bad-tempered and dishevelled, at whichever horrible office sheâd been temping at for a nine-a.m.-prompt start. Actually, the promptness had happened rarely, if ever. She felt another surge of happiness that those days were over.
As she walked towards the door and automatically checked herself out in the mirror next to it, she stopped and shook her head in dissatisfaction. Something was wrong. Bella had longish legs and a larger than average bust for her 5 foot 7, size 10/12 frame (despite slender ankles, wrists and shoulders, she always felt like a bloody carthorse next to Poppy). Sheâd had vague hopes of channelling Audrey Hepburn today in high ponytail, black Capri pants and a boat-necked, horizontally striped T-shirt. From her shoulders up she looked great, the ponytail and boat neck setting off her collarbones, high cheekbones and big brown eyes a treat. Audrey was not an entirely preposterous idea. Her legs were fine in the Capri pants.
But in between â oh, dear. The horizontal stripes made her bust look vast (and not in a good way â matronly was the word that sprang to mind). And for fuckâs sake, was she starting to develop a paunch? She supposed it was possible, with the ongoing eating and drinking of happy coupledom, and her increasing laziness when it came to exercise. She promised herself that she would hit the procrastinating on the head as she went back into her bedroom to change. Tomorrow she would definitely get up in time for her run.
Bella eventually arrived at Westbourne Studios at 1.30 p.m.
âYah, Daddyâs just given me and Jazz a mil each to buy a flat, but you canât get anything decent round here for that sort of money,â Sienna was saying into her iPhone as Bella walked into her time-share studio. âOh, hi, Bella.â She smiled and waved a thin, wafty hand.
Ludicrously overprivileged and good-looking, Sienna Sax-Hoffmann was studying History of Art at London University. She had told Bella that her father wanted her to have a bolthole for her studies, when âthe Uni library gets too much. Dear Daddy, he can be so overprotective, but itâs rather fun having oneâs own studio three mornings a week, donât you think?â Sienna only actually managed to get up in time to play on the Internet in her studio once a week, at most, but Bella didnât hold that against her (well, how could she?). She found Sienna rather sweet. Perhaps it was because she was so pretty. Bella knew that with her artistic eye, she always gave people who were easy on it less of a hard time than those who repulsed her physically â male or female. She wasnât particularly proud of this.
Sienna was about 5 foot 10, skinny as a catwalk model with an eating disorder, and pale as milk. Her naturally white-blonde hair cascaded in long waves around a coolly patrician face, all angular bones and huge, bruised, dark blue eyes. She played up her delicate appearance with fey, floaty, vintage garments, today looking breathtakingly fragile in a cream lacy maxidress, pearl choker (probably real) and jewelled flip-flops that showed off her narrow pedicured feet. Bella imagined that your average manâs unimaginative, testosterone-driven protective instincts would go into overdrive at the sight of her.
âHi, Bella.â Sienna smiled as she put her phone down. âYouâre late.â
âI know. Never been much good at punctuality.â Bella smiled back as she started setting up her easel.
âI should be off then. Dâyou want me to pay you back for the extra hour? Not really fair for you to cough up for when youâre not here. Daddy can easily afford it â¦â Sienna started and Bella laughed.
âMy lateness isnât your dadâs fault, sweetie. Nope, this is my punishment for being the past-mistress of pissing about.â
Sienna laughed too. âWell, youâd better make the most of what time youâve got left
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