Page 68 of Shout Out To My Ex

Gah!

I leap off the makeup chair, snatch up the waistcoat and knickers, and skitter towards a curtained-off fitting room.Pleaselet them have an enormous robe on hand so I can swath myself in it until the very last moment.

I’m not a prude. I’ll happily change into my swimming costume in front of other women or walk around naked in front of a lover – I’ve even sunbathed topless in Nice. But none of that body confidence applies here. If this were a solo photoshoot, I probably would have agreed to Tally’s original concept and gone topless – nipple covers or not. I wouldn’t have loved it, but I would have agreed to it.

But Leo is here and that changes everything, including how I feel about public nudity.

I change, then look in the mirror. Top half? Fab. Thanks to Sylvie, I look sexy and I’m in love with this waistcoat – it’s one of my favourites from the collection – white silk linen, tiny pearlescent buttons… exquisite.

My bottom half, however, is a different story. I tug gently at the hem of the waistcoat, which stubbornly remains the same length. At least the knickers are designed for maximum coverage – unlike what the models are strutting about in. I spin around and look at my bum in the mirror – thankfully, not too ‘cheeky’.

‘Elle, they’re ready for you on set,’ a woman on the other side of the curtain calls out. I quickly scan the space for a robe… Nothing. So, Iamexpected to walk across the studio like this? I open the curtain a sliver, and Sophia is waiting there. ‘Ready?’ she asks.

‘Oh, I…’

‘I brought you this, if you like?’ she says, producing a white satin robe from behind her back.

‘Thankyou,’ I say, resisting the urge to kiss her in gratitude. I take it and slip it on, then push the curtain open.

‘I really am sorry about the email cock up,’ she says to me quietly as she leads me to the set. ‘It must have come as quite a shock.’

As I suspected, Sophia is still beating herself up. I lay a hand on her arm. ‘It’s okay. Even if I had got the email, I’d probably still be a bit nervous about it.’ Her mouth extends into a lipless smile. ‘And thanks again for the robe,’ I say.

She gives me another cheerless smile, then steps away, and I take a moment to survey the set.

On the left, where Leo’s models will be posed, are three white blocks of various heights. The right of the set is mostly open space with one small riser towards the back, and in the centre is a white plinth about the height of a stool.

The models are all waiting just off set, Leo’s looking ‘au natural’ and the three wearing my designs (sans the waistcoat I’m wearing) dolled up in that high-fashion lookNouveauis famous for. I look back to the set, Tally’s vision forming in my mind’s eye. No doubt the shots will be incredible.

She claps her hands, commanding everyone’s attention, and starts directing the models into position.

‘Isn’t this wild,’ says a voice low in my ear. I inhale raggedly – such is the effect of his proximity – and nod while keeping my eyes fixed on the flurry of activity on set. ‘I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to moments like this,’ he says, his tone conveying humility.

I’m about to reply when Tally waves us over.

‘Right, so I’ve been told you two have known each other a long time?’

I look to Leo, signposting, ‘How much does she know and how much are we telling her?’

‘We were at fashion school together,’ he offers. ‘So, about fourteen years?’

Fourteen years if you don’t count the last ten, during which we’ve had no contact whatsoever!

‘That sounds about right,’ I reply, offering Tally a professional smile. It’s incredible the power of a satin robe. Were we having this conversation with me standing here in my knickers: completely different story.

‘Good. I’m just wanting to assess your level of comfort with each other,’ she says.

I laugh tensely. Level of comfort? What number is lower than zero? In stark contrast to my reaction, Leo drapes an arm around my shoulder, sending a ripple of goosebumps down my arms – the bastard. ‘We were close at school,’ he says, referring to uni the way Americans do.

‘Excellent. Well, then let’s get started, shall we? Leo, we’ll have you here, just to the right of this plinth, and Elle, if you could…’ She mimes taking off the robe.

Right, that. My knuckles turn white as I clasp the robe’s tie, willing myself to undo the bow, rather than tie it in a double knot. Sophia appears beside me, which somehow makes this moment more bearable. I take a deep breath and, steeling myself, undo the tie and let the robe slide off my shoulders, Sophia taking it from me before it hits the floor. I lift my chin and look at Tally expectantly, as if I do this sort of thing all the time.

She pats the top of the plinth. ‘Let’s start with you up here,’ she says.

Me: five-foot-two. The plinth: waist height. The only way I am getting up there is if someone lifts me.

‘Here,’ says Leo. He grabs me by the waist and effortlessly lifts me onto the plinth. It happens so fast, I barely register that his hands were on me.

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