As she entered the room, Tom emerged from round a corner. His face was ashen, his eyes bright with alarm. What on earth could be wrong?
‘Rach,’ he said, crossing the sizeable room in two strides. Then, urgently and under his breath: ‘I’ve been trying to call you. I’ve rung you, like,a thousandtimes. There’s a situation – something you need to know.’
‘My phone’s been off,’ she said, frowning up at him. His eyes swept her face, taking in the telltale signs of her tearful outburst.
‘What’s going on?’ they both said together.
Then the studio door flew open and Dev strolled in. There was a tanned, slender, dark-haired woman on his arm.
Rachel’s entire body went cold. She could hear her heart beating in her ears and feel her pulse throbbing somewhere near her tonsils.
As chilly sweat coated her palms and crept down her back, Rachel wondered why she hadn’t seen this coming. After all, given the run of luck she’d had lately, it made perfect sense that Jessica Williams should show up, in the flesh, for Tom to take her photograph.
Dev was introducing her to everyone. Sophie – a smiling, genial presence in a simple cotton dress – shook Jessica’s hand and said it was lovely to meet her. Then Tom, recovering his professionalism admirably, told her he was happy to have her on board with the show. Only Rachel could tell he didn’t mean it.
‘This is Rachel, our copywriter,’ Dev said.
‘Great,’ Jessica said, extending her arm.
Rachel took her hand for a moment, noting that Jessica’s nails were almost as badly bitten as her own. Where were her perfect French tips?
There was a flash of something like recognition in Jessica’s brown eyes, but it fizzled out before it could settle there.
She had lines around them; fine little creases that showed where her skin furrowed when she smiled. Her forehead was shiny and smooth, implying the presence of Botox.
In 3D, Jessica’s face didn’t look the same as it appeared on Instagram, nor in the ads that seemed to follow Rachel around London. It was very pretty, but less polished than Rachel might have expected. Jessica had a chickenpox scar below her left eyebrow that was, presumably, airbrushed out of every photo she ever shared. Her chin bore the faded marks of old hormonal breakouts.
Jessica’s lips were as abundant as ever, but up close it was clear that they’d been filled. While she’d never judge anyone – even Jessica – for having cosmetic surgery, Rachel couldn’t help wincing when she looked at them, wondering if the procedure had been painful.
Unframed by her usual falsies or eyelash extensions, Jessica’s real-life eyes were less commanding – less intense – than they were in photographs. She dropped her gaze from Rachel’s, looking almost vulnerable as Dev began to explain her last-minute interest in the exhibition.
‘This is a vital step towards rebuilding Jessica’s reputation,’ he was saying. His hand was on her shoulder. ‘I think it’s fair to say the business with the fat-burner pills has been quite distressing for Jessica personally – but it’s done serious damage to herbrandtoo.
‘She’s come to Esteem PR from her previous agency, who gave her some very bad advice. Our first task is to try and reset Jessica’s image – strip it back to basics.’
Tom was nodding, but the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his discomfort. Sophie, who’d taken Jessica’s hand, said, ‘I did some work with Angeljuice once … Very pushy people. It can be hard to say no to things, and it’s tough when you’re the face of a campaign that goes down badly.’ Jessica said nothing, and continued to stare at the beige loop-pile carpet.
‘Right,’ Dev interjected. ‘Let’s have Jessica with Tom first while Sophie chats to Rachel. Then you can swap over.’ He seemed keen to avoid further discussion of a topic that Jessica apparently found distressing.
Tom caught Rachel’s eye and looked at her in a way that was at once pleading and apologetic. The message was clear: he was sorry she had to do this – thattheyhad to do this – but he needed her to keep her cool.
Rachel reminded herself that this exhibition was a huge opportunity for Tom. It was his chance to do more of what he loved – maybe even make a proper living at it. If she had a shit-fit now, she could ruin it for him.
Tom led Jessica over to a stool surrounded by lights and umbrellas. Bile rose in Rachel’s throat as she watched him gently position Jessica’s head and arms with his hands, then lean over her to take light readings and adjust the angle of a round silver reflector.
In front of the camera, Jessica’s quiet apprehension seemed to melt away. She flipped her hair, pouted and tilted her shoulders on cue, somehow managing to look just as alluring as in her poster ads – even in no make-up and a plain grey T-shirt.
As Tom helped Jessica move into a standing pose, she stared up at him through her eyelashes and let her hand linger on his forearm for a few seconds too long. Was sheflirting? Rachel was incensed.
‘We need a shot that looksapologetic,’ Dev said. ‘Something that inspires a bit of sympathy.’
From what Rachel could gather, there’d been some sort of backlash against the diet pill ads Jessica had starred in – a backlash that, to Rachel’s mind, wasn’t entirely undeserved.
Tom pulled down a white background roll, then placed Jessica towards the back of it, cross-legged on the floor like a primary school kid. He shifted lights downwards and moved the camera up, so it was positioned over her head. This was clever, Rachel thought: Jessica looked plaintive, like a supplicant.
When she lifted up her face, her cheekbones caught the light and she stared wide-eyed into the camera. Rachel told herself not to look any more. She should be concentrating on interviewing Sophie.
To Rachel’s relief, Sophie was open and articulate. She spoke in a measured, thoughtful way about her experience of living life online.