Page 5 of The Sun Sister
‘Yes, but like you, I do not want to think of my father’s death because it upsets me,’ Zed replied sharply. ‘I only think to the future.’
‘I know, but it is a coincidence—’
The buzzer rang and Zed went to answer the door.
‘Now, Electra,’ he said as he carried two boxes through to the kitchen. ‘Come and help me with these.’
I arrived home from the shoot the following day, took a hot shower and got into bed with a vodka. I felt utterly wrecked – anyone who thought models just floated around in pretty clothes and got paid a fortune for it should try a day being me. A four a.m. start, with six changes of hair, clothes and make-up in a freezing warehouse somewhere downtown wasnoteasy. I never complained publicly – I mean, I was hardly working in a sweatshop in China and I got paid a ton for doing it – but everyone had their own reality and occasionally, even if it was a first-world problem, people were allowed to complain to themselves, weren’t they?
Enjoying feeling warm for the first time that day, I lay back on my pillows and checked my voicemails. Rebekah, Susie’s PA, had left me four, telling me she’d emailed across some résumés of suitable PAs and that I should look at them as soon as I could. I was scrolling through them on my laptop when my cell rang and I saw it was Rebekah again.
‘I’m looking at them right now,’ I said before she could speak.
‘Great, thanks, Electra. I was actually calling because there’s a girl I think would be the perfect fit for you, but she’s been offered another position and has to give her answer by tomorrow. Would it be okay if she swung by early evening and you two had a chat?’
‘I’ve just got in from theVanity Fairshoot, Rebekah, and—’
‘I really think you should see her, Electra. She comes with great references. She used to work as PA to Bardin and you know how difficult he is. I mean,’ Rebekah continued hurriedly, ‘that she’s used to working under pressure for high-profile fashion clients. Can I send her round?’
‘Okay,’ I sighed, not wanting to sound as ‘difficult’ as she obviously thought I was.
‘Great, I’ll tell her. I know she’ll be thrilled – she’s one of your biggest fans.’
‘Right. Good. Tell her to come by at six.’
Promptly at six, the concierge phone beeped to indicate that my guest had arrived.
‘Send her up,’ I said wearily. I wasn’t looking forward to this – since Susie had suggested I needed help organising my life, I’d seen a stream of eager young women arrive, full of enthusiasm, only to leave weeks later.
‘Am I difficult?’ I asked my reflection in the mirror as I made sure I didn’t have anything stuck between my teeth. ‘Maybe. But it’s nothing new, is it?’ I added as I finished off my vodka then smoothed down my hair. Stefano, my hair stylist, had only recently braided it tightly against my scalp in order to stitch in long extensions. My whole head always ached after a new weave had been put in.
There was a knock and I went to answer the door, wondering what was waiting for me on the other side of it. Whatever I’d been expecting, it was certainly not the small, trim figure dressed in a plain brown suit with a skirt that fell at an unfashionable length to just below her knees. My eyes wandered down to her feet, which were enclosed in a pair of what Ma would call ‘sensible’ brown brogues. The most surprising thing about her was that she was wearing a headscarf wrapped tightly across her forehead and around her neck. I saw that she had an exquisite face: tiny nose, high cheekbones, full pink lips and a clear latte-coloured complexion.
‘Hello.’ She smiled at me and her lovely deep brown eyes lit up as she did so. ‘My name is Mariam Kazemi, and I am very pleased to meet you, Miss D’Aplièse.’
I loved the tone of her voice – in fact, if it was for sale, I’d buy it because it was deep and modulated, pouring gently like honey from her throat.
‘Hi, Mariam, come in.’
‘Thank you.’
As I took long strides towards the couch, Mariam Kazemi took her time. She paused to look at the expensive splashes and squiggles on canvas and I could just tell from her expression that she thought as much of them as I did.
‘They’re not mine, they’re the landlord’s choice,’ I felt inexplicably bound to explain. ‘Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, tea – something stronger?’
‘Oh no, I don’t drink. I mean, I do, but not alcohol. I’d love some water if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Sure,’ I said as I changed direction and headed for the kitchen. I was just pulling a bottle of Evian out of the refrigerator when she appeared beside me.
‘I would have thought you had staff to do that kind of thing?’
‘I have a maid, but it’s just little ol’ me here most of the time. Here.’ I handed her the water then she walked to the window and gazed out of it.
‘You’re a long way up.’
‘I am, yes,’ I said, realising I was completely blindsided by this woman, who exuded calm like a perfume and seemed totally unimpressed by meeting me, or by the grand apartment I lived in. Normally, possible candidates were bouncing off the walls with excitement and promises.
‘Shall we go sit down?’ I suggested.
