Page 41 of Bad Influence
‘This is ridiculous.’ She huffed. ‘I’m giving her five minutes before we bust the door.’ She looked at Blair. ‘Where’s Jimi?’
‘His bedroom door is open, he must have gone out. Maybe for a run.’
‘Great. Brilliant,’ Julie-Ann said. ‘Really helpful.’ Then she paced around the hallway in a fidgety manner, looking at her phone and fiddling with the top of her black, ribbed polo neck, which she wore under a grey suit, giving her a stressed exec vibe. Every now and again, she pulled the polo neck over her mouth and breathed deeply into it, like it might magically have the effect of an oxygen mask, and give her some extra strength. Then she would tut, swear a bit, and run her finger along a surface to check for dust and pace around again. I spotted Philippa hovering around the bottom of the stairs nervously, sucking in her cheeks every time Julie-Ann swore more loudly than was strictly necessary, like blasphemy within these hallowed halls pained her deeply.
The photographer had arrived – a hot-shot image maker who went by the mononym Mart. His name, Blair told me, was actually Martin Rambleswick, but that didn’t sound very fashionable.
‘This shoothasto work. We have all invested so much in this move,’ I overheard Julie-Ann muttering to Mart, as I watched Blair hold a glass against the bedroom door. ‘Jose’s going to lose it if we can’t monetise this trip. I don’t understand why she’s doing this to us. Blair, you’re going to have to go in.’
Then a noise from downstairs made us all stop what we were doing. The front door opened and Mandy and Jimi appeared from behind it. Our six confused faces stared at them. Neither of them was wearing exercise gear, but they were giggling like naughty school children.
‘Sorry I’m late, we had to see someone about something,’ Mandy announced breezily. She looked as though she was trying not to laugh. ‘Hadn’t we better get started?’
Julie-Ann, wearing a pasted-on smile, responded on behalf of everyone. ‘We sure had, darlings! We’re just glad you’re both okay. You had us a little worried there.’
Jimi looked sheepish and ran his fingers through his curls.
‘Morning, Amber.’ He smiled, catching my eye. ‘Thanks again, for last night.’
Blair turned to me and mouthed,Last night?
‘He was locked out!’ I snapped.
‘Sleep okay?’ I asked Jimi, trying to look casual.
‘Not enough hours, but I took two Ambien, slept like a branch. Anyone else need coffee?’
I sniggered. ‘You mean a log.’
‘Eh?’
‘You slept like a log. Don’t worry.’ I shrugged, my heart beating hard and fast against my ribcage. Blair seemed to sense this and sideways-glanced at me.
‘Jet lag is a killer this way. Nearly two weeks and I’m still not over it. I really need coffee. Do you want one, Mandy?’
‘Yes, please, Blair will look after us,’ she replied. ‘Where do I go for glam?’
‘Over to the annexe please,’ Julie-Ann commanded. ‘Lola, let’s get her into hair and make-up. Amber, take Mandy through the clothes and then get the bedroom styled.’
Like clockwork, our glam squad sprang into action, treating Mandy like a real-life Barbie doll. Blair thrust a coffee into her hand, Lola linked her arm firmly – the equivalent of a headlock – and I led the way towards the annexe. Within seconds Lola had curlers in Mandy’s hair and was starting on her make-up. She seemed in a peculiar mood this morning and continued to giggle as she asked Lola to pay particular attention to plucking her chin hairs, and then claimed the make-up brush Lola was using was ‘too tickly’.
I popped back to the house and got to work in Mandy’s bedroom, styling the items from her soon-to-launch homeware range, which included 800-thread-count Egyptian cotton bed linen, buttery smooth to the touch, and a plush cream bedspread with flecks of gold running through it.
It felt personal to be in Mandy and Jose’s bedroom without anyone present, and it looked as though she had left in a hurry this morning because her dressing gown was strewn on the floor, and there were toiletries open on her dressing table. I carefully tidied it all up like a hotel chambermaid.
As I changed the pillowcases and artfully arranged a pile of scatter cushions at the top of the bed, I noticed something poking out from the top drawer of her bedside table. At first, I thought it was a pregnancy test. I couldn’t help myself pull it out a little further and could see then that it was in fact an ovulation stick. I knew this because I remembered Lucy using them when she was trying to fall pregnant. There was a smiley face on it indicating a fertile day. I thought of the conversation Mandy and I had shared in the cryotherapy chamber, and how cryptic Jimi had been this morning. I wondered whether her fertility issues were what they had been discussing last night. To preserve Mandy’s privacy, I pushed the stick out of sight, right inside the drawer. But, as ever, I wondered if I’d ever really know what was going on in Mandy’s life?
Chapter Eleven
To say the shoot went badly would be an understatement. As the day progressed, rails of my carefully chosen pieces from top British brands ranging from Burberry to Rixo remained untouched, as it became clear that Mandy was much more Florida than London Fashion Week. It was challenging to ask her to wear anything with a high neck, below the knee, or made of silk. Julie-Ann’s brief to make her style more English rose thantheKate Middleton was frankly a joke. At any given opportunity she’d insist on a last-minute change into a Bardot-style off-the-shoulder neckline, or on adding big gold hoops, or aviators. At Mandy’s request, music blared from the Sonos system, and a stream of explicit rap rang out in all rooms of the house. Mandy would get lost in the vibe of the music, throwing herself around. Jimi wasn’t being much help, goading her on, encouraging her to pose seductively on the bed. The neutral bed linen and William Morris vibe of the house jarred with the unashamedly garish celebrity before us. Even Mart – the so-called creator of dreams, who had worked for the coolest stars and fashion magazines – was struggling to find a workable theme here.
I was thinking on my feet, making suggestions like adding a faux fur jacket to some of the looks to introduce more softness. This proved a mistake because Mandy became obsessed with the texture, burying her head in it like a kitten on heat.
‘It’s so soft! Feel it,’ she purred, her pupils large as her eyes glowed with excitement. ‘Oh, I could lose myself in this jacket, I’d like to live in it. Can I keep it, Amber? Do you think you could ask them if I can?’
I feigned excitement, it was all I could do. ‘Isn’t it amazing, Mandy? Sure, I’ll ask the PR.’
Her behaviour was bizarre on every level.
