Breaking the Rules by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

Marguerite needs to powder you down. I’ll go and get her.’
    Before she could volunteer to go to hair and makeup herself, Frankie had hurried down to the far end of the studio where this room was located.
    In his absence, M walked over to a trestle table, took off the many strings of pearls he had draped around her neck earlier, and the earrings as well. She placed them in one of the boxes that contained costume jewellery; in the others were artificial flowers, small kerchiefs and ribbons, all kinds of accessories. On the spur of the moment she took out a piece of black velvet ribbon, went over to the mirror on the wall behind the trestle table, and tied the ribbon round her neck. Standing back, she eyed herself.
    M was thrilled and excited that Frankie Farantino had liked her, had seen something so special in her that he had spent so much time photographing her. She realized that this might be the break she had been waiting for. Perhaps Lady Luck was with her today. She suddenly thought of her big brother, who always gave such credit to Lady Luck, and decided he would have been proud of the way she had worked this afternoon. He had instilled one thing in her: be professional.
    As M turned and walked back to the centre of the studio, Frankie reappeared with Marguerite in tow, the latter carrying her basket filled with the tools of her trade.
    ‘According to Frankie, you need a touch-up,’ the makeup artist said, smiling at her, peering at her face appraisingly. Marguerite took out a damp sponge, went over her face with it, patted her dry with a tissue, dipped a brush in powder and flicked it over her cheeks. ‘You’re not as shiny as I expected. Now all we need is a little blush on top of the powder, and you’re ready. Your eyes are fine, M, they don’t need anything.’ Marguerite finished her work, stepped back and said, ‘You’ve weathered the hot lights very well.’
    ‘Thanks, Marguerite,’ M answered and went back to the middle of the floor, sat down on the stool.
    Frankie, who was busy reloading film, looked across at her and exclaimed, ‘The ribbon looks great, honey, and that’s all you need.’
    He photographed her for another twenty minutes, moving around her, taking shots of her from different angles, praising her, telling her to hold a certain pose, until he finally had everything he wanted.
    ‘That’s it, M. At least for today. And you’ve been a great subject. You know what: you’re good at this, honey.’
    ‘And thank you, Frankie. Actually, I’ve enjoyed it,’ she told him. Walking across to him, she now asked, ‘Did you mean it when you told Luke you were going to launch my modelling career?’
    He was taking the film out of his camera and he glanced up, nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’
    ‘I’m so pleased about that! So, where do we go from here? What happens next?’ she asked, her excitement reflected on her face.
    ‘I have to start using you in some of my fashion shoots for the magazines. That’s how we’ll begin.’
    ‘And when will that be?’
    ‘Not for a few weeks,’ Frankie murmured, putting the camera down on a table. ‘I have to go to Morocco on Monday, to do a fashion spread for Harper’s Bazaar. ’
    M nodded, gave him a quizzical look. ‘So when should I plan on being here, Frankie? When will you need me?’
    ‘I’ll have to let you know. You see I’ll be in Morocco for a while, honey—it’s a big spread, time consuming.’
    ‘And there’s no way you could include me in that?’ she asked, her eyes riveted on him.
    He shook his head. ‘No, the models have all been selected. In fact, some are already on their way over there.’
    ‘I understand.’ She gave him a bright smile, although she was disappointed, and went on, ‘I’d better let the Blane Agency know about our session today, and your intentions, don’t you think?’
    Startled by her sudden and unexpected businesslike manner, he stared at her, his eyes narrowing, then said, ‘But Geo told me you were