Jaded [antikvár]

Prologue It was the final insult. Not only had the mineral water contained too much calcium, the stretch limo l)een too short, the hotel suite an unacceptable colour, the entourage too small, the country too poor and dusty and the mosques too loud. Now the world's most beautiful woman, a creature of such astonishing proportions and startling physical beauty that it was impossible not to stare at her, had finally arrived at the shoot, a mere four hours late, to find they'd sent the wrong photographer. Balanced on two vertiginous spike heels, her endless legs led to perfectly sculpted hips and waist, unfeasibly buoyant breasts, long, slender arms, wide collar-bones and a swan-like neck surmounted by a face that was currently twisted into a mask of spitting fury. Her famously wide mouth was contorted into a snarl which threatened to push her upper lip into her nostrils if she extended it any further. 'They promised me Mario!' the model shouted, stamping her foot so hard on the antique mosaic in the hotel lobby that it cracked. 'Not that . thing!' The object of her venom, a tiny dark-haired girl decked out in ancient denim, was sitting on a tapestry sofa, calmly smoking a cigarette. Stylists were fluttering around the supermodel like a flock of exotic butterflies around a hibiscus flower. 'But, sweetie, we're going for a very different look,' said the unfortunate magazine editor who'd landed this particularly difficult 1