I had my passport and tickets for Paris, and Jemima even made hotel reservations for me. So, I was busy packing, and Scott was walking about, talking on his mobile. Why do men feel they have to walk about and talk at the same time?
Jenny came over, her father was giving her driving lessons, and they stopped off to see me. John was rather guilty, as he felt they had pushed me out, and was obviously concerned that I was upset. Jenny had changed in her attitude towards me, as she seemed slightly wary of me now. We went for a walk along the coastal path, and I told her my observations.
“I don’t mean to, but you are very different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Sort of cool and hard, somehow. It is hard to explain, but most people who are kidnapped and stuck in the boot of a car, and then watch a man gunned down, show some emotion. You just seem to shrug it off. I don’t understand. I’d be still having the wobblies.” she said, and I laughed.
“I’m not most people, Jenny. My emotions have been so battered over the years, so maybe I don’t know how to react anymore. If Dave says something sweet to me, I blub like a baby, but for some reason I can’t seem to connect me with what happened to me the other day. It was as if I was only watching, and it wasn’t real somehow. Maybe it will hit me and I will have a huge break down.”
“I feel really bad over what happened at home.” Jenny admitted.
“Don’t, it wouldn’t be fair to you if I brought trouble to the hotel. Besides, it made me contact Jemima, and now I’ve got a cracking modelling contract.”
“Tell me about it. Caroline was over yesterday, and she showed me the papers and some magazines. I couldn’t believe it, you looked so amazing. You looked about twenty five.”
I smiled, I tried to imagine what sort of life I would be having if I had been still Alex. I gave up, as it didn’t matter now.
“So what does it feel like being called “Superbabe”?”
“I quite like it, but it is something else which is not real. When I take the make up off, and wear my own clothes, it is like I leave it all behind. Mind you, I was shopping in Brighton yesterday, and two girls wanted my autograph. It is still so new that I find it all fun, but I think I will get fed up soon.”
“Are you coming back to school?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet. I will see how the various shows go in Europe and the States.”
“If it was me, I’d never bother going back.”
“I won’t always have the looks they want, and I want to get into design, so I need the qualifications. So, I may have to crack on with the A levels and then go to university or something.” I said.
“You have enough cash, so why bother?”
“It’s not the cash. It is the ‘doing’ that is important to me. I love the shows, and I really enjoyed making designs, so that is where the joy of it all is. The money is incidental.”
“I wouldn’t mind it.”
We chatted on for a bit, and ended up back at the house. Scott was telling John about how the kidnapping happened and all about the rescue and such. I don’t know if that was helpful or not, but he gave me a big kiss as they left. They both wished me good luck.
I took the opportunity to go into the Nat West Bank and spoke to the manager at some length. I explained the difficulties I had, and why I had assumed a different name. As I had a policeman with me, the manager assured me that everything would be put under the name of Lake, and Hemmings was forgotten. Then I added another few thousand pounds to my account.
Paris and Rome had been repeats of the show in London, and I went from plane to hotel to show to hotel to plane. I got a little time in each city, but in front of camera, having shoots of the collection in exotic locations. Natasha was always nearby, and she was so over the top with her enthusiasm, that I found it a bit wearing after a while.
She would always call me “Alexandra Darling”, and one Italian reporter asked me if that was my name. Jemima bought me a Supergirl outfit, and had a photographer take me up the Eiffel Tower in such a pose that it looked like I was flying. It was a windy day, and my hair and cape were flying out behind me, and it looked very convincing.
The next day I was in most of the UK tabloids, Superbabe takes Paris by storm.
I thoroughly enjoyed both cities, but was completely knackered by the time we set off for New York.
The British Airways Boeing 747/400 landed on time at New York. Natasha had preceded me by a couple of days, and so I was travelling alone. Scott had told me that he had contacted Jim Randall, and they were trying to get in touch with the FBI to alert them to my risks.
I was a little reluctant to leave my first class seat, as I had just had the best rest in ages. The flight and service had been superb, and I really enjoyed being pampered for eight hours.
I was wearing a summer sleeveless dress, with a short ‘bolero’ style jacket. With stockings and high heel shoes, and my hair flowing majestically, I felt really confident. I was now able to afford top name clothes, and Natasha gave me several of hers to increase the publicity. I know that I looked immaculate.
I was in no great hurry, as I knew that a car was supposed to be waiting for me. I walked to the Immigration desk, and waited in line. All the necessary paperwork had been completed whilst I was in London, and I even had a coveted green card. The rather officious Immigration Officer was still quite unpleasant and so I was very English and superior to her. I was tall, fair and glamorous and she was short and dark and overweight, so we didn’t exactly hit it off.
But I was scrupulously polite and pleasant, whilst being as snottily superior as I could be. She held up my passport.
“It says here you are a student, yet you state your visit is to work as a model.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be both.”
“I am studying design and I am a model. I won’t always be a model and I want to design my own range of clothes, so it stands to reason that I must have some qualifications in the field, and need to work so I can study.”
“Oh, but you are only seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Reluctantly she stamped my passport and I was allowed in. I smiled sweetly at her, and walked through.
I collected my case, and walked through the customs area to the main arrivals sign. As I walked towards the exit onto the concourse, two men dressed in grey suits approached me.
“Sandi Lake?” one asked.
“Who are you?” I said, guardedly.
They both produced wallets and shields.
“I am Special Agent Ryan Connors and this is my colleague Special Agent Jason Bridger. Chief Inspector Jim Randall from New Scotland Yard has been in touch, and explained your circumstances. In fact your father is assisting us with some intelligence at this time, and we respect the danger you may be facing. So we are here to tell you that we will be watching your back while you are over in New York.”
“My Dad is here?”
“I don’t know where he is Ma’am, we are only assigned to protect you for the duration of your visit.”
“Oh, is there any way I can contact him? I haven’t seen him for ages, and I’d like to see him.”
“I can make enquiries for you, but that’s all.”
“I’d appreciate it, thanks.” I said, and gave him a big smile.
I walked through the automatic doors, and was met by a sea of faces. The FBI agents followed slightly behind me. There was a large black man in a chauffeur’s uniform, including hat, holding a card with, Miss A. Lake thereon.
“Hi, I’m Sandi Lake.” I said, and he frowned.
“The Sandi is short for Alexandra.” I explained and he grinned.
“Okay, Missy. I’m George, Miz Kysinski says hi, and welcome to New York.”
“Thanks.” I said, and he took my case. The FBI men flanked me, and we left the building. George took me to a big black limousine, and put the case in the trunk. He held the door open, and I got in, I was only too well aware that lots of people were craning their necks to see who I was. I grinned and enjoyed being a VIP.