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In a daze, Lizzie walked slowly to the door. Nobody here called her Lizzie. She was Elizabeth Donavue. She hadn’t been Lizzie for years. In fact there was only one person who still called her by that name.
‘Nick, is that you?’ Her voice came out as a strangled whisper.
‘Thank God.’ She could hear the relief in Nick’s voice. ‘Come on, Lizzie. I’m the only one here. Open the blasted door.’
With trembling fingers, she fumbled with the locks. Three days ago she’d secured the door with every security device she had. Now it seemed to take an eternity to undo them all. She barely had time to register it really was Nick standing on her doorstep, before she was bundled into his arms and pushed back into her apartment. He kicked the door shut with his foot and then stood back to look at her.
‘What the hell is going on?’
She moved her mouth, but no words came. ‘I . . .’ Shaking from head to foot, she walked away from him. Oh God, she was going to cry. Again. It was all she seemed capable of. She’d only taken two steps when a strong arm reached for her waist and dragged her back, turning her round to face him before holding her firmly in his arms.
‘Shh, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. I’m here now.’ Gently he held her, smoothing his hand down her back, just as a parent would comfort a small child.
Lizzie was dimly aware of being lifted and carried to the sofa. Nick sat them both down, cradling her against him, murmuring words she couldn’t hear. Despite trying not to, she began to blubber like a baby, all over again. The more she clung to the familiar strength of him, the more she was helpless to do anything but let it all come out. In the end, that’s what she did, crying until the tears ran dry and her body stopped trembling.
‘I’ve made your shirt wet,’ she whispered, pulling away, totally embarrassed at her meltdown.
‘Excuse my language, but sod the bloody shirt.’ He narrowed his eyes and scrutinised her face. ‘Christ, you look terrible. What have they done to you?’
Tears threatened again. God, it didn’t take much. Just a note of concern in his voice and she was filling up again. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, ignoring his question. Maybe his arrival was just a fortuitous coincidence. Maybe he hadn’t seen . . .
‘I read the newspapers, Lizzie. Saw the photographs.’ He fixed her with his serious brown eyes. ‘Why didn’t you answer my calls?’
Shame washed through her. Now she knew exactly why he was here. Not to see her, but because he’d seen the mess she’d got herself into and felt duty bound to come and dig her out of it.
‘Lizzie.’ He was still looking at her, pinning her with the force of his gaze. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, what the fuck is going on?’
She recoiled at his harsh tone. ‘You’ve seen the articles. You know what’s going on,’ she replied stiffly, edging away from him.
Nick grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her back to his side. ‘Not so fast. Not before you tell me exactly what happened to get you into this state.’ He held her face firmly between his hands, angling it so she was forced to look into his dark eyes. ‘Damn it, I know what I read isn’t the truth.’
The certainty of his words, coupled with the sincerity in his eyes, forced a lump into the back of her throat. ‘The girl in those pictures is me, Nick,’ she told him shakily, moving to snatch a tissue from the box on her glass coffee table. ‘I can’t deny that.’
‘Did they blackmail you? Force you to do it? Were you drugged?’
Oh God. Dear Nick. ‘Thank you.’ Another sob wrenched from her. Heaven above, was she ever going to stop crying?
‘What on earth are you thanking me for?’
‘For believing in me.’ She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. ‘The truth is, I don’t know exactly what happened. One minute I was having a drink with Charles and his friend. The next Charles was shoving these disgusting pictures at me, threatening to go to the press with them if I didn’t give him a hundred grand.’
‘Christ.’ Abruptly Nick stood and walked towards the open plan kitchen. ‘I think you’d better start from the beginning, but before you do, I need a drink.’ His eyes wandered clinically up and down her body. ‘When was the last time you ate or drank anything?’
She tried to remember, but the days were a blur. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, sinking her head into her hands. ‘Oh, Nick. It’s all such a bloody mess. When I saw the pictures in the paper, I didn’t think of the implications. I just thought, what a bastard. Then the phones started ringing and the intercom kept buzzing, all with journalists wanting to speak to me, and suddenly I couldn’t cope. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘So you turned your phones off and went into hiding?’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe I can’t blame you, but it would have been a heck of a lot easier on your friends if you’d just screened your calls.’ Across the room, he sought out her eyes. ‘You had me worried, Lizzie. You should have phoned.’
‘I couldn’t. I was too ashamed.’ She’d reached for the phone a couple of times, but stopped when she’d begun to rehearse what to say. However she’d phrased it, the words had made her sound like a slut. ‘And anyway, I didn’t want to burden you.’
‘Burden me?’ he repeated incredulously.
‘Yes. I’m not your responsibility.’
‘Bloody hell, Lizzie, since when was helping a friend a burden?’ Obviously fighting for control he ran a hand through his hair before swearing again, this time more crudely. ‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ he muttered finally. ‘Look, why don’t you go and finish getting dressed while I find us something to eat and drink? Then we can start again, from the beginning.’
Lizzie looked down at her stained jumper, conscious it wasn’t the only part of her that looked a mess. Her hair was drying in knots because she hadn’t bothered to comb it. She knew if she stared in the mirror she’d see a puffy face and bloodshot eyes.
Squaring her shoulders, she stood. The time for wallowing in self-pity was over. She was a model. Her career might be crashing around her ears right now, but that was no reason not to start looking and acting like one again.
