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Flawless
Sara Craven
Mills & Boon proudly presents THE SARA CRAVEN COLLECTION. Sara’s powerful and passionate romances have captivated and thrilled readers all over the world for five decades and made her an international bestseller.FLAWLESSShe'd finally have her revengeAs a gawky, plain teenager, Carly suffered bitter disillusion at the hands of Saul Kingsland. And she’s been waiting for the right time to teach him a lesson.Now an acknowledged beauty and successful model, Carly could afford to be generous. But she had no intention of forgiving and forgetting the past.So she laid her plans carefully, put them into action – only then realising that the price might be too high for her to pay…
Flawless
Sara Craven
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u77062130-1b16-502b-bc6b-5e8c92c0c199)
Title Page (#ufd5fecc7-0f96-59a2-9917-1b0595fc5746)
About the Author (#u2c36dc07-6ccd-58b3-9452-6610f48c7409)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1af7ac8e-d8f1-5a34-bbc6-a32f6a869863)
‘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 met Saul Kingsland before, Carly?’ she asked casually.
‘Of course she hasn’t met him,’ Clive cut in impatiently. ‘How could she have? She’d have still been a kid at school when he took off for America four years ago. And he hasn’t been back since. I never thought he would come back.’
Marge shrugged. ‘I only wondered,’ she returned mildly, leading her still fuming husband into the sitting-room, and closing the door behind them.
Carly released a long, deep breath, letting sudden tension flow out of her.
‘Take it easy,’ she whispered to her mirrored image. ‘You have a long night ahead of you.’
She eyed herself with a kind of clinical detachment, trying to see herself as Saul Kingsland would later that evening.
Her hair cascaded to her shoulders in wave after wave of burnished mahogany. Her eyes under the long sweep of mascaraed lashes were as cool and tranquil as aquamarines. She had a pale skin, a small, straight nose, a chin that was determined without being obtrusive, and a well-shaped mouth, the top lip clearly defined, the lower one curving in discreetly sensual promise.
‘Flawless,’ she said aloud, and with irony.
Her dress was aquamarine too, a simple, supple shape that left one shoulder bare, and she wore no jewellery, not even a watch.
I don’t want to know when it’s midnight. I might turn back into a pumpkin, she thought, and for a moment her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
But it couldn’t happen. Here she was, after all, Carly North. One of modelling’s newest and most successful faces. An up and coming name. Someone to be reckoned with in the cut-throat world of promoting beauty and fashion.
Just for a second, she wondered what the assignments were that Clive had been lining up for her, and allowed herself a brief pang of regret. Quite apart from the fact that he and Marge had become almost her second family, she had nothing but praise for the way he’d handled her career so far.
But she couldn’t have second thoughts now. She’d waited too long for this chance. Her decision was made, and there was no going back.
She was going to be the Flawless Girl. She had to be.
She picked up her flask of First by Van Cleef and Arpels, and drew the glass stopper delicately over her pulse points. By the time she got to the reception, the fragrance would be blooming and alive on her skin.
Then she smiled at herself. It wasn’t a smile that Marge, Clive, or the children would have recognised, or, indeed, any of the photographers she’d worked with in the past, who spoke of her warm vitality.
It was a harsh, almost feral twist of the lips.
‘Saul Kingsland.’ She said his name aloud like an incantation. ‘You won’t choose anyone else. You won’t see anyone else.’
She picked up her wrap and went to join the others.
It was a warm night, and the long french windows of the hotel’s banqueting suite had been thrown open. The balcony outside overlooked the hotel’s sunken garden, a square of paved walks interleaving beds of crowding shrubs and roses.
Carly stood beside one of the open windows, and drew a deep, grateful breath. Clive had been so right about her loathing of this kind of party, she thought, grimacing inwardly. The clash of most of the popular scents on over-heated bodies vied for supremacy with the smell of alcohol, and the all-pervasive reek of tobacco smoke.
The champagne had been flowing freely all evening. Carly’s own glass was almost untouched, but other people hadn’t been so abstemious. Around her, voices were being raised, and laughter was a little too strident. Some of the other girls were looking flushed, too, and their immaculate grooming was becoming frayed round the edges.
If he keeps us all waiting much longer, people will start passing out, Carly told herself. But perhaps that’s how he’s going to make his choice—the only girl still vertical at the end of the evening.
Her mouth curled in distaste at the thought. In fact, Saul Kingsland’s delayed appearance at the reception spoke of arrogance of the worst kind. But maybe the man who was being spoken of, since his recent return from the States, as the natural successor to David Bailey and Patrick Lichfield, felt himself above the consideration of other people’s feelings or convenience. If so, he would undoubtedly be a swine to work with.
Good, Carly thought, lifting her hair away from the nape of her neck for a moment so that the faint breeze could caress her skin. That suits me just fine.
‘Carly, I thought it was you.’ Gina Lesley, with whom she’d worked on a bathing-suit feature in the Bahamas, appeared from nowhere. ‘Isn’t this whole thing unbelievable? It’s like being in some harem, and waiting for the Sultan to appear and pick one of us for the night.’
‘They say it’s exactly like that,’ an elfin-faced girl, her red hair exotically tipped with gold, broke in eagerly. ‘Lauren reckons that Saul Kingsland sleeps with all his models. Do you suppose it’s true?’
Gina gave Carly a speaking look. ‘I shouldn’t think so for a moment,’ she returned crushingly. ‘If he went in for that kind of bedroom athletics he wouldn’t be able to focus his eyes, let alone a camera.’
The other girl pouted and walked off.
‘Incredible,’ Gina muttered. ‘In fact, the latest whisper from the powder-room says that we’re all wasting our time because the great man has no intention of showing here tonight.’
Carly was very still. ‘I hope that isn’t true,’ she said sharply.
‘So do I, darling. And to add to my depression, one of the hacks from the Creed agency is spreading the word that Saul Kingsland is going for a total unknown—someone he’ll see in the street, or serving in a shop, maybe.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Carly said. ‘They wouldn’t be throwing away their money on a bash like this if that was the case.’
Gina grinned at her. ‘Positive thinking,’ she said. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ She paused. ‘Oddly enough, you were the last person I expected to see here tonight.’
Carly shrugged. ‘I have to eat, too,’ she returned. ‘I just wish it was all over, and we could go home.’
‘Well, something seems to be happening at last.’ Gina craned her neck. ‘Some of the Flawless bigwigs are milling about, and Septimus Creed is doing his marshalling act. I think someone’s going to make a speech.’
The chairman of the company producing the new cosmetic range mounted the flower-decked dais at the end of the room, and tested the microphone a shade uncertainly. After the usual words of welcome, he launched into an enthusiastic description of the new range.
‘Flawless,’ he told them, ‘is not just another brand of make-up. We regard it as a total look—part of today’s woman’s complete way of life—hypo-allergenic, yet highly fashion-conscious at the same time. And we pride ourselves on the fact that we are leading the way in banning animal testing from our laboratories.’
Carly joined in the dutiful ripple of applause, and took a sideways step towards the open window to gulp another breath of fresh air. And in that moment she saw him.
He was standing at the head of the short flight of stairs which led down into the banqueting suite from its main entrance, his eyes restlessly scanning the crowded room.
He was tall, she thought, her gaze devouring him. Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. He was by no means conventionally handsome. His features were too strong—too assertive with those heavy-lidded grey eyes, jutting chin, and a nose that was almost a beak. He shouldn’t even have been attractive, Carly told herself. His face was too thin, and the lines round his face and mouth altogether too cynical. His hair was too long, and the formality of his dinner-jacket sat uneasily on him, Carly told herself critically. His tie was slightly crooked, as if he’d wrenched at its constriction with an impatient hand.
Yet in spite of this—because of this?—he was attractive. Devastatingly, heart-stoppingly, unequivocally attractive. All man, someone had called him once, and it was true. A man who spent his life among beautiful women, and enjoyed that life to the full.
But no one else had noticed his arrival, Carly realised as she stared across at him. They were all facing the dais, listening to the chairman’s peroration.
With total deliberation and concentration, she focused all her attention on him, willing him to turn his head, and see her.
Look at me, she commanded silently. Look at me now.
Slowly, as if she was operating some invisible magnet, Saul Kingsland’s head turned, and across the room their eyes met.
For a long moment Carly held his gaze, then she deliberately snapped the thread, turning to watch Septimus Creed who’d followed the chairman on to the dais and was outlining the thinking behind the plans for the campaign.
