A Perfect Pose: Inspector Stone Mysteries, #3

1

Distaste was written large on Ellen Powers’ face as she walked through Stafford Trading Estate.

Even after several years she didn’t understand why the studio was there; in her opinion, not that anyone had ever asked for it, a trading estate was the last place a modelling studio should be. She had thought that from the moment she signed up with the agency, and her opinion hadn’t changed during the last three years. If anything, she had become more convinced that the studio should be somewhere else, somewhere away from the noise, the dirt, and the smells.

She thanked God - a reflex only since she believed in little beyond herself, and that if you had either good looks or money you could get whatever you wanted - that she only had a couple more months to go; once she finished school she wouldn’t have to go there again.

A wolf-whistle diverted Ellen from her thoughts, and reminded her of the one good thing about the studio’s location - there was a decent number of hunky young men working in the various units that made up the trading estate.

It was a rare occasion when she didn’t get at least one whistle on her way to the studio, and the more men who admired her, the happier she was. She loved getting attention from the opposite sex, as long as they expressed their interest from a distance; she didn’t want them getting too close, not unless she gave them permission.

Spinning towards the source of the whistle, Ellen made her short skirt flare up, so it showed more of her toned and tanned thighs, and almost, but not quite, revealed her underwear. She had a lot of practice at moves like that, and knew just how to tease to maximum effect, without going too far.

She blew a kiss towards the trio in the yard of the metal fabricators, whose whistle and open ogling made plain their appreciation of her figure. Two of them were older men, perhaps even older than her stepfather, but that didn’t bother her; she was more than happy to flirt and give them a bit of a tease, as long as they remained out of reach and were content simply to look, she figured it was probably the most excitement they got in their lives. Her grey eyes alight with amusement, Ellen spun again, allowing her skirt to flip up a little higher than it had before so they got a bit more of a flash, before she continued on towards her destination.

As she left the trio behind, she found herself wondering if any of them had seen her website, or if they might be subscribers, that thought gave her a thrill of excitement. If they were they would have seen far more of her than the brief flash of thigh she had just given them, they would have seen the pair of moles she wanted to have removed: one at her bikini line, and the other on the upper swell of her right breast.

The building that housed the Larsson Studio came into view a couple of minutes later and she lengthened her stride, eager to get there. She didn’t like the location, but she loved what she did at the studio. Being an exhibitionist by nature, she had no problem showing off her body, no matter who was around, in fact she loved doing so; she also loved clothes, which made modelling an ideal career for her.

In her opinion she had the perfect body for modelling - it was easily the best of the girls who modelled for Eric Larsson - she was tall for her age at five foot nine, slim, and well-toned, tanned to a nice, golden brown, with grey eyes that were as inviting as her lips, and blonde hair that reached halfway down her back like a golden waterfall.

Ellen’s eyes went to the discreet plaque on the wall to the left of the double doors as she approached the entrance. As always, she wondered how many of the people who worked on the Stafford Estate knew what the Larsson Studio did, some of them must have figured it out, she was sure.

She put her curiosity aside once she was through the doors in anticipation of the fun she was going to have that afternoon. The photoshoot that had been planned at the weekend was a themed one, the theme being fantasy, and she always enjoyed them more than she did an average shoot. She didn’t know exactly what outfits had been picked out for the shoot, but she knew they would be colourful, and revealing, with appropriate props, and tomorrow, it being the weekend, she would be doing some outside shoots.

Hiya, Ellen.

The bright voice that greeted her made Ellen turn her head to regard the young girl seated at the receptionist’s desk in surprise. What are you doing here? she asked in a voice that hovered on the edge of outright rudeness. Shouldn’t you be out the back somewhere, helping your mum with the clothes? It amused Ellen to see Polly Larsson flush an unpleasant shade of red, which made her look like a tomato.

Maggie needed the toilet, so I said I’d cover reception for her, she said.

Ellen grinned unpleasantly. I hope no-one’s come in while you’ve been here, they’ll never believe they’ve got the right place if the first thing they see is you. She crossed to the door at the rear of the reception area, which had opened as she was speaking, and swept past the receptionist so she could head down the passage to the rear of the building.

Just you ignore her, Maggie, the receptionist, said firmly. Everyone’s beautiful in their own way, she told Polly, making it clear she had overheard what Ellen had said. Her kind of beauty, she dismissed it with a wave of one hand, is only skin deep, and it’ll fade soon enough - she’ll have to work hard to keep it. Your kind of beauty, though. She reached out to stroke Polly’s lustrous black hair, a legacy from her Polynesian mother, along with her less than slender physique and lack of height. It’s the best kind. You’re like your mother, beautiful inside and out, that’s why everyone likes you.

Not Ellen, Polly said sadly.

Maggie gave her a smile, a friendly one that was not at all like the one she had received from her fellow teen. Who wants to be liked by her? The only people she likes are those who can do something for her. Did you tell her your father wants to see her the moment she gets here? she asked, changing the subject.

Sorry, I forgot, Polly apologised. I’ll go and tell her now. She got to her feet, but Maggie shook her head.

It’s alright, I’ll tell her, Maggie said. She won’t be rude to me. Being ten years older than Ellen, and having spent all of that time working at the studio in one capacity or another - prior to becoming the receptionist she had been one of the studio’s first models - she was well used to dealing with models who had high opinions of themselves.

Maggie found the teen in the big studio at the end of the corridor, checking through the outfits that had been put out for her photoshoot. Eric wants to see you, she told Ellen, who spun away from the railing to scowl at her.

What for? I’ve got a photoshoot to do. Where’s Jez? He should be setting up the lights and the cameras. It annoyed her that things hadn’t been fully prepared for the shoot; they knew what time she was due, everything should have been ready for her. They didn’t even have the music set up. She had to resist the urge to swear in frustration.

I don’t know.

Ellen got the distinct impression that Maggie was lying, and she did know what Eric Larsson wanted to see her about. She was tempted to push to find out, she didn’t fancy going to see Eric, who rarely called one of his models into the office without a good reason, without at least some idea of what was going on, but she suspected Maggie would refuse to say, and she didn’t want to give the older woman the satisfaction of seeing her concerned.

All I know is, he wants to see you the moment you get here, Maggie said. You’d better run along to the office and find out what he wants.

I DON’T THINK YOU’RE going to have to worry about that stuck-up cow for much longer, Maggie told Polly when she returned to reception, satisfaction filling her voice.

Polly looked up curiously from the sheet of paper on which she was sketching out her latest design - she dreamed of one day being a top fashion designer, and was forever designing one item of clothing or another.

I can’t tell you, I’m not supposed to know myself, but I’m sure we’ll all know what’s going on soon enough. How about I make us both a nice hot chocolate, she said by way of apology for not being able to say more.

It’s too hot for hot chocolate, Polly said, staring at Maggie as if she had gone mad. She didn’t know how hot it was, but she was sure it was at least twenty-five degrees, and a part of her, despite how much she loved being at the studio and helping her parents, wished she was at home, where she could cool off in the pool.

Maggie smiled. It’s never too hot for hot chocolate. Especially when you’ve got a fresh supply of Options chocolate orange. And I know where your dad’s hidden his stash of mini-marshmallows.

Polly grinned as wickedly as Maggie, whom she had always thought of as a second big sister, at the thought of sneaking some of her father’s marshmallows. It wasn’t that he was likely to mind them having some of his marshmallows, it was just that they were popular around the studio, and he did his best to hide them, otherwise they would all disappear before he could have any. It was practically a game between Eric and the models, with him trying to find new hiding places where his treat would be safe, and the models hunting the marshmallows down so they could enjoy them.

YOU WANT TO SEE ME, Ellen said brusquely the moment she barged into the office.

If he was startled by the teen’s sudden entrance, or the fact that she had spoken before she was fully through the door, Eric Larsson gave no sign of it. Over the years he had become accustomed to the unpredictable behaviour of teenage girls, though he did often have cause to wonder why his daughters, both of whom were now teenagers, showed no such unpredictability.

I do, he said calmly; there was no visible sign of the tenseness he was feeling - he was sure the meeting was not going to go well - but he still found it necessary to glance over at his wife, who was sitting quietly in the corner, for reassurance. Would you sit down, please.

Curious, and feeling a strange sense of unease, Ellen sat across from the studio owner.

Ordinarily, she would have made sure her skirt rode up a little, so she was showing as much thigh as possible - it was a tactic that had worked well for her over the years; it either distracted the person who was supposed to tell her off and made them forget what they were going to say, or it made them so uncomfortable, and desperate to avoid getting into trouble themselves, that they ended the meeting as quickly as they could.

It was a tactic she knew wouldn’t work with Eric Larsson, though, she had tried and failed with it before, and one she definitely wasn’t stupid enough to try when his wife was in the office with him.

I need to discuss something of a delicate nature with you, Ellen, Eric said, picking his words carefully to avoid provoking an explosion, though he was sure one was inevitable. It might be best if your father is here; would you like me to call Richard?

He’s not my father, Ellen snapped, as she always did. He’s just the man my mum married.

I take it that’s a no then. Eric had never understood what Ellen had against her stepfather, it was none of his business, however, so he let it drop. Since that’s the case, I’ll get right down to it. He glanced over at his wife, and then back to the teen. We have reason to believe that you are pregnant, are you?

What business is that of yours? Ellen demanded defensively. I’m sixteen.

I realise that, but if you are pregnant, it presents us with a problem. Eric fixed her with a firm look. Are you?

It’s none of your business, Ellen insisted.

It is our business. Eric wished it was a problem that had never arisen, though he supposed he was lucky that in the decade he had been running the studio, this was the first time the issue of one of his models being pregnant had risen its head. You are only six weeks past your sixteenth birthday.

Seven, Ellen corrected, as if that extra week made all the difference in the world.

Seven weeks then, Eric said agreeably. But if your pregnancy is becoming noticeable, then you must be at least three months along, and that means you became pregnant while still only fifteen.

So what. Come next week it won’t matter.

What do you mean by that? Blossom Larsson asked in her gentle voice.

Ellen turned to the large woman in the corner of the room. I mean, come next week the baby will be gone. I’ve got the appointment booked. Come Tuesday there won’t be a problem.

Sadness showed on Blossom Larsson’s face, revealing how much it distressed her that Ellen could speak so casually about such a situation.

Even if you have an abortion, it won’t eliminate the problem, Eric told her. You’ve been with us long enough to know the problems we have to deal with. We have to be very careful to ensure that nothing we do might be considered corrupting or endangering to our models, on any level. There are enough people who are against what we do; if they were to learn that you got pregnant while underage, they would blame us, and use it to force us to shut down.

How the hell are they going to find out? Ellen wanted to know. I’ve told no-one I’m pregnant, and come Tuesday I won’t be.

That’s as maybe, but it’s not a chance we can afford to take. I’m very sorry, but we need to protect the studio’s reputation.

What are you talking about? Ellen felt a growing sense of disaster. She had been making plans for her post-school career as a model for some time now, but Eric’s words had her worried that they were all about to collapse around her ears - she didn’t like that thought.

I’m very sorry, Eric repeated, looking genuinely apologetic, and unhappy with the situation, but we’re going to have to let you go.

It was a few moments before Ellen responded to that. She had sensed something bad coming, but there had been no time for her to prepare for any of the possibilities - there hadn’t even been time for her to consider what those possibilities might be. You can’t do that, she protested finally. We’ve got an agreement. You agreed that I’d continue modelling with you until the end of the school year, and then you’d help me get my own site set up and established.

I’m aware of our agreement. I’m afraid, however, that it’s no longer valid.

You can’t do that, Ellen protested for a second time. You can’t just cancel the agreement, we put it in writing.

For almost a quarter of a minute Eric regarded the teen across from him. He could see that Ellen was vacillating between anger and distress at the danger to her dream, and could appreciate what she was feeling. He didn’t much like what he had to do, but he knew he had to think about more than just the young girl in front of him, no matter how popular and successful she had been over the years she had modelled for the studio.

When you joined us, he spoke quietly, his voice measured to try and avoid provoking Ellen, "you signed an agreement, like all our models do, to act responsibly, to avoid alcohol and drugs, to do nothing that would get you in trouble with the police, to maintain good grades at school, and to do nothing that would damage the reputation of this studio.

Your pregnancy not only has repercussions for yourself, regardless of whether you abort it next week, it has the potential to seriously damage the reputation of this studio.

Ellen flushed a similar shade of red to that which she had made Polly turn earlier. You’ve been happy enough with all the money I’ve earned you over the last three and a half years, not to mention the attention I’ve brought your poxy little studio, she said angrily. But now I’ve made one little mistake, you want to just dump me and wash your hands.

This is more than a simple little mistake, Ellen, Blossom Larsson told her. It is something that will have an effect on everyone who works here. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.

Briefly, Ellen considered arguing the matter, after all, she knew how much the studio stood to lose by getting rid of her - in her final two months she could do enough photoshoots for the studio to keep her website open and updated with fresh content for another six months, maybe even a year, and that amounted to over a hundred thousand pounds in subscriptions. She quickly decided it would be a waste of breath, though; the Larssons had made up their minds, and they had never shown a likelihood of being swayed in an argument by financial considerations. They always had the best interests of their models in mind when a decision had to be made.

Fine! she said finally, struggling to control her anger, with only minimal success. "You want to cancel our agreement, well fine! Just give me the unpublished photoshoots, and the videos I’ve done, and everything else you promised to give me. I’ve got lots of fans, as soon as they see I’ve moved to a new site, they’ll flock there, and I won’t have to share my money with you guys.

I want all the outtakes from my past shoots as well.

The unhappy look on Eric’s face became more pronounced as Ellen made her demands. That won’t be possible, he told her regretfully.

What are you talking about? You agreed to give me all the unused stuff when I left so I could put it on my new site; you want me to leave now, so I want my stuff. She held out her hand expectantly.

Under the circumstances, it has been decided that it would be best for us to sever ties with your new website. We won’t be able to give you your unused material, nor will we be able to advertise your new site on any of ours, and we require...

Before he could finish what he was saying, Eric found himself under attack by the enraged teen, who launched herself across the desk at him. Screaming obscenities, she reached for him with her nails, seeking to claw out his eyes. The attack came as such a surprise that he had no chance to defend himself; before he could react in any way, Ellen’s sharp nails raked across his face.

2

B uster! Hey, Buster ! Where are you, you great hairy pain in my behind? Maxwell Lowndes called out, searching the early morning mist, which had settled low to the ground, for a glimpse of his dog.

Maxwell was sure the annoying beast considered it a wonderful game to go running off the moment they crossed the bridge, and then listen to him calling out for the next twenty minutes, by which time they were both ready for the walk back to the car. It had been almost half an hour this morning, though, and he was beginning to get worried that something might have happened to Buster. He remembered the last time Buster hurt himself; not only had he been without his companion for three lonely days and nights, but the vet’s bills had been almost more than he could afford.

BUSTER! he called again, raising his voice so it would carry further. He was rewarded this time with a distant bark; it held no sign of distress that he could detect, and he felt some of his worry slip away. Come here, boy.

Maxwell waited where he was for a minute, so Buster could find him, but saw no sign of his dog. When Buster’s barking continued, without seeming to get any closer, he started off through the mist and the trees in the direction it was coming from. He suspected Buster had found something he found interesting, and he wondered what it would be this time; in the past he had seen his companion get excited over things as diverse as the body of a badger, a discarded plastic bag that held the soggy remains of someone’s takeaway, and even a leaf caught in a fence and flapping in the breeze.

When he made it to Buster’s side, Maxwell looked around for whatever it was that had attracted his dog’s attention. He could see nothing, so he tried to pull Buster away from the bank. He wouldn’t leave, though, Buster simply pulled free and continued barking. Maxwell looked around again, but still couldn’t see what had caught his dog’s attention; it was a few moments before he realised that Buster was not looking down at the bank at his feet, or at the water running past, he was looking out across the water towards the far bank.

Maxwell strained his eyes to see through the thin mist, to pick out what it was Buster had spotted, but his sight wasn’t as good as that of his dog, and it wasn’t until a swirl of the mist left the far bank clear for a moment that he saw it. Even then he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. He reached into his pocket for his glasses and slipped them on so