Code Red Lipstick, page 4
“Vectra is one of MI6’s most wanted men – a terrorist with links across the Middle East, Algeria and Libya,” Nathan said. “He has a fanatical interest in adapting scientific developments for use in chemical and biological warfare.”
Jessica shoved the photo back across the table. “My dad wouldn’t have anything to do with a terrorist. You’re crazy to think that he would. He was hired by Sam’s mum. I saw the file on Dad’s computer.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow as she flicked through the file again. “Do you really think a retired schoolteacher could rustle up five hundred thousand pounds and have access to an offshore bank account? Isn’t it far more likely that your father took on the case for Mrs Bishop and then sold Sam when he realized how much Vectra would pay for him?”
Jessica shook her head vigorously. This was totally insane. Why wouldn’t they listen?
“We intercepted a number of coded messages between Vectra and someone called Starfish, discussing Sam,” Nathan said brusquely. “We have very compelling evidence that your dad’s secret codename is Starfish.”
Jessica’s eyes widened. Starfish. The name from the file the intruder had uploaded on to Dad’s computer. There was probably more incriminating data planted on there too.
“Do you recognize the name Starfish?” Margaret leant closer, frowning. “Have you heard your father refer to it before?”
Damnit. She had to be more careful. They were trained to interpret her tiniest of reactions. She must stay cool. “Of course not. Dad takes on lots of missing-person cases – Sam’s no different.”
“Except this is very different,” Nathan persisted. “Starfish has been pretty busy, hacking into MI6 files containing the names of current agents, presumably to sell to Vectra. Their lives are now in great danger.”
Jessica didn’t betray her feelings this time. She stared straight ahead.
“Dad would never, ever betray his country or MI6. He was one of you!”
“I know this is a shock,” Margaret said softly. “It’s a shock for us too. We didn’t want to believe this about your father either. We both used to work with him. He was a good agent – a good man – back then.”
Jessica felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them away. She was talking about him in the past tense, as if he were dead. “He still is a good man. A really good man.”
“But things can change,” Margaret said. “Don’t you think your father could have been tempted by the cash? Isn’t it possible he’s securing your financial future when the multiple sclerosis finally leaves him unable to work?”
“Never!”
Nathan shuffled his papers. “MI6 – or rather I – warned your dad to stay away from this case, but he didn’t listen. He returned to Paris on Saturday, at around the same time that Vectra flew in. He made contact with one of our agents who’d been assigned the Sam Bishop brief after we learnt of Vectra’s interest.”
He pushed a colour photo towards her. Jessica recognized the beautiful redhead instantly.
“But that’s Lara Hopkins, the face of Mulberry,” she blurted out.
“Your dad arranged to meet her to discuss Sam later that afternoon.”
Nathan passed her another grainy picture which had been taken from a CCTV camera at 3.02 p.m. A couple sat at a table, holding coffee cups. She instantly recognized her dad even though she could only see his profile. Lara’s hair was scraped into a knot and she was wearing a light-coloured raincoat.
“Lara’s a spy?” She couldn’t quite believe it. She was the face of half a dozen fashion houses, including Louis Vuitton and Marc Jacobs.
“Was a spy,” he corrected. “One of our best. Later that night this picture was taken.”
He shoved a third photo in front of her. This time Lara lay in a crumpled heap, her red hair strewn across a green carpet.
“Ohmigod. What’s happened to her?”
“She was found strangled in her hotel room,” Nathan said grimly.
Jessica pressed her fingers to her lips as her stomach churned horribly. This was probably just routine for him, but she’d never seen a dead body before. Somehow, recognizing Lara made it even worse.
“Of course, that’s not what we’ll tell the press,” Nathan continued. “The newspapers will report tomorrow that she was stressed about the start of Couture Week and suffered a fatal asthma attack.”
The room lurched. She gripped the table as Nathan continued. “We think Lara managed to track down Sam and made the mistake of telling your dad his location. Then he killed her before she had chance to report back to us.”
Jessica tasted bile rising in her throat. She pushed the photo away. She couldn’t bear to look at it. “He didn’t do it.” Her voice cracked. “Just because he met her doesn’t mean he killed her.”
“True,” Nathan said. “But we’ve found further incriminating evidence on his computer that links your dad, Starfish, to Vectra.”
She looked from one to the other. They weren’t even considering the possibility it had been planted to incriminate him.
“You need to stop protecting your father right now and cooperate with us,” Margaret said. “When has he arranged to get in touch with you again?”
Her tone was as hard as Nathan’s. She’d given up playing good cop.
“You’re both wrong! Dad’s been set up.” Her chair toppled over as she leapt to her feet. “Someone’s planted all this evidence and you’re too blind to see it. Or you just don’t want to see it.”
She quickly recounted what had happened that afternoon, including the attack and the MI6 files conveniently left in the bunker, waiting to be discovered, along with the encrypted file on the computer.
Nathan’s brow furrowed. “You’re sure someone was in the house? Absolutely certain?”
“Do you think I imagined being knocked out with chloroform? Or do you just think I’m a liar like my dad? In fact, don’t bother answering that. I’m done here. I’ll find out where Dad is myself since you’re not going to help.”
She stalked to the door, but Nathan had already jumped up and blocked her exit. “You’re to leave well alone and that’s an order.”
She glared at him. “So you can fit him up quietly? Not likely!”
He grabbed her arm. “Your dad might let you play detective, young lady, but that’s not going to happen now. Stay out of this. You’re in way over your head.”
She shook him off, curling her fingers into fists. “Get your hands off me!”
“Calm down, Jessica,” Margaret said. “This isn’t helping anyone. I promise you we’ll re-evaluate all the evidence in light of what you’ve told us. You’ve been very helpful. But the best thing you can do is go back to school and inform us if you hear from your father again. We’ll contact you if we need to speak.”
Jessica brushed past Nathan and threw open the door.
“We’ll be watching your every move,” he called after her. “Don’t even think about going to Paris. We have eyes and ears everywhere.”
She slammed the door behind her. Hard.
Jessica clenched her fists as she sat in the back of the Merc. She was so angry she could scream. How could they think that about Dad? He’d never betray MI6 or his country. He always clammed up whenever she tried to talk to him about his time with the security service. He wouldn’t divulge secrets to her. There was no way he’d give it all up to a terrorist. He was the most honourable, patriotic person she’d ever met.
She didn’t care what Nathan said. She was going to save Dad and clear his name, without MI6’s help. She had to. This was what she’d been trained to do.
As the car sped back along the Embankment, she had an idea. She knocked on the glass partition and waited for it to slide down.
“I need to drop by my agency. I’ve got an appointment with my booker. Can you take me there, please?’
The driver gave a curt nod as she gave him the address. The car peeled off the road and nipped through side streets towards Covent Garden.
The Merc waited outside Primus’ offices as she ran up the white stairs. She passed the large black and white photos of some of the agency’s most famous models – Taja, Albany, Domenica and Vita. The reception was buzzing as usual. Bookers talked loudly to clients through their headsets while a few leggy models sat on the blue sofas, flicking through their portfolios and fashion glossies. This was one of the few places she didn’t feel like a total freak. She definitely wasn’t the tallest girl in the room for a change. She felt quite small compared to the Amazonian models who stalked past.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” a voice shrieked.
Michael pulled off his telephone earpiece and reached over the counter to give her an air kiss on each cheek.
“Darling, I lurve your school uniform.” He wrinkled his nose sarcastically. “But somehow I don’t think you’ll need it on a shoot any time soon. And what’s that sticking in your hair?”
He raised a plucked eyebrow as he pulled out a shred of paper. “Do you know what a comb is these days?”
“I know, I know, I look awful.” She smoothed her hair behind her ears and looked down. Her skirt was dusty from the study floor. “Is Felicity here? I need to see her right now.”
“She’s in her office, darling. But she’s going to have an aneurysm when she sees the state of you. You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”
“Thanks.” For nothing. He wouldn’t look picture perfect either if he’d been attacked. She strode over to her booker’s office and hovered at the door. A silver-haired woman in her fifties flicked through photos at her desk while talking loudly into her earpiece. She looked up, grinning, and gestured for Jessica to come in. She sat on the edge of a red chair, waiting for Felicity to finish.
“Jessica, darling! How are you?” Felicity tore out her earpiece.
She was tempted to say she’d had the worst day of her life. She’d been assaulted, something terrible had happened to her dad and MI6 thought he was working with a notorious terrorist. It was far simpler just to lie.
“I’m fab, thanks, but we need to talk. Can you get me a casting for Couture Week or anything else going on in Paris this week? It looks buzzing.”
Felicity looked startled. “I thought you said your dad was really strict and wouldn’t let you take days off school to model?”
Jessica smiled gratefully at Roberta, who popped in and passed them each a hot chocolate. She felt guilty for lying to Felicity but had no choice. She needed to get to Paris ASAP and the Eurostar booking and accommodation would be in the agency’s name, not hers.
“He’s had a change of heart – besides, he’ll be there on business anyway,” she said, almost too convincingly. “So can you do it?”
Felicity hesitated and ran a hand through her hair, making her chunky amber bracelet jangle.
“I love your enthusiasm, darling, but I’m not sure you’re ready for couture just yet. I wanted to build up your portfolio before we start doing the shows. They’re such a catfight, you know that. The designers pick more experienced girls who can take whatever’s thrown at them.”
“But I can too,” she said. “I’m ready, I know I am. I want a shot at it.”
Felicity stared curiously at her. “Is everything all right, darling?”
She wanted to scream “No!” at the top of her voice. “Of course. Everything’s cool. Surely the shoot with Sebastian and other magazine spreads have raised my profile? I know I haven’t got a Vogue or Tatler cover—”
“Not yet!” Felicity said. “But you will.”
“Thanks. That’s why I think we should seize this opportunity right now instead of waiting another year. I could also do with the cash.”
Felicity drummed her fingers on the desk. “It’s late notice to try and get anything for this week. Most of the go-sees have already taken place.”
“Please, Felicity, I’m begging you. When my dad sees this month’s mobile bill he’ll ground me until I’m old and crumbly. Well, at least until I’m thirty.”
Felicity burst out laughing. “OK, my little spring chicken. I can’t promise the shows, but you’re right, there’s lots going on in Paris this week. Sara’s already out there and had a callback for a job with AKSC just today.”
“Allegra Knight’s company?”
“That’s right. They’re launching a new product this week, apparently. Très exciting and très hush-hush.”
“Can I get a casting too?”
Please, please, please. This would be beyond perfect. Sam’s mum had asked Dad to visit AKSC. They might have some info about him if he’d turned up, like how he seemed and where he said he was going next.
“I’d love to meet Allegra Knight,” she added. “She sounds really cool. I’m sure I could learn a lot from her.”
“She was fabulous in her heyday, darling,” Felicity said. “You don’t get supermodels like that any more. Let’s give this a whirl. I’m thrilled your dad’s had a change of heart.”
“Thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Felicity put her earpiece in and started calling all the couture houses, begging for late slots as Jessica sipped her hot chocolate.
Thankfully, Felicity hadn’t asked too many probing questions. Jessica wasn’t sure how many more interrogations she could take in one day.
Half an hour later, Felicity ripped out her earpiece and pushed her chair back with a broad smile.
“Mission accomplished, darling! You were right. News of your work with Sebastian has spread and you’re in demand.”
“With AKSC?”
“I haven’t heard back from them yet, sorry. I think they may be set on Sara.”
“Oh.” Typical. That would have been way too convenient.
“Don’t look so depressed. I have landed you some last minute go-sees and a shoot for Étoile magazine on Wednesday morning. Luckily, a few models cancelled and they really wanted you.”
Jessica jumped up and gave her a hug. AKSC would have been beyond brill, but this was a good start. At least it got her to Paris. “You’re a star, thank you.”
“You should thank Emerald as well,” Felicity said, with a loud cackle.
“Why?” She stared at her, puzzled. Emerald was Primus’ biggest rival.
“All the designers are in a total spin after Emerald’s supermodels dropped out of the shows.”
“You mean Lara Hopkins?” Jessica shuddered.
“No. Why would she drop out?” Felicity looked confused. “She’s big news.”
Of course! The supermodel’s death hadn’t been made public yet. “Sorry, she was the first Emerald model who came to mind. Who do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. Darice, Valeriya and the rest of the famous five. You must have read about them all quitting? It’s created a gap at the top, which is great news for young girls like you. You’ll be able to come up through the ranks much quicker.”
Jessica had completely forgotten about the famous five. “What’s going on with them anyway?” she asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Felicity stretched back in her chair. “They seem to have vanished off the face of the earth. No one’s heard a peep from them. Obviously I’d be having a fit right now if they worked for me but it’s Emerald so I’m pretty chilled.”
“Still, it’s pretty odd, don’t you think?” Jessica threw her rucksack over her shoulder, preparing to leave. “They all decided to quit at the same time and they’ve completely gone to ground.”
Felicity laughed. “Well, if you met Lydia Hollings, you’d probably understand why. She’s a nightmare to work for. Nothing like me, of course. I’m your dream boss – a total pussycat.”
Jessica managed a small smile. She didn’t dare disagree with this particular pussycat. She had very sharp claws.
Felicity checked her watch. “You need to scoot now, Jessica. I’ve got a conference call with New York starting in five. I’ll get Roberta to book you on to Eurostar tomorrow morning and email everything over, along with details of the jobs. She’s going to have to sort out a legal waiver to allow you to take part in the shows, as well as a female chaperone.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Really?” That was all she needed. A chaperone would seriously get in her way. She’d have to find a way to dump her at the first opportunity.
“I know, I know, you’re a big girl and this will cramp your style, blah, blah, blah,” Felicity said, laughing. “But it’s necessary for fourteen-year-olds, even for rat-haired ones like you, so there’s no point arguing with me. You’ll need to catch up on the schoolwork you miss too.”
“I understand.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Remember to put some make-up on and leave your brushed hair down for the castings. You know how important first impressions are. If you look anything like you do today, you won’t even get as far as showing your portfolio or your walk. You’ll be out the door.”
“I’ll make an effort,” Jessica said.
“Great, because all our reputations are on the line with this. Don’t forget that, please.”
“I won’t.” Jessica blew her a kiss as she left. She’d just made getting to Paris a lot easier. She’d worry about the rest later. She ran down the stairs.
The Merc was still waiting outside, its engine running.
The car dropped Jessica off outside her house. She ran up the path without looking back and let herself in. She rested against the door with her eyes shut.
“Where on earth have you been, Jessica? The school rang me to say you didn’t turn up this afternoon!”
Uh-oh. Her eyes flew open. A statuesque women with cheekbones that could cut glass glared at her. She was clad in a pink Chanel suit, her white hair coiled into an elegant chignon. She didn’t look like most grandmas and certainly didn’t appreciate being called one either. She still had the poise and figure of a model despite being in her seventies.
