Lark was speaking in a deadly calm voice, but his face had gone beet red above his stiff starched linen shirt. Next to him, Deirdre King, the photographer, shot nervous glances from him to Mandy to Sylvie to Tad. Deirdre’s two assistants, a terribly thin man and woman dressed in black from head to toe, busied themselves with the light screens and props in the spot they had chosen on the beach, under the shade of a clump of palm trees. The wardrobe assistant sorted through a portable canvas wardrobe and the makeup artist was arranging her supplies in the cabana that had been set up with chairs and mirrors and lights. Everything was ready for the shoot. Now all that remained to be seen was whether Lark would allow it to proceed with Mandy standing in for Jayde. “She did have a recent breakup,” Mandy said lamely. “Her, um, mental health is in jeopardy.” “I don’t care about her breakup. Don’t you have contract clauses for this sort of thing?” Deirdre leaned close and murmured something to Lark.
