‘Maybe, but there’s more.’
‘What?’ asked Lulu, raising her hands to clap as the number finished.
‘Yesterday a woman came into the salon. I modelled two dresses and a coat for her. She came up to me afterwards and told me she was an agent. She wants me to go and see her. She thinks my look is in and I could be getting lots of work in magazines and maybe on the telly.’
‘But that’s fantastic!’ Lulu raised her voice as the group began to play a particularly noisy number. ‘What a great opportunity.’
‘Maybe, but Con would be having none of it.’
‘Have you told him?’
‘No. He was in late last night, and besides, I know what he’d say. What do you think I should do, Lulu?’
Lulu looked at Sorcha sternly. ‘Go and see this woman. What’s the harm in that? I know you love Con, but it’s just not acceptable for a woman to have her decisions made by a man.’ She took a sip of her White Russian. ‘I mean, he’s not even your husband.’
Sorcha blushed. ‘I know. I’m finding it hard to understand him, Lulu. I’d not have called him a chauvinist before now, but maybe I don’t know him as well as I first thought. He’s out so much with the band. It’s only work that stops me from going mad. What would I do all the day alone?’
‘If he was wealthy, you’d spend all his money,’ said Lulu, grinning. ‘I hardly see Todd either, you know. It’s an important time for them, Sorcha. And if I were you, I’d get on with your own life, like I am.’ Lulu stretched her arms out on the banquette.
‘You’re right, of course. It’s just that we never get a chance to talk like we used to. I suppose I don’t feel as close to him any more.’
‘The boys are under a lot of pressure, you know. Freddy expects a lot of them.’
Sorcha nodded. ‘You’re right. I’m sure once they have a record deal, Con will calm down. And until then I’ll have to make my own decisions.’
‘Good girl, that’s the spirit. Lulu watched with a subtle glint of triumph in her eyes as Sorcha turned her attention back to the band.
‘So, Sorcha, we’ll be needing some photos – head shots and full-length. Then we can set about getting you some assignments. I suggest you go to see John O’Hara. He’s photographed Jean and Twiggy and he’d suit you. I think you’re going to do well.’ Audrey Bennington nodded her head approvingly. ‘Yes, very well indeed. I presume that red hair is natural?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you diet to keep that thin?’
‘Never.’
‘Good, good. Any questions, dear?’
‘Um.’ Sorcha felt tongue-tied. ‘Would I have to leave Swan and Edgar’s?’
‘Not just yet. Let’s see how we go. Most of the magazines are based near you in Soho. Initially I’ll try and make your appointments for midday so you can slip off in your lunch hour. Now, let me give John a call and see when he could fit you in.’
As Audrey dialled a number, Sorcha gazed at the walls of her swanky West End office. They were covered in photos of extremely pretty girls, many of whose faces she recognised from magazine covers and advertisements. It was hard to believe this woman thought her attractive enough to join them.
‘Right, John. Six o’clock on Thursday. I’ll tell her. Yes – see you at the show tomorrow night. Bye, darling.’ Audrey put the telephone down and scribbled something on a piece of paper. ‘There’s John’s address. Take a couple of changes of clothes –one mini-skirt and one trouser suit would be appropriate. He’ll send the photos to me and we’ll take it from there. Ring me at ten every morning, will you, dear? I can tell you if anything’s in for you.’
Sorcha stood up. ‘I will. Thank you, Mrs Bennington.’
‘Call me Audrey – everyone does, dear. Goodbye.’
On her way back to Swan and Edgar’s, Sorcha stopped at Berwick Street market to buy some cabbage and potatoes, then collected a succulent piece of bacon from the butcher’s. Tonight, she would cook Con’s favourite supper, and tell him about the chance Audrey Bennington had offered her. If he loved her, she reasoned as she walked past Eros, glowing in the bright June sunshine, then he would be pleased for her. And if he wasn’t...well, that was his problem, not hers.
Sorcha laid the table with a freshly laundered cloth, and decorated it with a bright bunch of peonies and freesias. He’d said he’d be in by eight, and everything was prepared, down to the smell of the bacon she wanted him to walk in to. Sorcha uncorked the bottle of wine she’d bought – an extravagance, but this was an important night.
At half past eight, the telephone rang.
‘I’m delayed, Sorcha. Me and Todd have had an idea for a song. I have to stay with it.’
‘Oh. I’d cooked,’ she replied, deflated.
