“Don’t worry,” offered Pamela calmly in an effort to placate a very angry young woman. “We’ve got a couple of hours before the shops close.”
Spence was in no mood to go shopping. And even if she had been, she could see Andy Webb’s face when the time came for her to submit the expenses. Anyway, the idea of wasting her time prowling high street shops had never been something she enjoyed. “I don’t need more clothes,” she snipped. “I’ll have you know I have a few things even Tracy Ireland might find suitable.”
“Not for Milan, girl,” Pamela informed Spence as she maneuvered her toward the front door.
“I can’t afford it,” Spence declared as she made a last-ditch attempt to avoid what was appearing inevitable.
“Time to learn the first dirty little secret of the fashion industry, my friend. Chic and stylish does not equal expensive. Not if you have the eye.” With that, Pamela broke out in a broad grin as she gave Spence a wink. “And if there is one thing I do have after traveling around the globe as part of the household troop belonging to an officer of the queen, it’s an eye for style on the cheap.”
Having learned how to make do on a serving officer’s sometimes tight budget herself, and having no wish to disappoint her newfound friend, Spence signaled her capitulation by quoting Shakespeare. “Lay on, Macduff. And damn’d be him that first cries, ’Hold, enough!’”
With that, and to a chorus of laughter, the two women set out to turn a fledgling duckling into a swan.
5
Despite her misgivings and expectations, Spence quickly found fashion week in Milan to be more relaxing than the run-up to it had been. Even her need to keep in touch with her other responsibilities back in London, which she was able to discharge by forwarding the office phone to her mobile and being almost permanently plugged in to the hotel Wi-Fi, was proving to be far easier than she’d anticipated. Pamela, with whom she was sharing a room, on the other hand, never seemed to have more than a few moments’ peace. The only time she and Spence had time to chat was first thing in the morning and later in the evening when the designer she was modeling for was finished with her for the day.
Upon returning from a late-afternoon meeting where Tracy Ireland had announced the final decision as to whom each model would be working for and when they would need to report for the upcoming show, Pamela was not at all surprised to find Spence sitting on her bed hunched over her laptop. What did strike her as odd was the look of concern on Spence’s face. “Is there a problem?” she asked.
Without taking her eyes off the screen, Spence sighed. “I’m stumped.”
“Can’t get a handle on the low-life git?” Pamela asked as she made her way over to a side table where she kept several bottles of water.
“No, it’s not that. Dealing with your secret admirer is easy.”
When Spence didn’t explain what was bothering her, after taking a sip of water, Pamela made her way over to where she could see what she was doing. “So, what does have you all out of sorts?”
“This blog I’m supposed to write, the one that is serving as a cover story for why I am here with your lot. It’s got me stumped. I don’t even have a name for it, let alone what I should write about.”
“Why not write about your experience?” Pamela suggested. “This is, after all, your first fashion week.”
“And my last,” Spence muttered without looking away from the screen of her laptop.
“Well, all the more reason to record your thoughts, feelings, and observations. If not for the rag you’re writing for, then as a journal of your adventure.”
After giving her roommate’s suggestion some thought, Spence nodded. “Okay, that should work.” Then, after a long pause, Spence sighed. “You wouldn’t have any BFOs as to what to name it, would you?”
“Why not go with what the other girls have taken to calling us?”
“Which is?” Spence asked warily as she glanced over her shoulder at Pamela for the first time since she’d entered the room.
“Beauty and the Geek.”
Despite being brought up an army brat, Pamela did not have the benefit of Tommy Tyler’s advanced course in snappy comebacks. As a result, she wasn’t ready for the way Spence responded. “Yeah, that’s good,” Spence declared brightly as she nodded her head in agreement. Then, looking back up at Pamela, she frowned. “The only problem is, I for one would never have pegged you as being someone who was technically oriented.”
Seconds later a pillow winged its way across the room, catching Spence on the back before both women broke into fits of laughter.
Despite the camaraderie with which Spence was now welcomed into the working world of the models, she didn’t lose sight of her primary task, particularly as the attacks on Pamela and some of the other models became more frequent and more vicious. Every day she found herself advising them on how to handle the more obscene and unpleasant messages, some of which Spence was able to determine were not from their main target who was, in her opinion, one of two people from the trio Ireland had narrowed the list she’d been show to. Those names belonged to the former model turned journalist and the head of a competing model agency, both of whom were present in Milan.
On one of the rare occasions that Spence was able to grab a few minutes of Tracy Ireland’s time, she outlined her plan to flush the miscreant they were after out of hiding. “I believe tomorrow afternoon there is the private showing for Emmanuel Zspartov’s spring collection,” Spence stated crisply when she was sure she had Ireland’s full attention. “As we discussed, Pamela and I have been building up the “poor little me” image to a point that it is attracting lots of attention, most of which is the wrong sort.”
“I’ve noticed,” Ireland replied coolly. “I’ve been privy to a number of those comments. I must confess, I am pleased most of them have been very supportive. I even believed some of them are sincere. Well done. But,” she quickly continued lest Spence become lost in the afterglow of her compliment, “how does this help us close our net?”
“Might I suggest that Pamela doesn’t attend this evening’s party or show up for breakfast tomorrow morning, or for that matter, be seen in public until the lunchtime reception Emmanuel Zspartov is throwing, one I imagine both our potential targets will be attending.”
Tracy laughed. “Those two wouldn’t miss one of Emmanuel’s parties even if the hotel was on fire.”
“I propose we keep Pamela out of sight, at least at first while I’ll lurk in the background, feeding some juicy crumbs on her account and watching who reaches for their tablet or mobile.”
“And what do I do while you’re baiting the trap and the star of the show is cowering in the corner?” Ireland asked with a hungry gleam in her eye.
“As my boss often likes to say, preparing to close with and destroy the enemy!”
For the balance of that day Pamela and Spence hid in their room. Whilst Pamela curled up on her bed with a dog-eared Georgette Heyer romance, Spence initiated an online flame war from Pamela’s Twitter account. She alternated between bitterly attacking everyone who responded and pleading pitifully to be left alone. Eventually, when Spence felt the time was right, she took to threatening to walk out on Emmanuel Zspartov, promising never to model again if the person who’d set their sights on her didn’t stop their attacks.