Lisa Sommers walked up to her, looked her up and down, and then held her nose. ‘You’re disgusting!’ she shouted with glee.

And the cruel laughter. The cruel laughter that scraped at Laura’s young heart with a jagged piece of glass.

She ran home with tears streaming down her face. She put on a brave face and tried to hide the rip that Lisa Sommers had made in her new dress during recess. But parents are very sensitive to the pain of their children. When her father found the torn dress, he was furious. He burst into the principal’s office to report what had happened. The girls responsible were punished.

And of course, that only made the popular girls hate her even more.

During her anguished childhood, Laura studied as hard as she could. If she could not be popular or even liked, at least she was going to be smart.

And she had Gloria. Laura often wondered if she could have survived those long years without her only two friends: her school books and her older sister Gloria. Physically, Gloria was the buxom bombshell all the high-school boys lusted after. But she was also big-hearted and kind to a fault. When Laura felt the world was coming to an end, Gloria would comfort her with warm words and warm hugs. Gloria would tell her that everything was going to be okay and for a little while, everything was. Sometimes, Gloria even canceled dates with boys just to stay home and console Laura. She took Laura to the movies or to the big department stores or the park or the roller rink or wherever. Laura knew that she had the greatest sister in the whole world. She loved Gloria very much.

That was why Laura had been devastated when Gloria ran away from home and came very close to committing suicide.

Laura’s physical metamorphosis took place in the summer before her junior year of high school. Yes, she exercised. Yes, she started to wear contact lenses. Yes, she dieted (stopped eating actually). But that would not have been enough to explain the change. Those things may have accelerated the process, but the transformation would have occurred anyway. It was simply her time. She suddenly blossomed and no one in her school could believe their eyes. A little while later, a modeling agency spotted her and she was on her way.

At first, Laura could not believe she was beautiful enough to be a fashion model. Fat, ugly Laura Ayars a fashion model? Uh, uh. No way.

But Laura was neither blind nor stupid. She could look in a mirror and see for herself what everyone else was talking about. She soon got used to the whole idea of being attractive. By some queer twist of fate, the homely child had turned into a high-paid supermodel. Suddenly, people wanted to be with her, to dress like her, to be her friend. Just because she was now physically appealing, those who had wanted to spit on her and tease her thought she was something special. Laura became more than a little suspicious of people’s motives.

Modeling was easy money for Laura. She made over half a million dollars when she was just eighteen. But modeling was not an occupation she particularly enjoyed. While the hours were at times grueling and tedious, the work was never what she would call demanding. There was little challenge to be found in posing for a series of snapshots. It was downright boring actually. She wanted to do something more but the world seemed to have forgotten she had a brain. It was all so ridiculous. When she was ugly with glasses, everybody thought she was a bookworm. Now that she was beautiful, everybody assumed she was an airhead.

Laura did not do many location shootings in those days – just the one in Australia and two on the French Riviera – because unlike many of her colleagues, she did not leave school. It was no simple task but she managed to finish high school and graduate from Tufts University four years later. Once Laura received her degree, she was ready to take on the fashion and cosmetics industries. The industries, however, were ill prepared for her onslaught. June 1983 marked her last cover appearance on a women’s magazine as Laura retired from modeling at the ripe old age of twenty-three. She invested her substantial earnings to develop her own concept, Svengali, a company for the woman-on-the-move, blending practical, intelligent and sophisticated looks with the feminine and sensual.

The slogan: Be your own Svengali.

To say the concept caught on would be the fashion understatement of the eighties. At first, critics scoffed at the model-playing-business-tycoon’s success, claiming it was just another in a series of fads that would disappear in a matter of months. Two years after promoting women’s clothes and cosmetics, Laura expanded into casual shoes and fragrances. By the time she was twenty-six, Svengali had gone public with Laura the majority stockholder and Chief Executive Officer of a multi-million-dollar conglomerate.

The taxi made a sharp right turn. ‘Peterson’s office on the Esplanade, right, missy?’

Laura chuckled. ‘Missy?’

‘It’s just an expression,’ the cabbie explained. ‘No offense meant.’

‘None taken. Yes, they’re on the Esplanade.’

Copycat corporations began to crop up like so many weeds beside her thriving flower. They were all vying for a slice of the profitable Svengali business, all searching for the secret of Laura’s success. But like so many other bothersome weeds, they were pulled out of the corporate world before they could truly take root. Laura’s close administrators knew the secret that competitors sought, the aspect that made Svengali unique: Laura. Her hard work, determination, brains, style and even warmth steered every phase of the organization. Corny, yes, but also true. The woman was the company.

Everything had gone according to plan – until she met David Baskin.

The taxi slowed to a stop. ‘We’re here, luv.’

The Pacific International Hotel in Cairns was not far from the Peterson office. It was near the center of town and across the street from the Marlin Jetty where most of the sightseeing and diving boats set sail. The hotel was a popular vacation spot, ideal for those who wanted the tropics of Australia but did not crave absolute seclusion.

But the occupant of room 607 was not here to vacation.

The occupant looked out the window but did not notice or care about the breathtaking beauty. There were more important things to worry about. Awful things. Things that had to be taken care of no matter how tragic the consequence. Things so horrible that even the occupant of room 607 had no idea of their full scope.

And they had to be taken care of now.

The occupant turned away from the breathtaking view that past visitors had gazed upon for countless hours and walked toward the phone. There had been very little time to plan. Now, as the occupant lifted the receiver, there was a moment to wonder if there was another option left open.

No. There was no other option.

The occupant lifted the phone and dialed.

‘Reef Resort. Can I help you?’

The occupant swallowed away the terror. ‘David Baskin please.’

The meeting droned on steadily. The first two hours had moved smoothly enough and the deal was nearly set. But now they were getting down to details and, as usual, a few snags tangled up the works. Laura eyed her watch and realized she was going to be back later than she originally anticipated. She asked if she could use a phone, excused herself and dialed the hotel. When there was no answer in their room, she asked to be transferred to the front desk. The same receptionist was on duty.

‘Your husband went out a few minutes ago,’ he informed her. ‘He left a note for me to give you.’

‘Could you read it to me?’

‘Of course. Would you hold on a second?’

She heard the phone being dropped heavily to the wooden desk and then the sounds of somebody stumbling around echoed into the receiver. ‘Here it is.’ Paper was unfolded. Hesitation. ‘It’s… it’s rather personal, Mrs Baskin.’