CHAPTER 3
She arrived at the impressive wrought iron gates of the mansion just after 10 the next morning, and after speaking to a security guard, was allowed to drive up the long drive and park her car.
She made her way towards the imposing looking front door, but was diverted by the sound of voices coming from behind a large hedge, so she headed that way, and found herself approaching a large swimming pool area, complete with sun lounges and glamorous looking people draped over them. There were a plethora of cables and lights, and three gorgeous looking men in various stages of undress, posing on the side of the pool.
Rachel looked at them critically, one was wearing only board shorts and fake tan, one was wearing a tee shirt and board shorts, and the other just a G-string, lying on his stomach on a towel, and having make up applied to his backside. For one moment she thought it was John, but then realized that he was not among the three, and stifling back her giggles, she walked up to one of the photographers.
"Could you tell me where I could find Jo-Dale Scott please?" she asked, almost forgetting the name that John was using.
"Oh the delectable Dale," he said, lowering his camera to look at her. "I believe he is in the house," he went on to say, indicating the mansion with a casual wave of the hand. "They are doing formal shots in there I think."
With another lingering and appreciative glance at the nearly naked man by the pool, Rachel picked her way over the cables and cords, and around some of the people and headed towards the entrance the photographer had indicated.
She found herself inside a large room, which was also covered wires and cables, with large lights across one wall, and a large blue screen against another. There were some people holding more lights, and the main photographer who was talking to someone sitting in front of the blue screen. She slipped unobtrusively into the room, standing slightly to one side, and half behind a pillar, several of which decorated the room.
It was John sitting on a bar stool in front of the blue screen. He was wearing a tuxedo, and Rachel caught her breath. The tuxedo was not black, but very dark navy blue, and they had put him in a baby blue dress shirt, the color of which emphasized the dusky blue of his eyes. The bow tie was undone, and hanging around the collar of his shirt and they had obviously told him not to shave, because he was sporting a night's stubble on his cheeks and chin.
"All right Dale," the photographer was saying. "You have been out all night. The girl of your dreams has accepted your proposal. You are very happy. I need that smile!"
John made a halfhearted attempt at smiling, and the photographer took several shots, then sighed and put his camera down for a moment.
"Sarah, can you undo just the top two buttons of his shirt?" he asked, and one of the women ran forward and began playing with John's shirt. John fended her off, and tried to do it himself, but was overruled by both the photographer, and someone else who was obviously a make up person, who darted in and began applying powder to his face. Rachel smiled to herself as she caught glimpses of John's expression as he suffered the women's attention, even while she was resenting them touching him. Then the photographer picked up his camera again, and waved the others out of the shot.
"Dale, I know that I am not your regular photographer, and that you are new to this, but if you try and work with me here, I am sure I can get you a cover. I am the best! And the agency wants me to do your photo shoot now. But I really need a proper smile – one that shows that dimple in your cheek." He began snapping shots as mutinous expressions chased themselves across John's face, and then Rachel stepped out from behind the pillar, and John saw her. He watched her walk towards him, and he turned slightly to smile warmly at her, and the photographer began clicking away urgently.
"That's right, that's the smile I wanted," he said exited, "Keep it going, but look this way a little, that's fabulous, wonderful."
John was totally ignoring him, he grinned at Rachel and only stopped when the words of the photographer sunk in, and then he turned to scowl at him.
Ignoring the photographer, he stood up and went over to Rachel, and swept his arms around her, and to her total but pleased surprise hugged her, and after a slight hesitation, she hugged him back.
Then she realized he was whispering in her ear "Get me the hell out of here."
She pushed on his chest till he let her go, and she smiled up at him delighted at seeing him so off balance that he was actually glad to see her.
"No, no, no, no, no!" exclaimed the photographer, even while he had continued to take photographs. "This is not what we planned. This is not the model I picked out for you to hug. Who are you?" and he stalked angrily over to Rachel and John, and thrust himself between them.
Rachel stepped back and smiled at this angry quivering little person.
"I am Rachel S-Smith," she said "Dale is my …client," she said. "Any deals that anyone wants to make with him must come through me."
"Well no-one has discussed this with me!" said the photographer angrily. "Go and sit back down," he snapped at John, "And you go away," he said to Rachel.
Rachel swallowed her smile, and turned back to John, whose blue eyes had darkened in anger at the words of the photographer. She nodded to him, still smirking a little, and went to stand behind the camera again. John watched her and sighed, turning around to flop back down on the stool, glaring in temper at the photographer.
"Where's Tiffany?" the photographer called, and the blonde model that Rachel had seen in the early photos with her hands on John, entered the room, dressed in an exquisite evening dress, with her hair falling loosely out of what had been a very formal style, carrying her shoes.
"Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly, "I had to change out of a bikini and wash off fake tan." She smiled warmly at John, as she spoke, and Rachel ground her teeth as he smiled back at her.
"Well get over there, I want you to hold both her hands Dale, and gaze into each other's eyes. You have just committed to each other, this is the end of the night of your dreams."
John reached out and took both the blonde woman's hands in his, and smiled at her gently. The photographer started clicking away, talking all the time, getting the two of them to pretend to dance with each other, to imaginary music, holding onto one another closely, to pretend to walk slowly, arms around each other, and to hug. While Rachel chewed the strap on her handbag, he took endless photos, swapping from camera to camera, fussing with the jewelry that Tiffany was wearing, and changing filters constantly, only stopping finally when he ran out of film.
Rachel was amazed and secretly impressed at how natural John seemed, and also a little upset at what a beautiful a couple they made, and relieved beyond measure, when John dropped the blonde's hands, and came straight to her, as soon as a halt was called. He rolled his eyes expressively at her, and grinned, inviting her to find the whole thing ridiculous, along with him, and she couldn't help but join in and grin back at him, the tenseness and anger leaving her with a rush.
"God, isn't this all stupid?" he asked her in a low tone. "Anyway, let's go, before this guy decides he wants more photos. I am so over this whole thing."
"She's very pretty," Rachel commented, as they passed the other woman. John turned to look at her, then back down at Rachel.
"Yes, she is," he said. "If you like the type."
"Oh come on," said Rachel. "She's female! Isn't that the only criteria for you?"
He frowned a little, and stopped walking. "Tiffany is about 10 years younger than me," he said. "And so thin that when I put my arms around her, all I can feel is bones. And let me tell you, I got a good look down the front of that dress when I was hugging her, and there is nothing there! So no, she's not really my type, but she is a nice girl, doing a job that is a lot harder than people think."
Rachel rolled her eyes, but said nothing, and after a moment John took off again, and she followed him through the beautiful house, and out through the back, where a row of caravans stood on the lawn. John strode over to one, and opened the door, indicating to Rachel to enter
The caravan interior was very modern, but very small, and cluttered with clothes. John sat down in one of the small half round couches, and Rachel sat down in the opposite seat. "Where is Phil now?" she asked. "Did he manage to snoop at all?"
"Well I don't know where he is," replied John. "He was supposed to do that shoot this morning, but he wasn't here when I woke up. After I came out of wardrobe, they told me that other photographer was taking over from him, and that he was doing something else. I am a bit worried about him though, he was going to be with us when we go before the management."
He frowned suddenly. "I'd better get changed, the powers that be want to see me – us at 11."
He headed into the far bedroom, which was totally taken up by the bed, so had to awkwardly undress in the doorway. Rachel made no attempt to look away, and watched intently as he stripped off the tuxedo jacket, and baby blue shirt, and then the trousers, standing there in black jockey shorts, unaware of Rachel's total enjoyment. She sighed as he leaned over and grabbed a shirt and jeans from on the bed, watching the play of muscle up and down his back. He stepped into the blue jeans, and turned around, catching her eyes on him, and grinned self consciously, his fingers doing up the zip on his jeans.
She allowed her eyes to feast on the glorious expanse of his naked and now hairless chest.
"I'm sorry about the cramped conditions," he said awkwardly, slipping one muscular arm and then the other, into the plain white shirt, and starting on the buttons.
"Yeah, I guess there wasn't enough room to put you guys in the mansion itself. It would only have about 20 or so bedrooms." Rachel said sarcastically. "What have you found out so far?"
"That I hate having my photo taken," he replied so seriously that Rachel laughed. "No, I mean, have you discovered anything about Murray Novak – anything at all?"
"Well, Phil wanted to get into some of the out of bounds places inside the mansion. I don't know if he succeeded, because I was being passed around from photographer to photographer, and not able to have five minutes to myself!" he answered his tone becoming terse and his voice rising. "And what's more, after this talk this morning, I have to go and do one more shoot before they will let me go!" his sense of injury grew with every word he said.
Rachel patted his arm soothingly. "Never mind," she said, in what she hoped was a sympathetic voice. "Just imagine how much enjoyment you will get out of nailing this guy."
John sniffed. "Well, considering it's not even one of our cases, and I know nothing about this guy except that his house is really big, I don't think the enjoyment factor will be huge."
Rachel abandoned her attempt at sympathy. "Well stop sulking, and let's get it over and done with then," she said briskly, pushing him out of the caravan door. "And stop with that brooding pouty look, I'm over it, even if you aren't."
"I am not sulking!" said John indignantly. "I am just saying that I don't enjoy this…"
"Yes yes yes," said Rachel, pushing him onwards again. "We've all heard you go on about how much you don't like it, ad nauseum, I might add. Some people might think you protest too much!"
John cast her a hurt look, and walked off, Rachel followed, trying not to laugh at him.
