Finally, however, all thought of him was gone, banished from her mind as she got on with her life and her life’s work. Charmaine was on a mission these days, and that mission had no time for men. Certainly not men like Prince Ali of Dubar. She’d finished with that type many years before. More recently, she’d finished with the nicer types as well.
The media would be surprised to know that Charmaine, the Aussie model who’d been voted by more than one glossy rag as one of the sexiest women in the world, now lived a celibate lifestyle. There were no boyfriends or lovers any more. And definitely no secret patrons, she thought sneeringly. The very idea!
Of course, Charmaine had enough business nous to realise that news of her nun-like life would not do her career any good. Being seen as sexy and sexually active was part of her image. So she continued to be snapped by the media at premières and parties on the arms of handsome young men, usually hunky male models who had a sexual secret of their own, namely that they were gay. And she continued to model the most daring of clothes, often without any visible underwear.
Charmaine kept her public profile high, and her image extremely sexy. She earned more money that way. And money was the name of the game these days. It took millions, she’d found out since she started up the Friends of Kids with Cancer foundation, to fund cancer research, as well as make the lives of children already suffering from cancer more bearable, not to mention their poor families’ lives. Millions and millions!
Sometimes, Charmaine surrendered to depression over the enormity of the mission she’d set herself. Could she really make a difference? But most of the time she was filled with the most dogged determination. She would do anything she could to raise money for her own very personal cause and crusade.
Anything at all!
CHAPTER ONE
OCTOBER, the second month of spring in Sydney, eleven months later…
‘I have to admire your courage, Charmaine,’ Renée said as she glanced up from where she’d been studying the lunch menu. ‘Have you thought about what kind of man the highest bidder for your dinner-date-with-Charmaine prize next Saturday night could be?’
‘A very rich man, hopefully,’ Charmaine replied with a flash of pearly white teeth. ‘My total target for the banquet and auction is ten million dollars.’
‘He could be a right sleazebag, you know,’ Renée warned. ‘Or an obsessed fan.’
Charmaine smiled again over at Renée, who was not only the owner of the modelling agency she was currently contracted to, but a nice person, too. Even nicer now that she was happily married and expecting.
As much as Charmaine was cynical when it came to rich and handsome men, she had to concede that it looked as if Renée had found a one-off in Rico Mandretti. Who would have thought that the playboy king of cable-TV cooking shows would turn out to be good husband and father material?
But he had. When Charmaine met the A Passion for Pasta star in person for the first time the other night, he hadn’t flirted with her one bit. A good sign. Not that she could be absolutely sure of Mr Mandretti’s loyalty and sincerity, she supposed. She and Renée did not mix socially so she didn’t know Renée and Rico as a couple at all. Her own relationship with Renée, though friendly, was strictly business. Charmaine never confided her personal secrets or innermost feelings to the woman.
‘I don’t care what kind of man he is,’ Charmaine said truthfully, ‘as long as he pays a good price for the privilege. You don’t have to worry about my safety, Renée, though it’s sweet of you to care. It is clearly stipulated on the auction programme that the dinner date is to be held the following Saturday night in the By Candlelight restaurant in the Regency Hotel, which is a public place. If there’s even a hint of trouble, I’ll be out of there like a shot.’
Renée had no doubt she would be, too. Charmaine was one tough cookie. Much tougher than the image she projected on the catwalk and in photographs. There, she was all soft sex kitten, her looks and manner creating an unusual combination of sensuality and innocence which always fascinated men and rarely alienated women.
Renée had often tried to analyse what exactly it was about Charmaine’s looks which managed this miracle. Where did that air of innocence come from? Perhaps from her fresh, flawless complexion or maybe her long, straight fair hair which fell in a simple curtain to her waist. Certainly not from her full, pouty mouth, almost too voluptuous figure or her come-to-bed blue eyes.
The contradictory nature of Charmaine’s beauty was as elusive as her inner self.
Renée suspected that no one in the modelling industry knew the real Charmaine, certainly not the male models she occasionally dated. Renée knew for a fact that those particular pretty boys were just handbags to Charmaine, sexy accessories for public consumption. Real boyfriends they definitely were not.
Actually, in the time she’d known Charmaine, she’d never known her to have a real boyfriend. More than likely, the girl didn’t have time for personal relationships these days, what with her career and her charity work. But Rico—typical testosterone-based man that he was—did not agree. He believed she’d more likely been burned by some man in the past and was going through a cynical phase. Rico had difficulty with the idea of any woman not really wanting a man in her life.
Maybe he was right. And maybe not. Renée was not about to risk her professional relationship with Charmaine by asking her questions about her sex life. She’d been over the moon when Australia’s most successful model signed up with her agency eighteen months back.
Previously, Charmaine had employed a personal agent-manager, but he’d been fired after fiddling his expenses. If there was one thing that girl was ruthless about, it was her money. She demanded to be well paid and she didn’t give an unnecessary cent away.
A good percentage of the money she earned, Renée suspected, went to Charmaine’s beloved Friends of Kids with Cancer foundation, which she’d personally started up not long before she’d joined Renée’s modelling agency. Charmaine’s little sister had died of leukaemia the year before, and the tragedy had affected the girl greatly. After a couple of months’ sabbatical from modelling to grieve the loss, she’d come out fighting to do something to help other such kids. Hence, the foundation.
When Charmaine was on the fund-raising war-path, no one was safe. She harassed everyone she met for monetary donations or their time. She’d even coerced Renée into talking Rico into being the compère at the auction on Saturday night. Renée was thankfully absolved from taking part herself because she was seven months pregnant. With twins! But she would be attending, of course.
Actually, Renée was looking forward to that evening. Charles and Dominique would be there, which meant she and Dominique could talk babies. Even Ali had promised to make an appearance, though not for the dinner, just for the auction. He hadn’t been going to set his rich Arab foot in the door till Renée showed him the glossy brochure Charmaine had put together that listed all the items to be auctioned and explained where all the money raised would be going.
His change of mind had still surprised everyone at cards last Friday night; Ali kept his public appearances to a minimum because of security reasons. Perhaps the venue sold him on coming. The Regency Hotel had a reputation for keeping its famous and wealthy clientele very safe indeed.
‘By the way, I managed to fill my table at last,’ she told Charmaine. ‘Another of my card-playing friends agreed to come. Did I mention to you I play poker with a high-rolling crowd every Friday night, in the presidential suite at the Regency Hotel no less?’
‘No, you’ve never mentioned that. How interesting. You own racehorses as well, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Racing is a passion with me, I admit. So is poker. I’m a mad gambler. Anyway, you’ll also be pleased to know that these other mad gamblers I play poker with are all filthy rich. Charles Brandon is one of them. You