Sarah sank into the depths of a plush leather chair and eyed Max Wilde across a large coffee table strewn with books and magazines as he did the same. He smiled, the charming smile he so rarely directed at Sarah . . . she wasn't usually worth charming.
'Well?' she asked, with wary politeness. 'What business do we have to discuss?' She was almost certain she was about to be chewed out for something.
Silently, he reached for a large black folder lying on top of the magazines, swivelling it around so that it faced Sarah.
'Open it, it won't bite,' he said, amused, as she looked at it suspiciously. ‘I’d like to know what you think. Take your time.' And he settled back in his chair as she slowly did as she was bid.
It was a design folio, crammed with a collection of beautiful, bold, dashing sketches. Sarah didn't need to check the sharp, angular signature to recognise the unique style of Sir Richard Wilde.
The contents of the folder were so fascinating that for once she was able to ignore the disturbing man opposite. What a fantastic collection of clothes—feminine and elegant, practical too! As she leafed through, a pattern emerged, a co-ordination of cut, cloth and contrast which was obviously intended to extend the versatility of each basic outfit. There were suits, trousers, skirts, jackets and soft blouses to mix and match; dresses classical and timeless, dresses dramatic and different—casual yet classy, designed for living, breathing women, not just models and mannequins.
The evening clothes were rather more exotic. There was
a breath of the East in the high collars, cross-over fronts and formalised lines; the teaming of short, jutting, button-less jackets in brilliant racing-silk colours with gowns of softer hues. There were also sleek lounging suits and a more glamorous kind of mix-and-match with cobweb-fine shawls and scarves and camisole tops.
With each page were a selection of fabric samples which Sarah fingered appreciatively. They were lightweight wools and wool-blends, silks and soft, easy-fitting knits. The colours were striking and unusual combinations of muted colours with pure, clear primaries. It was not difficult to imagine the myriad ways one could combine the individual elements of the wardrobe to produce variations on a theme.
'You obviously approve,' the dark chocolate voice melted into her thoughts.
'Who wouldn't?'
'You. Considering that you seem to be totally uninterested in your own clothes. Yet you must have some fashion sense to be able to do your job properly.' He retrieved the folder and put it into a leather briefcase which he then locked and placed back on the floor by his chair. 'I thought that anything that didn't feature sackcloth and ashes mightn't appeal to your introverted taste.'
Sarah was too curious to rise to the bait. 'Is this the Pacific Collection that there have been rumours about?'
'There's no Pacific Collection as such,' she was told. 'That's just a convenient smokescreen. What we are releasing here, and in Australia and the West Coast of the States, is a new label—Images. Not only a new label, a totally new market for Wilde Fashions—not couture, not mass-market, but somewhere in between.' 'What has this got to do with me?' 'Everything. I want you to model a selection of Images clothes for a feature in Rags & Riches'
'I beg your pardon?' She must have misheard. That or he was joking in spite of his bland expression.
'Wilde's has offered Julie an exclusive on the Collection for the April issue—it'll come out the week we hold the preview. Rags is going to do an eight-page feature in a 'before and after' format, aiming it specifically at the type of woman for whom Images is designed. Consider yourself lucky to be the chosen one.'
Lucky? Sarah stared blankly at the figure lounging in his chair. To exhibit herself in such a farce?
'It's a preposterous idea,' she said coldly. 'I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.'
'On the contrary,' he said calmly. 'It has many merits, not least as a good PR exercise, both for Wilde Fashions and for your magazine. And there's a more personal reason for you to give your co-operation. When the photographic session is over the clothes you model will be yours.'
Sarah opened her mouth but no sound came out. Did he seriously think that made any difference? She was familiar with the type of feature he had in mind, where a bevy of beauty experts turned an ordinary unprepossessing woman into a poised and glossy advertisement for the benefit of clothes and make-up. Done well, with style and imagination, it could be tremendously effective. Done on somebody else!
'I can think of better reasons not to,' she told him flatly. 'It's still a ridiculous idea—' She broke off and stared at his smug expression. 'It was yours, wasn't it? I should have known. No!'
'Of course it was mine. No one else would dare suggest you do something you didn't want to,' he replied drily. 'But you're perfect. I've never seen a more genuine example of "before" in my life. This feature will at least have realism on its side.'
'It's got nothing else!' snapped Sarah. 'You've made it very clear that you don't approve of the way I look. Isn't this a rather extreme and expensive method of pointing it out?'
'Cheap at the price,' he mocked. 'Since the clothes will be altered to your fitting and since Wilde's isn't in the business of selling second-hand goods, you're being offered them in lieu of payment. Although when I discussed this with Julie on Friday afternoon she did say you'd be delighted to do it for love.'
Oh did she? No wonder she had left it to him to break the news. Traitoress! That his comments were logical did nothing to soothe Sarah's ruffled spirits. Why didn't he lose his cool for once? He was too damned sure of himself . . . and of her eventual capitulation! But she didn't want to be reasonable. She was a woman and women were allowed to be perverse, weren't they?
'I'm not delighted and I won't do it,' she said sharply, but it had no effect. He continued to look quite unmoved. Sarah searched for something that would emphasise her distaste for the whole idea. 'And if you think I'm being coy, you're wrong! Should I feel grateful that you've condescended to play the great benefactor? Does it give you some kind of kick to think of yourself as fairy godmother to poor little Cinderella employees?'
/> His mouth tightened and there was a flicker of movement in the jawline that made her think that she had hit very close to the mark, but when he spoke it was with a note of boredom that was far more crushing than his anger or sarcasm.
'Don't take it so personally. I was merely pointing out the beneficial side-effects accruing from a business proposition. If you think that I have anything other than a professional interest in the matter then you grossly exaggerate your own importance. And if the idea of owning a Richard Wilde wardrobe is so unthinkable, by all means refuse it. Doubtless we can come to some other arrangement.'
Feeling like a child who has just thrown a tantrum in public—foolish and chastened—it was a moment before Sarah registered the implication of that last, throwaway line. He was still assuming her agreement a foregone conclusion.
'The question of accepting the dresses is irrelevant, since I have no intention of modelling them,' she said, at her stubbornest. 'Find someone else.'