‘This is where I say goodbye,’ Fleur says from behind her.  Lana turns around to face her.  ‘Peter will take you to the beauty salon where you have your last appointment.  That over with, he will take you to the apartment where you will soak in a lovely bath and then you will dress in your new clothes.  I believe you have a hot date at nine.’

‘Thank you, Fleur.’

‘The pleasure was all mine.’

‘I don’t know if we will ever meet again, but I’ll never forget you.’

‘Nor I you,’ Fleur says, and bending forward plants a light kiss on Lana’s cheek.

Lana’s next stop is in High Street Kensington.  In an all-white salon an olive-skinned, middle-aged, barrel-like woman in a white trouser uniform with a clipboard smiles and introduces herself as Rosa Rehon.  Rosa is Spanish and has retained her thick accent despite having been in England for fifteen years.  She shows Lana into a small room with a beautician’s bed.

‘Ever had a full body wax before?’

‘No.’

‘No problem.  We use three different waxes here.  For the longer hair, the medium length, and for the pesky short ones.’  The waxes are heating in three pots.  Each one is a different color.

‘Shall we do waist down first?’

‘Will this hurt a lot?’

‘Well, it depends on your pain threshold.  Some people fall asleep while I am waxing them.’

‘Really?’

Her pearly whites flash.  ‘Really. Pop on board.  We will start with the legs.’

Lana reluctantly climbs on the bed that has been lined with paper, and lies down.

Rosa paints a thin layer of warm wax on Lana’s calf and lays a strip of cloth on the wax.  ‘Ready?’ she asks.  Lana nods and she rips.

‘Ow,’ Lana says.

‘The first one always hurts.  The next one will be better,’ she says.

She paints another layer of wax and, stretching Lana’s skin, rips it off.

‘Ow,’ Lana says again.

‘It gets better after a while,’ she consoles unconvincingly, and launches into a monologue about how she and her husband have jam sandwiches every night while they are watching TV.  ‘Sometimes, on weekends we will turn to each other and say, “Shall we have another?” and we do,’ she enlightens.

Despite a penchant for innocuous jam sandwiches, Rosa turns out to be a hair Nazi.  She will not tolerate even the smallest hair anywhere.  A painful hour, later Lana is red and hot and stinging all over.  She has been asked to assume embarrassing positions so any stray hairs around what Rosa calls the bum hole can be ripped off.

Why would anyone want to do that, Lana thinks.

‘It looks prettier this way,’ Rosa says, as she rips another offending hair out.

‘Ow,’ replies Lana.

When it is all over Rosa squints at Lana’s face.  ‘I can do your eyebrows for free,’ she offers.  ‘Eyebrows don’t hurt at all.’

‘Yes, I know.  Some of your customers fall asleep.’

Again that flash of strong teeth.  ‘Well, shall I?  I can make them look very beautiful.’

‘OK.’

The Rehons have a son in art school apparently, and Rosa fills Lana in about him while she works on Lana’s eyebrows.  When she is finished she applies aloe vera gel before bringing a round mirror and giving it to Lana.  The skin looks red and a little swollen but Rosa is right—her eyebrows actually arch and frame her eyes.

After that torture the manicure and pedicure are a pleasure.  She watches the orange nail varnish that Billie so painstakingly painted onto her fingers and toes get wiped away.  On the drive to the apartment Lana looks at her French manicure.  She has to admit it is very pretty.

The car comes to a stop at a tall white building with a glass-fronted entrance.

‘Here we are,’ says Peter, switching off the engine.

Ten

The reception is plush with deep, cream carpets and chandeliers in every hallway.  There is an Indian guard slumped behind a desk reading a newspaper in a foreign language who immediately straightens and stands to attention.  Peter introduces her.

‘Lana, this is Mr. Nair.’

Peter turns to Mr. Nair.  ‘This is Miss Bloom.  She will be living in the penthouse for the next three months.  Please ensure that she will be well taken care of,’ Peter tells him

Mr. Nair smiles broadly.  ‘Certainly.  That will be my number one priority,’ he says in a strong Indian accent while shaking his head like one of those nodding dogs in the backs of people’s cars.  He turns to look at Lana. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Bloom. Anything at all that you need, please do not hesitate to ask.’  He has seen many young girls like her come and go from these apartments.  Most of them are the mistresses of rich Arabs who were very rude to him.  But this girl holds out her hand to him and smiles at him.

Peter accompanies her into the lift.  He inserts a card key into a slot and hits the top floor button.  Lana leans against the shiny cold brass handrail while the lift silently races upwards.  When the lift doors whoosh open, he allows her to exit first, and then precedes her into the corridor.  The corridor is thickly carpeted and tastefully wallpapered in beige and silver.

‘There is only one other apartment on this floor,’ Peter explains and opens the door.  He deposits the shopping bags in his hands on the floor by the doorway.  ‘I will go and get the rest of your shopping and then I will show you how everything works.’

Lana closes the door behind her and leans against it.  Wow! Just wow!  A long corridor with richly enameled walls seems to lead to a light-filled room.  As if in slow motion she lets her fingers trail on the cool, enameled surface as she walks down the fluffy white runner carpet towards the glorious light.  With the evening sun pouring in, she stands at the doorway to what is the living room, and looks at her surroundings in wonder.

At the imposingly high ceilings, the amazing glass walls that lead to a wide balcony laid out with a table, chairs and potted topiary.  At the mirrored wall that reflected the elegant silver patterned pale lilac wallpaper, the rich furnishings, and the deep-pile, white carpet.  It is so massive, so hugely extravagant and luxurious it is as if she has walked into a page of a glossy magazine.  She turns when she hears the door opening.

Peter puts the rest of her shopping on the floor and walks towards her.  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, very.’

He takes her around the spacious four-bedroom apartment and shows her how things work.  Which buttons on the remote cause the curtains to open and close and which one makes a gorgeous painting rise onto the wall to expose a TV screen.  There are buttons for the shutters, buttons for working the wine cooler, buttons for the lights, the media room, and for the coffee machine.  She nods but it hardly registers.  The opulence has numbed her.

‘Any problems, just call the caretaker.  The number is over there,’ he says finally, indicating a card that has been placed on a side table near the front door.

‘Thank you.’

‘Be back for you at eight thirty.  Mr. Barrington hates people to be late.’

‘Don’t worry, Peter, you won’t have to hang around waiting for me.  I’ll be ready.’

She closes the door, finds her mobile, hits home, and waits for her mother’s soft voice to answer.

‘Hi, Mum,’ she says brightly.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m at Blake’s apartment.’

‘Oh! When are you coming home?’

Lana swallows.  This will be the first time she will not return to her own bed.  She knows it will be difficult for her mother.  ‘Not tonight, Mum.  I won’t be home tonight, but I’ll be there first thing in the morning.’

First her mother goes silent.  Then she expels a soft sigh.  ‘All right, Lana.  I will see you tomorrow.  Be safe, daughter of mine.’

‘See you tomorrow, mum.’

She walks down the enameled corridor and goes into the main bedroom.  It is very large with a huge bed.  The décor is deep blue and silver.  She kicks off her shoes and walks barefoot on the luxurious carpet towards the bathroom.  The bathroom is a green marble and gold fittings affair.  There is a Jacuzzi bath and a large shower cubicle.  By the washbasin lush toiletry still in their packages have been laid out for her use.  She unwraps a pale green oval of soap and washes her hands.  Afterwards, she opens cabinets and finds them all empty.  She goes back into the bedroom and walks through to the walnut dressing rooms.  The built-in wardrobes are all as bare as the bathroom cabinets.  So he does not live here.  This is a place purely for sex.