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‘You’re quite a moralist,’ Leo observed, eyes narrowing slightly as he lifted his wine glass to his mouth. ‘For a thief.’ He took a mouthful of wine. ‘I asked you once before why you stole from me, Anna—’
‘And I told you it was none of your business. That’s still the case.’
Leo started to feel the anger running in him again. But, as their food arrived, his attention was diverted.
‘Is that what you ordered?’ he asked, eyeing the succulent dish sceptically.
‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘It’s by way of celebration.’
‘Celebration?’
She gave her acid-sweet smile. ‘My night off,’ she told him.
For a second his face darkened, then, with visible effort, he made his expression relax. ‘It’s good to see you eat sensibly for once.’
Anna glanced up at him, midway into spearing a fat, crispy prawn.
‘I’ve told you—I have no choice. Models all have to be underweight for their height. It’s part of the stupid fake mystique of high fashion.’
Leo began to eat. ‘You sound very hostile to your career.’
Anna gave a shrug. ‘I just don’t have any illusions about it. I never did,’ she added reflectively.
‘I thought it was a dream come true for most women—to be a model?’
She ate some more, luxuriating in the rich flavours.
‘The fashion industry treats models like garbage—remember the charming Signor Embrutti, wanting Jenny to strip off, not giving a toss that she didn’t want to? Think that’s unusual? Models have to be incredibly tough to survive.’
‘That should suit you ideally,’ riposted Leo sardonically. ‘I also remember you threatening with your contract terms and conditions at Embrutti.’
Her face darkened. ‘That slimeball! I’ve worked with him before, so I insisted that all four models should have a no strip clause as soon as I knew Justin the Obsequious had hired him for the shoot—’
‘What did you call him?’ Leo set down his knife and fork.
‘Should I have called him Justin the Toad?’ returned Anna limpidly. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, surely you know the man is a total toerag?’
‘He is keen to do his job well,’ Leo replied quellingly.
‘Keen to lick your boots, more like. Yes, Mr Makarios. Of course, Mr Makarios. Anything you say with spots on, Mr Makarios.’ She looked at him. ‘You don’t genuinely want to surround yourself with toadies, do you?’
There was a puzzled, incredulous expression on her face.
Leo’s mouth tightened and he started to eat again.
‘My staff know that I expect—and get—the highest-calibre performances from them. In exchange they are very well paid indeed. As,’ he pointed out acidly, ‘you and the other models were for the work you did.’
‘And we worked our backsides off, believe me! Do you have any complaints about the quality of our work? You saw us in action, after all.’
‘No, you were all perfectly professional,’ he allowed. ‘Even with you threatening contracts at the photographer. You do that often, do you?’
‘When I have to. I learnt the hard way. When I was starting out some ad agency creep insisted on bare boob shots. My agency told me to do it. I walked out. It cost me that job, and a lot of work afterwards. From then on I ensured a no strip clause was in every contract I signed.’
Leo was frowning at her.
‘Why is it such a big deal? Nudity is nothing these days.’
Anna put down her fork and stared at him.
‘OK, so strip off. Go on. Flash yourself around at these good folk here. Put some flesh shots of yourself in a glossy mag. Make sure your friends and relatives see it. Make sure total strangers on the London Underground see it.’
‘Do not be absurd!’ Leo retorted stiffly. ‘You are a fashion model. You—’
Her eyes flashed green fire.
‘Yes—I am a fashion model,’ she spelt out. ‘I model clothes. I do not model not wearing any clothes. Can you possibly understand the subtle difference?’
Leo glared at her. Her aggression was ludicrous—it was absurd—it was insolent—it was—
It was justified.
He took a sharp, deep breath. He flung his hands up as if in surrender.
‘I take your point. But,’ he went on, genuine puzzlement showing in his eyes, ‘if you dislike modelling so much, why did you become one?’
Leo leant back again, lifting his wine glass to his mouth. Anna’s eyes followed the movement, watching the way his long, strong fingers curved around the bowl of the wine glass, the way his sensual, mobile mouth indented as he drank. How the strong column of his throat worked as he swallowed.
