Seven Point Eight (21 page)

He stuck out his hand. Tahra didn’t know what to say, so accepted his hand and shook it, cautiously.

“How are you?” he asked, a little flustered.

“I’m good,” she said, “I’ve been shopping.”

He laughed in a nervous manner.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Tahra decided he was harmless.

“Yes, would you like to drink tea with me?” she offered.

He purchased another drink and they chatted. She introduced herself and talked a little of her background, however, she didn’t mention The Institute. He finally moved the conversation to his reason for approaching her.

“I couldn’t help but notice how striking your looks are. You’d look fantastic on camera. I’d really like to photograph you, if that’s okay?”

“Me?”

“Of course, you. You’re beautiful in a really exotic, mystical kind of way. This may be really forward, but I have access to a studio nearby… I wondered if you’d come over and let me take you through a quick shoot.”

She didn’t expect this at all, yet a number of thoughts ran through her mind.

Will I be safe?

What about returning to The Institute?

I thought remote viewing for Max was my destiny.

Maybe I should explore this opportunity further though, it sounds exciting.

Oh, to hell with Max, he isn’t here. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

 
“Look,” he admitted. “I know what you’re thinking, you’ve just met me, I could be a nutcase, I know but I assure you, my intentions are genuine and I have a girlfriend, she’ll be there at the studio. My interest is purely professional.”

Tahra decided to trust her instincts, so they finished their drinks and she accompanied him to the studio. From the outside, it looked like an old three-storey house, much like The Institute but when they entered, she clearly saw the difference. A pretty blonde woman sat behind the reception desk, backed by cream and brown walls and tapestries hung on them, with repeating leaf motifs in green and cream. On seeing Tahra, the receptionist gave her a suspicious stare.

“Who’s this?” she asked Malcolm.

“This is Tahra. I’ve brought her back for a quick shoot. Oh, Tahra, this is my girl, Carol.”

Carol looked relieved, and assisted Tahra in the changing room while Malcolm prepared the studio. Wracked with nerves, she changed behind a screen, using some of her new clothes, and edged out into the studio. She saw a number of huge lights, a big fan, and a white backdrop.

“I’m just going to take some test shots,” Malcolm explained.

She found it difficult to relax at first, but he eased her through it and encouraged Tahra to open up. The thought of her first Christmas created a mellow smile, and Malcolm started shooting. He made comments such as ‘great’ and ‘fantastic’, and directed her to turn her head this way and that. They moved through a number of poses, and a range of varied emotions. After the shoot, Carol ushered her back to the reception.

“How did you find that?” she asked.

“Well,” Tahra began, “at first I felt clumsy, but then I started to enjoy it.”

Malcolm came downstairs and sat next to her on a brown sofa.

“The photos will be ready tomorrow. Can I give you a call then?”

Now that would be a problem. If Miss Tynedale picked up the phone, Tahra would have a lot of explaining to do.

“I…can’t take phone calls at the place where I’m staying.”

Malcolm looked puzzled, and changed his approach. He wrote down his number and said, “Well, call
me
tomorrow then.”

Tahra grasped the card, realising that opportunity may be knocking on the door. Briefly, she thought of her parents…how would they react?

She left the studio on cloud nine, dizzy with the new prospects for her life. As she drew closer to home, Tahra began to feel a sense of trepidation. What would be waiting on the other side of the door?

Well, I can see what’s in a warehouse hundreds of miles away, so I can certainly look behind the door before I enter.

She closed her eyes and allowed her consciousness to drift ahead. The empty hallway of The Institute came into focus, and on investigating Miss Tynedale’s office, Tahra found it vacant too. Maybe she’d run an errand.

Making the most of this opportunity, she used the spare key and slipped through the door. After sneaking up the stairs, she lay on her bed with relief.

I escaped The Institute for an afternoon, with no consequences!

The sense of danger this gave her elicited a thrill. She had a new mission in life: become a fashion model as well as a psychic spy. All she had to worry about now was making that phone call tomorrow, and keeping her secret from Miss Tynedale.

***

She woke early, tingling with nervous energy in anticipation of the phone call she needed to make. Over breakfast, she deliberated whilst chewing her toast. The office phone would prove too risky, but she recalled seeing a red phone box at the end of the street.

Waiting until lunch, when Miss Tynedale disappeared into Room 7 to oversee some tests in Max’s absence, Tahra found some loose change and slipped out the front door. Glancing around, she tried not to appear too shifty as she opened the heavy door of the bright red phone box.

It smelled stale, and contained a neatly stacked pile of local telephone directories. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled the card from her pocket, on which Malcolm had scribbled his number. Dialling the digits, she waited for an answer, keeping her eyes on the street in case she had to duck for cover. After a few rings, Carol answered.

“It’s me, Tahra,” she almost whispered, as if it were some covert operation.

“Oh, great, Malcolm’s just here, I’ll pass you over.”

She heard chatter in the background, then Malcolm spoke.

“Hey there, how you doing?”

“I’m good. Did you like my pictures?”

“You look absolutely fantastic, a star in the making. I feel confident I could get you a modelling contract.”

The news rendered her silent for a moment. This could change everything. Yes, she did have commitments to The Institute but maybe she could work this around the testing days.

“Really? That’s….amazing!”

“There’s a shoot coming up next week, here in
London
. You know, I bet I could get you on the catwalk within a year, if not sooner. You’ll get noticed real quick.”

The implications of this began to excite her.

“What do I need to do?”

“Meet me here at the studio next Wednesday, I’ll take you over. 10:00am sound good?”

Quickly, she ran through her testing schedule and the shoot didn’t clash.

“I’ll be there.”

Replacing the receiver, she released a little squeal, clenching her fists.

I’m going to be famous! Wow, I’ll get to travel to some fantastic destinations…for real, without remote viewing!

On the walk back, she used her abilities to check the hallway and office, letting herself in carefully.

The stakes had risen, and the situation became more precarious. Could she pull this off, and keep Miss Tynedale in the dark? Furthermore, when Max finally returned, would she be able to conceal it from him? What a perilous game she needed to play.

***

Wednesday arrived and with sweaty palms, she stole the spare key from the office again. Leaving the door ajar as she’d found it, she paused in the hallway, heart pounding away in her chest. The first floor landing creaked, as it often did and Tahra froze, wondering if Miss Tynedale would descend the stairs. She didn’t dare breathe in case it gave her away.

After a long minute in which she stood like a statue, Tahra realised everyone was too busy in Room 7. As she’d left the radio on in her room, they’d think she was just relaxing and reading, as usual.

Turning the handle with caution, she quickly glanced upstairs, breathing a sigh of relief that no one saw her exit. Tahra hurried down the street, a rush of adrenaline overwhelming her. She’d escaped again. Bye-bye Institute.

When she reached Malcolm’s studio, they grabbed some kit and bundled everything into his car. It took over half an hour to reach the shoot, and immediately, Tahra felt the eyes of the other girls bear down on her. They looked at her in disdain, her milk chocolate skin contrasting against a sea of white.

Just like my childhood,
she thought.

However, the photographers loved her.

“You did great,” Malcolm praised.

When he dropped her off at the studio, she seemed exhilarated and discussed the shoot with enthusiasm.

“You’re going to explode with delight at the piece of news I’m going to deliver,” Malcolm declared.

“Why? What piece of news?”

“Hold onto your hat, but a couple of American agents want to meet you. I’ve arranged a meal at a restaurant next Tuesday evening. Can you make it?”

Tahra did indeed want to spontaneously combust with excitement. However, giving Miss Tynedale the slip during the evening would prove difficult. Malcolm detected her reticence.

“Is that okay?”

Tahra forced a smile and replied, “Yes, that’s absolutely fantastic.”

How the hell was she going to attend the meal without arousing suspicion?

***

The night before, Tahra paced her room, desperate to figure out how to exit The Institute while everyone enjoyed their early evening meal in the dining area. Because the tables stood in front of the bay window, they’d witness her walking down the street in a demure dress, made up like a
Hollywood
starlet. She’d ordered a taxi, requesting a pick up at the end of the street so she just needed to slip out of the door undetected.

On the evening itself, Tahra tried to calm her nerves as she applied mascara. If anyone were to knock on her door now, she’d have some explaining to do, standing there in her red dress with the paisley swirl.

Now for the crunch.

A few hours ago, she’d given an excuse regarding dinner so nobody expected her downstairs. However, it left her with a challenge which sat on a par with The Great Escape. While she couldn’t use the door or tunnel out P.O.W. style, it left one option. She’d have to climb out a window, childhood style.

Being familiar with most of the rooms in the place, Tahra ventured down to the first floor and found Room 5 still open. It had an accessible window which opened onto the fire escape, and overlooked the alley running down the left hand side of the house. Therefore, she wouldn’t need to cross in front of the bay window.

Sliding the sash window up, she popped her shoes in her handbag and slipped through the gap. Being an expert in covert operations, she slid the window down, double checking she had the spare key to re-enter through the door, once everyone had gone to bed.

With the cool metal of the fire escape under the soles of her bare feet, she practically tip-toed down the steps and slipped her shoes on at the bottom. Tahra had enough time to stride elegantly down the street and catch her taxi.