He brushed that away. ‘So you don’t think it’s odd for a grown man to stand around in his underwear all day, being told where to look? You don’t think I should be utilising my intelligence in some more worthwhile way? And that it’s plain lazy to only work for a few days each month?’
‘You sound as if you’re the one who has a problem with your job.’
‘No. I don’t have a problem with it. But I’d like your objective opinion, as someone who hasn’t known me long. How does the whole thing strike you?’
Thoughtfully, she stacked her plate and cutlery with Martyn’s so that it would be easy for the waitress to swoop up as she hurried by. ‘I don’t think it’s odd. It’s interesting. Yes, the stuff at the bridge got repetitive and my attention wandered but it looks a wonderful career. You’re using the assets you’ve been given. If you have so many issues with your career, how come you got into it? Did you go to modelling school, or something?’
His expression relaxed. ‘Just fell into it, which must be really annoying for anyone who does go the modelling school route. I was in Brighton and something was going on in the Pavilion Gardens. So I wandered over to look because it seemed to involve a group of pretty girls. They were from a promotions company, scouting for guys to go into a competition to be a model, organised byIn Town Magazine, sponsored by le Dur. “You arejustwhat we’re looking for — how would you like to be in a modelling competition?” they said. And, compared to revising for my finals, it seemed attractive.
‘I’d never done any kind of performance but I’d swum and played sport and the shoot director began by sticking us all in swimming gear and it didn’t seem too difficult. It might have been torture if they’d wanted cheerful, beaming knitting-pattern guys or something but they just wanted someone who would stare into the camera. I found I could do that OK.’ His smile was slow, as if waiting for her to butt in with some kind of funny.
When she didn’t, he went on, ‘Le Dur liked me and offered me work, which conjured up several agents and managers, so I hooked up with Ace. I don’t do runway or acting or anything. I do product-led commercial print and I do quite a bit of editorial — you know, a feature in the glossies about some lifestyle thing and they want the right images.
‘I think I must have been born three-parts lucky bastard. It’s so random that I just happen to look how they want that sometimes it seems almost wrong to make money out of it.’
‘Have you ever been inGQ?’ Her voice sounded shy and awed, even to her own ears.
‘BritishGQ, yes, for a company that sold hand-sewn shirts, and in a couple of editorials, butGQuses a lot of top sportsmen and actors in their ads. I’ve been inFHMandEsquireandIn Town, of course. But I’m in more women’s or general interest magazines. And on buses.’
She sorted through the subject in her mind. ‘Do you have to deal with clients?’
‘Not a lot. Ace, my agent, does that. I maintain my website and do Twitter and Facebook. The agency is keen on each of their models having an online presence.’
She wasn’t going to admit that she’d already Googled him. ‘And what comes after? Can you model for all of your life?’
‘People do. They shift their area of operations into . . .’ He made a face. ‘. . . I don’t know, ads for vitamins and life insurance. But others become agents or managers or get work on fashion courses. A lot of models are actors or musicians, anyway, so they concentrate on that. But I don’t do that kind of performance.’ He hesitated. ‘I do some web design, which is what I was doing at uni. I look after the websites of several of the models at the agency. And the agency’s site, too.’
She studied him. ‘And you do that so that you have a career to move into?’
‘And I enjoy doing it, I suppose. I don’t get it when men say they do nothing but model. I like to exercise my brain. I do a couple of websites for charities, too, because I’ve got the time.’
He lapsed into silence, chin on his palm. He seemed to want to get something off his chest but he was having a hard time coughing it up.
‘Are you telling me some kind of secret?’
‘I suppose I am.’ His smile stretched slowly, ruefully across his face. ‘I don’t tell Clarissa.’
She laughed. ‘About the web design? But surely she knows?’
He shook his head.
Baffled, ‘Why not? It would seem to me that she’d get off your back, if she knew.’
‘That’s why I don’t tell her.’ He smiled at the waitress, who looked dazzled. ‘I suppose I have some ridiculous idea that she ought to accept me as I am.’
‘You know . . . last night you were pretty hard on Clarissa.’
He glanced away. Sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’ve always had a highly developed talent for speaking in the heat of the moment and she has an equal talent for pushing my buttons. But, you’re right. I was hard on her. And it would have taken away all the sting if I’d just put my arm around her and said sorry, straight away, wouldn’t it? If I’m three parts lucky bastard then the other part is irritable and I do recognise it — but not normally until the next day. And then I’m sorry for how accurately I aimed hurtful words. And that’s when I apologise. When it’s hardest to do. But, don’t worry, I’ve already sent her a “let’s be friends” text.’ His eyes were rueful, even as he laughed at himself.
His phone began to ring, getting him out of the confession, and he answered with a brief, ‘Hi, Ace.’
He didn’t get up and seek privacy so Honor had no real choice but to listen to his side of the conversation, presumably with his agent, as Ace didn’t seem a common name. They talked about the shoot. And Martyn said, ‘No, I’m not home yet. I’m eating lunch with someone. No, not from the crew. Yes. Yes, she’s pretty.’ His eyes crinkled at Honor. ‘No, I haven’t . . .’ He took the phone away from his ear. ‘My agent, Ace is coming for dinner tonight. He says he wants to meet you.’
The waitress stopped to clear the table and offer the dessert menu. Honor took it, not so much because she had room for dessert but to give her time to consider. ‘Why would he want to do that?’
Martyn shrugged. ‘Typical, flamboyant, expansive — slightly nosey — Ace.’ A voice buzzed thinly and he put the phone back to his ear, then added, ‘And now he’s heard your accent, he says he loves Americans.’
‘Oh. Well, I guess.’ Now that she’d seen a male model in action, it would probably be interesting to meet his ‘flamboyant and expansive’ agent, too. She imagined someone who wore satin and called everybody ‘darling’.
