redhead who was naked except for her tiny pair of white bikini bottoms. ‘Not that one, Jemma! You’re in the forest-green tankini, darling.’
Madeline dropped her cigarette into a half-full flute of champagne and turned back to Erin.
‘Have you seen Karin anywhere?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like her not to be taking total control. We’re on in five minutes and I want her to check she’s happy with everything.’
‘I passed her a couple of minutes ago,’ replied Erin. ‘She seems to be engrossed in conversation at her table.’
‘Engrossed in Adam Gold, more like,’ smiled Madeline.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Erin.
‘Ah, the latest victim,’ chuckled Madeline, then glared at another model. ‘No Alana! You’re behind Mischa, get in line. And what is that necklace supposed to be? A Hoover hose?’
Sensing she was getting in the way, Erin headed back into the main room and went to stand by the side of the stage where she was in shadow. From there she could stand and watch both the catwalk show and the glamorous guests in front of her. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, tiny and confused surrounded by beauty and colour in the magic garden.
Suddenly the lights came down and a loud disco beat started pulsating around the room. Everybody put down their coffee cups and looked intently at the stage, which had erupted ina sea of flashing bulbs and colour. The red-haired model in a deep green bikini strutted onto the catwalk, her hips swaying seductively in time with the music. She paused at the end of the runway, flashed a brilliant smile as the audience erupted in applause. Behind her another goddess emerged, her buttocks peeking cheekily out of a pair of metallic lamé boy-shorts, her breasts barely covered by a strip of mesh fabric. A lone wolf whistle from the crowd said what every man in the room was thinking. The music kept pounding, the girls kept coming. And then finally Alexia Dark stalked onto the catwalk, her black hair flying behind her like a banner, the shimmering lights bouncing off her jewelled bikini and showering her bronzed body in iridescent light. What a finale! thought Erin. What a party!
‘Oi!’ shouted a voice as Alexia Dark was making her final strut back to the stage. ‘Oi you!’
Erin located the voice. It was coming from table twelve, a collection of footballers and their wives ten feet away from where Erin was standing. A girl, no more than eighteen, in a plunging scarlet dress and elaborately coiffed blonde hairdo was waving at Erin and clicking her fingers in the air like a flamenco dancer. Erin recognized her as Natasha Berry, glamour-model girlfriend of Ian Adams, the new Manchester United striker.
‘You! I need a drink,’ slurred the girl, shaking an empty glass.
Erin left the comfort of her shadow and scuttled to the table in a crouch, not wanting to block anyone’s view of the catwalk show as the models all came down the catwalk one last time.
‘I’m not taking drinks orders, I’m afraid,’ yelled Erin over the music. ‘You’ll have to ask the waiter over there.’ She pointed to a handsome dark-haired boy who was distributing coffee and petits-fours on the next table.
‘I want a kir royale,’ said Natasha, who appeared not to have heard. Erin rolled her eyes, knowing it was pointless to argue, and went over to the waiter, a handsome student called Carlo she had met earlier.
‘Sorry Carlo, but I think the lady over there wants a cocktail. Can you get her a kir royale before she takes off with all that finger clicking?’ The waiter smiled and nodded, quickly turning in the direction of the bar. As he went, a shrewish-looking blonde from his table shouted, ‘Hey! You forgot my latte!’
‘Sorry madam,’ said Carlo, ‘I’ll bring you one straight away.’
The music was now reaching a crescendo and Karin Cavendish had risen from her chair to take a modest bow in the spotlight.
What happened next, Erin could see unfolding as if in slow motion. Carlo was
Madeline dropped her cigarette into a half-full flute of champagne and turned back to Erin.
‘Have you seen Karin anywhere?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like her not to be taking total control. We’re on in five minutes and I want her to check she’s happy with everything.’
‘I passed her a couple of minutes ago,’ replied Erin. ‘She seems to be engrossed in conversation at her table.’
‘Engrossed in Adam Gold, more like,’ smiled Madeline.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Erin.
‘Ah, the latest victim,’ chuckled Madeline, then glared at another model. ‘No Alana! You’re behind Mischa, get in line. And what is that necklace supposed to be? A Hoover hose?’
Sensing she was getting in the way, Erin headed back into the main room and went to stand by the side of the stage where she was in shadow. From there she could stand and watch both the catwalk show and the glamorous guests in front of her. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, tiny and confused surrounded by beauty and colour in the magic garden.
Suddenly the lights came down and a loud disco beat started pulsating around the room. Everybody put down their coffee cups and looked intently at the stage, which had erupted ina sea of flashing bulbs and colour. The red-haired model in a deep green bikini strutted onto the catwalk, her hips swaying seductively in time with the music. She paused at the end of the runway, flashed a brilliant smile as the audience erupted in applause. Behind her another goddess emerged, her buttocks peeking cheekily out of a pair of metallic lamé boy-shorts, her breasts barely covered by a strip of mesh fabric. A lone wolf whistle from the crowd said what every man in the room was thinking. The music kept pounding, the girls kept coming. And then finally Alexia Dark stalked onto the catwalk, her black hair flying behind her like a banner, the shimmering lights bouncing off her jewelled bikini and showering her bronzed body in iridescent light. What a finale! thought Erin. What a party!
‘Oi!’ shouted a voice as Alexia Dark was making her final strut back to the stage. ‘Oi you!’
Erin located the voice. It was coming from table twelve, a collection of footballers and their wives ten feet away from where Erin was standing. A girl, no more than eighteen, in a plunging scarlet dress and elaborately coiffed blonde hairdo was waving at Erin and clicking her fingers in the air like a flamenco dancer. Erin recognized her as Natasha Berry, glamour-model girlfriend of Ian Adams, the new Manchester United striker.
‘You! I need a drink,’ slurred the girl, shaking an empty glass.
Erin left the comfort of her shadow and scuttled to the table in a crouch, not wanting to block anyone’s view of the catwalk show as the models all came down the catwalk one last time.
‘I’m not taking drinks orders, I’m afraid,’ yelled Erin over the music. ‘You’ll have to ask the waiter over there.’ She pointed to a handsome dark-haired boy who was distributing coffee and petits-fours on the next table.
‘I want a kir royale,’ said Natasha, who appeared not to have heard. Erin rolled her eyes, knowing it was pointless to argue, and went over to the waiter, a handsome student called Carlo she had met earlier.
‘Sorry Carlo, but I think the lady over there wants a cocktail. Can you get her a kir royale before she takes off with all that finger clicking?’ The waiter smiled and nodded, quickly turning in the direction of the bar. As he went, a shrewish-looking blonde from his table shouted, ‘Hey! You forgot my latte!’
‘Sorry madam,’ said Carlo, ‘I’ll bring you one straight away.’
The music was now reaching a crescendo and Karin Cavendish had risen from her chair to take a modest bow in the spotlight.
What happened next, Erin could see unfolding as if in slow motion. Carlo was
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