Flawless. Sara Craven

by side.

      Her throat constricted painfully. But perhaps Susan had enjoyed the contrast, she thought. Even—needed it, to reassure herself about her own looks and popularity. Mirror, mirror on the wall … In those days, there’d never been any doubt as to what the mirror would answer.

      But then had come Louise’s wedding—shattering her—turning everything upside-down. And in its aftermath her whole life had changed—totally and irrevocably.

      And with that change had come first bewilderment, then awkwardness and withdrawal, and now, finally, estrangement from her family.

      Saul Kingsland, she thought. Saul Kingsland, you have so much to pay for. And I’m going to extract every last penny. Starting now.

      The flat seemed emptier than usual as she let herself in. She tossed the case into her room, and went straight to the kitchen. The fridge-freezer held a selection of packet meals which could be microwaved. She chose the first that came to hand, and slid it into the oven.

      She filled the coffee percolator, and switched it on. Assembled crockery and cutlery.

      Then she went to the telephone. She didn’t have to look up the number. She already knew it by heart. She dialled, and waited.

      ‘This is Saul Kingsland.’ He sounded, disturbingly, as if he was there in the room with her. ‘I’m sorry I can’t talk to you in person right now, but if you’d like to leave a message after the tone, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’

      ‘It’s Carly North. If you still want to take some pictures of me, I’m free tomorrow.’ She put down the receiver.

      That’s that, she thought, and went back to the microwave and her instant meal. By the time she’d eaten it, the small kitchen was filled with the aroma of coffee. She poured herself a cup and took it through to the bedroom.

      She peeled off the grey dress, and let it fall to the floor. On Monday, she decided, she would take it to a nearly-new shop. Certainly, she never wanted to see it again. She dropped bra, briefs, tights and slip into a linen basket and put on her dressing-gown. Its almost tailored style, with padded shoulders and deep revers, slashed to reveal the cleft between her small, high breasts, was in stark contrast to the sinuous peach satin it was made from. It was the most expensive robe she’d ever bought, but the colour warmed her skin, and acted as a magnificent foil to the tumble of her hair.

      Barefoot, she wandered back into the sitting-room and switched on the television set. I don’t want anything significant, she told it silently. I just want some mindless entertainment—to prevent me from thinking. Because if I start rehashing everything that’s happened I shall cry, and I don’t want to give way to that kind of weakness.

      A film was beginning—a classic thriller which she’d seen many times before—and she subsided into it gratefully, sitting curled up on the sofa, her hands clasped round the warmth of her cup.

      It was ridiculous, because it was a beautiful night in early summer, but she still felt chilled to the bone. Perhaps in a minute she would switch on the electric fire.

      The sound of the front door buzzer brought her head round sharply. All her circle of friends thought she was at home, enjoying herself at Susan’s party.