intellect can be intimidating at times but he has an enormous amount of

energy – passion,’ her eyes sparkled, ‘and this incredible … focus.’

 She had become quite excited now, waving her slender hands around as

she spoke. Jack stopped listening and began to absorb her beauty instead.



                                       - 22 -
 ‘When he’s with you it’s as if you become the single most important thing in

the universe, worthy of him expending his considerable self upon only you.’

 She had lost Jack completely now.

 ‘It’s amazing,’ she breathed, ‘at least for that moment.’

 She stopped and focussed on Jack’s uncomprehending expression.

 ‘Right,’ he faltered, ‘so you two are lovers?’

 She stared at him. ‘Lovers? God, no!’

 Jack tried again. ‘But you’d like to be?’

 She rubbed her face thoughtfully. ‘I really don’t know,’ she admitted, ‘if he

can translate ‘that’ into physical passion, it would be mind-blowing. But -’ she

faltered, ‘perhaps a little too intense.’

 ‘Too intense?’ Jack still didn’t understand.

 ‘Yeah, there’s a sort of –’ she considered it, ‘almost a … violence about him,

some sort of hidden defence or something – I dunno.’

 Jack decided that he wasn’t going to understand this, however hard Helena

tried to explain it to him. ‘Must be a bird thing,’ he concluded.

 Helena raised her eyebrows at him. ‘A bird thing?’

 ‘Well-er,’ he stuttered, wishing that he’d never started this conversation, ‘I

mean, what does your other half make of all this?’

 She smiled. ‘I don’t have an ‘other half’.’

 He grinned back at her. ‘Would you like one?’

                                            *

Helena smiled … and smiled …and smiled.

 Jack snapped away, from all angles, calling out instructions as he went.

 The session came to an end.



                                        - 23 -
 She relaxed. Jack watched her stretch her spine and throw back her blue-

black hair; you know, she looked even more beautiful when she wasn’t

posing.

 ‘Just a couple more,’ he said.

 She was tired now but, ever the professional, she flexed her facial muscles

and prepared to smile once again.

 Jack walked up to her and took her hand. She eyed him quizzically but

allowed herself to be led over to the chaise lounge. He sat her down and

began to rub her shoulders. She groaned with pleasure, sank down into the

cushions and closed her eyes.

 Jack gave her a moment to settle then began to photograph her as she

relaxed. Her face lightened and softened as her breathing became deeper.

Jack lowered the lights, lit some candles and set about capturing her in

unguarded repose. By the time he had finished, she was asleep.

 He laid down the camera and kneeled down by her head, studying at the

way the shadows danced across her face. He was mesmerized. He leaned

forward, brushed a strand of hair from her face and very gently kissed her as

she slept.

 Through the window of the studio door, Sebastian watched.

                                     *

Jack Bailey’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’ collection was a great success.

 The proprietor of Studio De Sebastian was delighted. ‘An excellent start,’ he

told Jack at the exhibition, especially when the orders began to come in. He

could use a little more investment in his fledgling empire. ‘You were a good

choice.’



                                     - 24 -
 ‘I made a good choice,’ Jack corrected him firmly.

 Sebastian watched Helena receiving her laurels from an appreciative

audience. He slipped an arm around Jack’s shoulders. ‘Y’ know, I think we

could develop this one – in a very interesting direction.’

                                        *

‘He wants to do - what?’

 Jack was incredulous; had he heard her correctly?

 Helena didn’t turn from the meal that she was preparing to answer him.

 ‘Photograph ecstasy,’ she repeated.

 ‘The drug?’

 ‘No, ecstasy. Physical ecstasy.’

 Jack laughed. ‘Thrown back heads? Exaggerated grimaces? Sebastian King

does porn?’

 Helena kept stirring. ‘No – the real thing. He says he wants to capture the

ecstasy of an authentic orgasm.’

 ‘Some bird’s gonna have an interesting time then,’ Jack concluded. ‘Anyway,

is that food nearly ready, love? I’m starving.’

 ‘Yes, I rather think I am.’

 ‘You’re what?’

 ‘Going to have an interesting time.’

 It took Jack a moment to re-focus his attention from his stomach to his

girlfriend. ‘You’re not!’

 ‘Really?’




                                        - 25 -
‘Yeah, really! If Sebastian wants to do … that, he can find someone else to

do it with, literally.’ Jack felt the indignation rising with him; bloody cheek!

‘He’s got plenty of models; all too willing to ‘assist’.’

 ‘But he asked me,’ Helena replied.

 ‘Well, he can-’

 ‘And I’ve agreed,’ she added.

 ‘You-’

 ‘He says that you can join in too if you like. He thinks it would add an

interesting slant.’

 ‘I’ll give his ugly face an interesting slant if he keeps on!’ Jack roared. ‘No,

Helena. I’m not doing it – and neither are you!’

 Her face hardened. ‘Says who?’

 He set his jaw too as he squared up to her. Her willowy frame was, in fact, a

full two inches taller than his stocky body but he was confident enough to

cope with that – especially when riled. They’d had some ‘interesting’ stand-

offs in their relationship so far.

 ‘I say,’ he declared.

 She regarded him angrily. ‘You don’t have any rights over me, Jack Bailey.’

 ‘Well, a husband should,’ he shot back.

 ‘You’re not my husband!’

 She had played right into his hands; time to strike. He suddenly dropped

onto one knee, disarming her completely, and smiled. ‘Would you like me to

be?’

 She thought about it for moment, cocking her head as if weighing up her

options. ‘Okay then’ she said, “why not?” And the matter was settled.



                                         - 26 -
ANGIE

Max Taylor was a powerful man; in every sense of the word. Standing at

about six foot square, his broad torso extended to a solid neck, a strong jaw

and a head of thick hair that he had allowed to become flecked a

distinguished silver.

 He walked and talked with a confidence that fell just short of arrogance and

his quick eyes missed nothing.

 He was a popular man; loved by his friends and respected by his

‘competitors’ (he did not recognize the concept of enemy.) His employees

recognised him as a fair boss and his social and economic equals regarded

him with favour.

 He was his own master; his own man

 His good humour and generosity plus his reputation as something of a ‘bon

vivant’ all added up to a real “larger than life” figure.

 But his life had not been entirely charmed. The son of a docker, he had cut

his entrepreneurial teeth in the East End markets, working every available

hour until he had made his fortune.

 He now lived in a house that his parents could never even have imagined, let

alone dreamed of owning, with a Carrera, a Ferrari and, of course, the

obligatory vintage Aston Martin in the garage, paddocks of thoroughbred

horses and a bank balance containing more digits than his telephone number.

 He married Phoebe, the eldest daughter of a titled family and after many

years of trying, they finally produced a beautiful daughter, Angela.

 The little girl, with the aqua eyes and cascade of white blonde curls, was the

absolute centre of her parents’ universe. Her christening had been ‘the’ social



                                        - 27 -
event of the year, packed with the great and the good from all over the globe,

whilst the ‘celebrity darlings’ who normally declined invitations to all but the

most important events, were left to read all about it in the papers the next day.

 None of the Taylor’s’ considerable fortune was spared in the upbringing of

what they knew would be their only child; a top private education among

carefully selected peers, pony club, music lessons and, of course, the most

exclusive finishing school.

 The girl was fluent in the language of many cultures, being well versed in the

history, classic literature and music of each. She was dressed in Versace and

Dolce and Gabbana, carried a passport boasting stamps from the four corners

of the world and had a social diary, plumper than Pavarotti, with a contact list

that read like the latest edition of ‘Who’s Who.’

 All this in addition to the breath-taking beauty of her mother and the

exuberant nature of her father.

 The ultimate ‘it’ girl. Pampered and protected and although, despite her

parents’ best intentions, definitely spoiled, it was much more in the material

than in the temperament.

 The girl who had everything?

                                       *

Phoebe’s illness was sudden and short but her death was devastating.

 Completely dazed, Angie and Max clung desperately to each other, trying to

find some stability in their strange new world.

 Extended family, friends and the multitude of genuine well-wishers were

excluded as the fractured pair reeled and staggered in their distress.




                                       - 28 -
 Days stretched into weeks of isolation as father and daughter cleaved their

painfully torn edges together until the Taylor family re-emerged as a single,

soldered being.

 Max felt that his whole life had been catapulted back to square one in some

cruel and bizarre game of snakes and ladders but the indomitable nature that

had made him the man he was in the first place, just would not allow him to lie

down and bleed to death.

 Slowly he began to rebuild his world until it bore at least some semblance to

its original self. He took back the reins of his business empire and, in time,

even returned to his relieved social circle but there was now a definite vacuum

behind the glittery surface.

                                       *

Angie took longer to heal. Unlike Max, she had never experienced life without

Phoebe, her constant attentive presence and captivating beauty, so more time

was needed for the bereaved daughter to recover an approximation of reality.

 When she reappeared in society, she oscillated between quiet withdrawal

and bouts of excessive, alcohol-fuelled exuberance as she struggled to move

on with her life.

 Her father, already dealing with the burden of his own grief, watched her

anxiously.

                                       *

Robert studied the papers at length, careful not to let his face betray his

shock.

 Max sat in the chair opposite in the classical drawing room and, in turn,

studied Robert.



                                      - 29 -
 Robert laid the paper down and looked his old friend straight in the eye; he

was one of the people that Max Taylor trusted and he would not abuse that.

 ‘It’s pretty grim reading,’ Robert began.

 Max exhaled deeply.

 ‘And yes, something does need to be done about this.’

 Max looked tired. His hair had definitely become more ‘distinguished’ of late.

‘But what?’ he asked.

 Robert considered the situation. ‘What do you think Phoebe would do?’

 ‘How the hell should I know?’ The answer, delivered straight from his raw

nerves, was as sharp as a whip crack.

 But Robert held fast; this had been expected. He gave his friend time.

 ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ Max said, almost immediately, ‘Robert, I –’

 ‘Think!’ Robert instructed him, ‘I know it’s hard but you know that that’s

where the best answer lies.’

 Max ran his hands across his face; thank God for old friends. ‘Of course, of

course. Thank you.’

 The two friends lapsed into silence as they pondered the painful question.

 On the table, the open paper revealed photos of Angie, taken the night

before, falling out of one of the capital’s most notorious nightclubs, her hair

everywhere, her beautiful eyes smudged and glazed, snarling obscenities at

the waiting photographers.

 Max concentrated hard on Phoebe but all he seemed to be able to hear was

the sound of her turning in her grave. A solitary tear slipped down his cheek.

 Robert leaned over and patted his shoulder, aware of the significance of this

rare public display. ‘May I make a suggestion?’



                                      - 30 -
 Max shrugged miserably.

 ‘As the media and Angela are so interested in each other at the moment,

why don’t we try and foster a more … positive relationship between them?’

 Max indicated that he should go on.

 ‘Your daughter is very, very beautiful,’ Robert said, ‘much like her mother.’

 Max winced but Robert persisted.

 ‘Why not encourage her to become a model … just as she and Phoebe used

to discuss.’

 Another flash of great anger. ‘No!’ Max cried furiously; how could he suggest

such a thing! ‘Robert, you know my thoughts on that one!’

 ‘But-’

 ‘You know as well as I do where ‘that’ career can lead.’

 ‘Max!’ Robert spoke sternly, ‘I am not for a moment suggesting that you

simply launch her into a world of potential exploitation and abuse and then

abandon her! Of course I’m not. After all, I am her godfather.’

 ‘Yes but you said-’ Max snapped.

 ‘I said “just as she and Phoebe used to discuss.”’

 ‘Meaning?’

 ‘A carefully planned and closely supervised introduction to the world of

professional modelling,’ Robert elaborated, ‘just to give the girl a taste. See

how she likes it. See how she gets on.’

 ‘But the agents, the profiteers, the parasites – ’

 ‘- Will all be kept well at bay whilst she finds her feet. If she takes to it, the

level of protection can be gradually decreased until she is old and




                                        - 31 -
experienced enough to look after herself. And we, of course, will always be

there, waiting in the wings for her if she needs us.’

 ‘And that’s what Phoebe intended?’

 Robert nodded.

 ‘How do you know?’ Max asked.

 ‘Because she had to talk it over with someone when you flatly refused to

discuss it.’

 Max coloured; his old friend was speaking the truth, as always. ‘And you say

that was what the girls were planning?’

 ‘Yes,’ Robert replied simply, ‘and you wouldn’t argue with Phoebe’s wisdom,

would you?’

 Max smiled. ‘I wouldn’t ever argue with that woman, even now!’

 It was decided.

                                       *

Angie eyed her father suspiciously. ‘But you wouldn’t hear of it when Mummy

was alive.’

 ‘Well,’ Max faltered, ‘things change.’

 Angie threw a sly smile at Robert. His mouth twitched and he looked away.

 ‘So do you want to or not?’ Max persisted.

 Angie shrugged. ‘S’pose so.’

 ‘S’pose so?’ her father exclaimed. ‘What sort of a reply is that?’

 ‘Mine,’ she said and dismissed herself.

 Robert grinned. ‘Just like her mother!’

                                       *




                                      - 32 -
‘Sebastian King – Max Taylor.’

 The two men looked each other straight in the eye as they shook hands.

Each was silently impressed by the other’s assertiveness. These two talked

the same language; they could do business together.

 ‘She’s very beautiful,’ Max explained, ‘although, of course, I’m biased!’

 Sebastian smiled smoothly. ‘Well, if she’s anything like Phoebe Taylor …’ He

knew exactly how to play this.

 ‘But still very young and, of course, still very traumatized.’

 ‘Of course,’ Sebastian inclined his head. ‘My condolences, sir.’

 Max cleared his throat. ‘Well, er – we – I – just want her to have a try, see

how she likes it. Perhaps it will channel her energies into more … constructive

pursuits.’

 Sebastian nodded.

 ‘But she will, of course, be accompanied at all times,’

 ‘Of course,’

 ‘And regardless of any contractual obligations, if she decides that it’s not for

her –’

 ‘Absolutely,’

 ‘Good,’ Max said, ‘I want her to be well looked after.’

 Sebastian’s eyes glinted. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll take care of her.’

                                       *

Despite her teenage bravado, Angie was nervous as the car stopped outside

the studio.




                                       - 33 -
 She checked her reflection in the rear view mirror, smoothed down her skirt

and missed her mother.

 So did Max as he went round to open her door.

 From an upstairs window, Sebastian watched the girl, her head bowed, step

out of the car and immediately trip up the kerb in heels that were far too high

for her.

 He smiled.

                                            *

Max pushed the button of the intercom. Angie bit her lip.

 The door of the studio opened and Angie Taylor and Sebastian King came

face-to-face for the first time.

 They stared at each other.

 As experienced a photographer as he was, he was stunned by her physical

perfection; the hair, the skin, the figure – and those eyes.

 She was mesmerized by his stature, his presence, his dominance – and

those eyes.

 ‘Right,’ Max shattered the moment, ‘where do you want us?’

 Sebastian reached out his long fingers and very gently laid them in the

middle of Angie’s back. She shivered under his touch and allowed herself to

be guided willingly.

                                            *

‘Head up,’ Sebastian instructed.

 Angie absorbed his deep, rich tones; like melted chocolate to the ears.

 ‘To the left – just a little – perfect.’

 The single word of praise caused a warm flush to travel up her neck.



                                            - 34 -
 Sebastian smiled.

 The shutter clicked. ‘And again – hold it there.’ The camera captured her

greedily once again.

 ‘Right. Now stand up.’

 Again, instant compliance.

 ‘No, not like that.’

 A slight correction. Angie flinched.

 Sebastian walked over. As he approached, she stiffened with anticipation.

He crossed behind her and she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck and

her nostrils were suddenly filled with the smell of him.

 She inhaled deeply.

 One finger touched her shoulder. She jumped.

 ‘Relax,’ he laughed, ‘the camera already loves you – I can see why.’

 More heat rising. She turned her head to look at him. His blue eyes held her

reflection just like the lens, the eyelids flicking across as briefly as the shutter.

As clear as glass. And just as cold.

 A slight, involuntary shiver.

 ‘Face the camera, angel,’ Sebastian told her.

 She turned her head back again and allowed herself to be manipulated to his

exact specifications.

 From the other side of the studio, the tall woman with raven hair watched

and smoked and said nothing.

 Light levels were altered, lenses were changed and eventually he was

satisfied. ‘Okay,’ he called to the photographer. ‘Right, I think that’ll do for

now,’ Sebastian decided.



                                        - 35 -
 Released from his whims, Angie finally relaxed.

  A blond head appeared from the other side of the camera. ‘Okay,

Sebastian,’ the man called in a contrastingly uncultured tone. ‘I think we’ve got

enough here for a first run. I’ll go and load ‘em into the computer now.’

 Another pair of blue eyes but so much warmer, like a clear summer’s sky.

 The man winked at Angie.

 She stared.

                                        *

As they sat, drinking coffee and waiting, Angie was aware of Sebastian

studying her.

 Her father had sat himself next to the man, leaving Angie to perch opposite

but even though Sebastian was engaging him in conversation very

convincingly, encouraging Max’s enthusiasm, Angie knew that her father did

not have the man’s full attention.

 Appearing to concentrate hard on her coffee, Angie took the opportunity to

steal the occasional glimpse. She decided that Sebastian could never be

described as good-looking in the conventional sense of the word: his hair,

though carefully-styled, was dull in both colour and condition, his skin bore

faint acne scars and the set of his eyes gave him an almost feline

appearance. But there was definitely something magnetically attractive about

this man; he seemed to convey an unmistakable air of authority and self-

confidence that was impossible to ignore.

 His speech was smooth, his poise was assured and he oozed intelligence. A

perfect antidote to her ill-disguised insecurity.

 The door swinging open made her jump.



                                       - 36 -
 The photographer had returned. He treated Angie to a dazzling smile. ‘Okay,

love?’ he asked.

 She felt herself blush.

 ‘Ready?’ Sebastian asked, a little sharply.

 ‘Oh yeah,’ the man replied, brandishing a disc, ‘and very nice they are too.’

 Max’s smile grew wider and wider as each successive picture appeared on

the screen in front of him.

 ‘Oh, these are just … beautiful,’ he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away

from the images of his daughter.

 Sebastian smiled; this one was hooked.

 Angie lowered her gaze.

 ‘Told you,’ the photographer enthused. He turned to Angie. ‘You’re a natural,

love. Just like your mother.’

 Max had become a little misty-eyed. He took hold of Sebastian’s hand and

shook it warmly. ‘Thank you, Mr King,’ he said hoarsely. He turned to the

photographer, ‘and Mr - ?’

 The man grinned. ‘Just Jack,’ he said.

                                      *

In the privacy of his own room, Max laid the photos of his daughter out next to

those of his wife.

 And he sighed.

                                      *

In the privacy of her own room, Angie laid the photos of herself out next to

those of her mother.

 And she cried.



                                     - 37 -
- 38 -