Free A Vision of Loveliness by Louise Levene

Jane’s carefully casual pose.
    ‘You should, you know. Perfect for it.’
    ‘Suzy does modelling, don’t you, darling?’ The great advantage of this line of work is that you need only be a model. You don’t ever actually have to do any modelling to qualify.
    ‘Bits and pieces. Ooh, did I show you my composite Dickie made for me?’
    Suzy reached into the bag and dug out the card with her photos on it. ‘He wants twenty guineas to make up three hundred but I’m not sure I really want photographic work. You have to get up too early. I’d much rather stagger around a showroom in a pretty frock for an hour or two. Money for old rope, darling,’ she said this to Jane.
    The restaurant had finally given up hope of any more customers and the champagne was disappearing fast. Pete leaned over and stroked Jane’s best stockings appreciatively.
    ‘So! Are we all heading over to Dougie’s flat? You going to join us, Janey? Glass of Chablis. A few oysters? Spot of lobster?’
    He nodded meaningfully at Ted the barman who disappeared through a side door, returning moments later with a huge parcel, beautifully wrapped in brown paper with drawings of oysters and carpenters printed all over it in navy-blue ink.
    ‘Mr Carter has made up your order, sir.’
    He didn’t wink exactly but his voice seemed to be winking. No money changed hands.
    ‘Do come. It’ll be fun.’
    Suzy was being helped into the blue sack jacket that matched her dress. Over that she wore a fingertip-length black Persian lamb coat: shawl collar; three-quarter-length sleeves (bracelet length) and long black leather gloves.
    ‘You look like a million dollars, Suzy my darling,’ purred Pete. ‘Very smart for a Saturday morning.’ Everyone thought this was very funny.
    ‘Susan always dresses so well,’ smarmed the woman called Sylvia.
    ‘Yes,’ muttered Pete, ‘and so quickly .’
    Jane got her bag and her rotten grey coat from upstairs but couldn’t bear to put it on. Suzy seemed to sense the problem immediately.
    ‘Tell you what, darling,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think that those buttons Do. You. Any. Favours. At. All. Do you?’
    Quick as anything, she had pulled the nail scissors out of her bag and in the time it took the others to get their coats on she had snipped off all six of the big red plastic lumps and the stupid great half-belt thing at the back.
    ‘That’s miles better. You can hold it together edge-to-edge with the pockets.’
    It did look better, a lot better. But she should have asked just the same.
    Pete led the way to a big brown car parked outside.
    ‘We’ll all fit in the Rover, won’t we? It’s not far.’
    Pete drove and the rest piled in after him, the girls perched on the men’s laps. Jane got Derek who had one hand on her knee and the other round her waist the whole way. He had a friend who was a photographer – funny the way they all did.

Chapter 7
    Most parties can be improved by
having a few pretty girls around.
     
    ‘Dougie’s place’ turned out to be a big luxury flat up behind Selfridges somewhere.
    ‘Mrs Simpson used to have the one on the first floor.’ Suzy’s voice was slightly distorted by the fact that her mouth was stretched wide as she reapplied her lipstick in the mirrored wall of the automatic lift. ‘Dougie’s old mum says there used to be Secret Service men all over the place whenever the Prince of Wales popped round. Never saw the same milkman two days in a row.’
    Jane had read about ‘luxury’ flats in the News of the World . She’d never been quite sure exactly what they meant by ‘luxury’, but she now decided it must mean white wall-to-wall carpet, central heating, glass coffee tables, two bathrooms, a real bar with little stools and every drink you could possibly want. It also meant a great big painting of a girl with no clothes all done in blues and greens and purples as if she was covered in bruises. Jane had a good nose round when she went off to the toilet.