The stewardess woke me.

"Miss Lake, we are on approach for New York, could you return your seat to upright and fasten your seat belt, please?"

I shook my head, and woke up fully. I was more tired than I had thought.

"Have I time to pop to the loo?" I asked.

"Of course."

I took my bag and went to the small lavatory. Oh, I really don't like aeroplane loos. They are really yucky places.

I was in there for the minimum time possible and returned to my seat. I spent the next few minutes making sure my make up was absolutely spot on.

After the successes in London, Paris and Rome, I was very aware that I was now fair game for the press. No wonder I was tired. The last couple of weeks had been an absolute whirlwind.

After I had signed up with Jemima, my feet hardly touched the ground. I was coached for a couple of days, with how to walk, stand, pose, smile and the agency photographer, Roddy Johns, took thousands of photographs of me, in a variety of poses and a multitude of outfits. Several of the 'almost naked' variety. I now had a portfolio that Jemima kept at the agency, and was able to show prospective clients.

The private show of the Kysinski Collection was held at the Grosvenor House Hotel opposite Hyde Park in London, and was very well attended. I was rushed off my feet, and Hazel had an army of helpers doing hair and makeup. I had about two minutes to change outfits, and felt like a formula one car in the pits each time I went back to change.

Although a private show, there were press and photographers from the major fashion rags, and there was even a special day where I posed in some of the collection with Natasha in Trafalgar Square. I never realised how big the lions were.

I found myself splashed in all the papers and magazines. I was now called Sandi 'Superbabe' by the tabloids, obviously with reference to my youth. I started a scrapbook, and was really pleased with the way things were going. So much so, that I seriously considered leaving school to pursue my career. I missed my Dad at that moment, as I would have liked to talk to him about it.

Natasha was apparently delighted, and confirmed with Jemima that I was able to fulfil all the shows she wanted me for. Jemima did tell me the fees, but the money didn't really interest me that much.

I had a long chat with Scott Collins, who had to call in his boss. I was 'strongly advised' to reconsider my decision to undertake the modelling job. I was told that the Metropolitan Police would not be able to afford any protection should I leave the country.

I was in a dilemma, as this was a chance for me to follow a dream, and on the other hand, if I was bumped off, there was little point in even starting.

In the end, I decided that I was not going to let my father and his dealings interfere with my life any more, and I told Scott that I was going. Apparently my case was discussed, and it was decided that there was not sufficient funds available to extend protection to me abroad. Fine for the Royals, but for Sandi Lake, sorry.

I had my passport and tickets for Paris, and Jemima even made hotel reservations for me. So, I was busy packing, and Scott was walking about, talking on his mobile. Why do men feel they have to walk about and talk at the same time?

Jenny came over, her father was giving her driving lessons, and they stopped off to see me. John felt rather guilty, as he believed that they had pushed me out. He was obviously concerned that I was upset. Jenny had changed in her attitude towards me, as she seemed slightly wary of me now. We went for a walk along the coastal path, and I told her my observations.

"I don't mean to, but you are very different."

"How?"

"I don't know. Sort of cool and hard, somehow. It is hard to explain, but most people who are kidnapped and stuck in the boot of a car, and then watch a man gunned down, show some emotion. You just seem to shrug it off. I don't understand, I'd be still having the wobblies," she said, and I laughed.

"I'm not most people, Jenny. My emotions have been so battered over the years, so maybe I don't know how to react anymore. If Dave says something sweet to me, I blub like a baby, but for some reason I can't seem to connect me with what happened to me the other day. It was as if I was only watching, and it wasn't real somehow. Maybe it will hit me and I will have a huge break down."

"I feel really bad over what happened at home," Jenny admitted. "Don't, it wouldn't be fair to you if I brought trouble to the hotel. Besides, it made me contact Jemima, and now I've got a cracking modelling contract."

"Tell me about it. Caroline was over yesterday, and she showed me the papers and some magazines. I couldn't believe it, you looked so amazing. You looked about twenty five."

I smiled, I tried to imagine what sort of life I would be having if I had been still Alex. I gave up, as it didn't matter now.

"So what does it feel like being called 'Superbabe'?"

"I quite like it, but it is something else which is not real. When I take the make up off, and wear my own clothes, it is like I leave it all behind. Mind you, I was shopping in Brighton yesterday, and two girls wanted my autograph. It is still so new that I find it all fun, but I think I will get fed up soon."

"Are you coming back to school?"

"I don't know, I haven't decided yet. I will see how the various shows go in Europe and the States."

"If it was me, I'd never bother going back."

"I won't always have the looks they want, and I want to get into design, so I need the qualifications. So, I may have to crack on with the A levels and then go to university or something," I said.

"You have enough cash, so why bother?"

"It is not the cash, it is the 'doing' that is important to me. I love the shows, and I really enjoyed making designs, so that is where the joy of it all is. The money is incidental."

"I wouldn't mind it."

We chatted on for a bit, and ended up back at the house. Scott was telling John about how the kidnapping happened and all about the rescue and such. I don't know if that was helpful or not, but he gave me a big kiss as they left. They both wished me good luck.

I took the opportunity to go into the Nat West Bank and spoke to the manager at some length. I explained the difficulties I had, and why I had assumed a different name. As I had a policeman with me, the manager assured me that everything would be put under the name of Lake, and Hemmings was forgotten.

Then I added another few thousand pounds to my account.

Paris and Rome had been repeats of the show in London, and I went from plane to hotel to show to hotel to plane. I got a little time in each city, but in front of camera, having shoots of the collection in exotic locations. Natasha was always nearby, and she was over the top with her enthusiasm, that I found it a bit wearing after a while.

She would always call me "Alexandra Darling", and one Italian reporter asked me if that was my name. Jemima bought me a Supergirl outfit, and had a photographer take me up the Eiffel Tower in such a pose that it looked like I was flying. It was a windy day, and my hair and cape were flying out behind me, and it looked very convincing.

The next day I was in most of the UK tabloids, Superbabe takes Paris by storm.

I thoroughly enjoyed both cities, but was completely knackered by the time we set off for New York.

The British Airways Boeing 747/400 landed on time at New York. Natasha had preceded me by a couple of days, and so I was travelling alone. Scott had told me that he had contacted Jim Randall, and they were trying to get in touch with the FBI to alert them to my risks. I was a little reluctant to leave my first class seat, as I had just had the best rest in ages. The flight and service had been superb, and I really enjoyed being pampered for eight hours.

I was wearing a summer sleeveless dress, with a short 'bolero' style jacket. With stockings and high heel shoes, and my hair flowing majestically, I felt really confident. I was now able to afford top name clothes, and Natasha gave me several of hers to increase the publicity. I knew that I looked immaculate. I was in no great hurry, as I knew that a car was supposed to be waiting for me.

I walked to the Immigration desk, and waited in line. All the necessary paperwork had been completed whilst I was in London, and I even had a coveted green card. The rather officious Immigration Officer was still quite unpleasant and so I was very English and superior to her. I was tall, fair and glamorous and she was short and dark and overweight, so we didn't exactly hit it off. But I was scrupulously polite and pleasant, whilst being as snottily superior as I could be. She held up my passport.

"It says here you are a student, yet you state your visit is to work as a model?"

"Yes."

"You can't be both."

"I am studying design and I am a model. I won't always be a model and I want to design my own range of clothes, so it stands to reason that I must have some qualifications in the field, and need to work so I can study."

"Oh, but you are only seventeen?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Reluctantly she stamped my passport and I was allowed in. I smiled sweetly at her, and walked through.

I collected my case, and walked through the customs area to the main arrivals sign. As I walked towards the exit onto the concourse, two men dressed in grey suits approached me.

"Sandi Lake?" one asked.

"Who are you?" I said, guardedly.

They both produced wallets and shields.

"I am Special Agent Ryan Connors and this is my colleague Special Agent Jason Bridger. Chief Inspector Jim Randall from New Scotland Yard has been in touch, and explained your circumstances. In fact, your father is assisting us with some intelligence at this time, and we respect the danger you may be facing. So we are here to tell you that we will be watching your back while you are over in New York."

"My Dad is here?"

"I don't know where he is Ma'am, we are only assigned to protect you for the duration of your visit."

"Oh, is there any way I can contact him? I haven't seen him for ages, and I'd like to see him."

"I can make enquiries for you, but that's all."

"I'd appreciate it, thanks," I said, and gave him a big smile.

I walked through the automatic doors, and was met by a sea of faces. The FBI agents followed slightly behind me. There was a large black man in a chauffeur's uniform, including hat, holding a card with, Miss A. Lake thereon.

"Hi, I'm Sandi Lake," I said, and he frowned.

"The Sandi is short for Alexandra," I explained and he grinned.

"Okay, Missy. I'm George, Miz Kysinski says hi, and welcome to New York."

"Thanks," I said, and he took my case.

The FBI men flanked me, and we left the building. George took me to a big black limousine, and put the case in the trunk. He held the door open, and I got in, I was only too well aware that lots of people were craning their necks to see who I was. I grinned and enjoyed being a VIP.

The FBI car followed us all the way into town, and we pulled up at the Waldorf Astoria. The doorman came and opened the door for me, and I got out. A bellhop took my case from George, and he grinned at me.

"Miz Natasha will be here for dinner at eight o'clock. She says wear something real nice."

"Thanks George, I will," I said, and he got in and drove off.

Agent Connors came into the hotel with me, and I approached the desk.

"Hi I'm Alexandra Lake, there should be a reservation for me," I said.

"Miss Lake, yes. Welcome to the Waldorf. Is this your first time with us?"

"Yes it is."

I was given a registration card to complete, and a computer card-key was given to the bellhop. I quickly filled in the card and handed it back.

"Well, you are in room 1009, the elevator is to your left, and I hope you have a pleasant stay."

"Thanks."

I followed the bellhop, and Agent Connors had a word with the clerk. He rejoined me as the elevator doors opened and we rode up to the tenth floor. The bellhop opened the room door, and put the card key on the table. It was a huge room and had a super view of Central Park. I gave him $20, and he left. There were two king size double beds in the room. I chose the one by the window.

"So what are your plans?" Ryan asked.

"I am going to take a shower, then I may just have a rest, as I am really knackered. I haven't stopped for ten days. I have dinner tonight, and then there is the fashion show over the next week or so. It is being held here, so I won't be going far."

He handed me a small black box, smaller than a mobile phone.

"This is a panic button. If you get into trouble, press the button, and keep the device on you. We can track your location, and get to you very quickly. Jim explained that Holland's men have already tried to abduct you, so we are taking this seriously."

"Is Holland well known to you?"

"Let's just say, it is time to close the man down."

"Oh. Then I am glad you are here."

"I'll be honest, Miss Lake, my chief is hoping your presence may bring him out of the woodwork, that is why we are not giving you overt protection."

"So, I am to be the sacrificial goat?"

He grinned.

"Something like that. We hope it doesn't come to that."

"So do I!"

"Okay, we have a room close by, and one of us will always be there. If you leave, then dial 1005, and tell us when and where you are going. Do not acknowledge us in the street, and never look at us or for us. We will be there, or our colleagues will be. There are quite a few of us on this. The British press ran a story yesterday about how you aren't getting protection over here, and this is a joint FBI and Scotland Yard operation to try to force Frankie's hand."

"Oh." He smiled. "Try not to worry, we are experienced at this, and we are good at what we do. So, I'll let you be now, and I hope you enjoy your stay in New York."

He left me, and I was a little bemused. It is all very well being the centre of attention, but this was getting silly. I had a shower, and lay naked on the enormous bed pleased to be cool in the air-conditioned splendour. I rang the operator and asked for a wake up call at six.

I dozed off, and was awoken by the phone. It was my wake up call. I had another shower, and washed my hair. I then dried it and spent ages on my make up. Hazel would have been proud, as I managed to make a fair attempt at recreating her look for me. I wore my own designed little black dress, which won me my prize. Against some of the big names it may not be much, but I was always hoping there was a future for Sandi Lake as a clothes designer.

At 7.50, I informed my invisible guardian angels that I was going down for dinner, and took the elevator to the appropriate floor. I checked the dining room and saw that Natasha was not here yet. So I waited, and browsed among the boutique as I did so.

At 8.15, Natasha arrived in a long gold evening dress, and gold jewellery just dripping off her. She looked very glamorous, but rather ostentatious. I, on the other hand, was in simple black, with only a watch and Dave's little ring on my right hand. I had a simple black ribbon around my neck with a single diamond in the centre. I had diamond drop earrings. My father's taste in jewellery was far nicer than his interior design.

She breezed in like a galleon under full sail, with two tall men in tuxedos escorting her. One was about forty, and looked like a film star complete with fake tan, and the other was about twenty, and looked like an American football star.

"Alexandra Darling. I am so sorry I am late. Oh, you look simply divine. There Simon, I told you so," she said, the last to the big young man on her left.

I was introduced to her men. There was Wayne L. Calder Jnr, her current plaything. He was a millionaire in his own right, and surprised me when he told me he was fifty-three. The football player was a football player. But he was also Simon Haddow, her youngest son. He still retained his father's surname, as she had kept her maiden name because of her fashion line, even before the divorce. He was twenty-three, and just finished College having studied art. Natasha said that he actually wanted to be a professional football player, and, if his size was anything to go by, he was likely to get his wish.

He was quite dishy - big, blond and broad, but rather too big for my taste, but hell, who the heck was I to complain. He took one look at me and almost started dribbling on the carpet. I discovered quite early on in our relationship that Natasha was a control freak. She liked to dominate everyone around her, and I felt overpowered by her voice, clothes, mannerisms and general presence. Poor Simon hardly got a word in edgeways, and Wayne struck me as a silent type in any case. The food was wonderful, and the wine flowed quite freely. I sipped one glass and managed to make it last for most of the meal. Luckily there was a pitcher of water on the table, and I preferred that in any case. Natasha was the heaviest drinker, and managed to consume at least one bottle of wine by herself, while Simon nursed one beer and blushed every time I looked his way.

We were seated at a round table, and during the entrées I became aware of Wayne's leg pressing firmly against mine. I moved away and he followed. I stared at him, and slowly shook my head. He smiled and shrugged, and the leg disappeared.

Simon was exceptionally shy, and I could see why. Gradually I was able to chip away and he began to be able to string a few words together. I discovered that he was not the jock his frame and general demeanour purported him to be. He had a taste for music and contemporary art. He was actually very gentle, but his sheer size had determined his move into sport. I had to do most of the work in the conversation stakes, and by the dessert, I was out of things to ask him. I concentrated on my Crème Brule and he stopped me dead by asking me a question.

"Alexandra, what kind of guy do you like?" he asked, and I nearly choked.

"Well," I said, "he has to be gentle and kind and loving, good looking but not necessarily strikingly handsome. I would like him to be clean living and fun to be with. I don't like guys who smoke or drink, and I don't like anything to do with drugs."

"Oh," he said, and stared at his glass.

"Simon, actually I have a guy at the moment, and he is all those things," I admitted.

"Oh," he repeated, looking more miserable.

"But Alexandra darling, he is in England, and you are now in the States."

Natasha was quick to butt in.

"Actually he is here in America at the moment. He and a friend are touring the States before going to university in the autumn."

"Well, whatever. The point is he ain't here now," she said.

I stared at her, and the penny dropped. She was in the market for a girlfriend for her son. She wanted someone glamorous enough for him to look good with, particularly when next to her.

"Simon, do you feel like a bit of fresh air?" I asked, going on the offensive.

He went bright red and started to stammer something. I grabbed his hand and literally pulled him to his feet and hauled him away from that dreadful woman.

She was ginning proudly, having completely misinterpreted my intentions.

"If you will excuse us, I am here for such a short time, I just want to make the most of it," I said, and she grinned even more.

We went straight out of the main front doors of the hotel, and stood on the steps. It was a warm summer evening, and very humid. The doorman eyed us impassively, as I tried to decide what the hell to do next. A noise distracted me, and I saw a horse and carriage standing over the road. Of course! What could be more romantic than a ride around Central Park on a lovely evening?

"Wait here," I said to Simon, and went into the lobby. I found one of the FBI agents, and I told him what I was planning.

Then I returned to find Simon sitting on the step. I sat beside him.

"Okay Simon, tell aunty Sandi all about it."

He looked at me. "Sandi?"

"Yeah, my friends call me Sandi, it is only your mother who calls me Alexandra."

"I'd like to be a friend. I haven't got many."

"I'd never have guessed. What do you say to taking a ride in a carriage around Central Park?"

He looked at the horse and carriage, and smiled.

"Sure, why not?"

We went over the road, and the elderly man with the horse helped me into the back of the carriage, and Simon climbed in after me. Then we took off down the road. I glanced back and saw two FBI men running out of the hotel after us.

"So Simon, is life really as miserable as you make out?"

"It's just my mom. She can get too heavy."

"That's a good word. But why?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know. Every time I get an idea of something to do with my life, she has different ones. My Dad saw the light and hightailed it years ago."

"Oh, is he still around?"

"I see him occasionally. He lives in New Mexico, in the desert with a Spanish girl who is about twenty-five."

"So what does he do?"

"He is a sculptor. He is doing well too. A bank in Phoenix has just commissioned a huge metal work for their new lobby."

We clip-clopped for a while without speaking. I was actually enjoying the views.

"I had a girlfriend once," he admitted, out of the blue.

"Oh, and did mother frighten her away?" I teased, gently.

He nodded.

"Yeah, she wasn't like you. She couldn't face up to Mom in full flight."

"Like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you are so sophisticated and educated. You just look like a million dollars and your English accent is just so upper class. Mom says that you are the epitome of aristocratic breeding and culture."

I think I surprised him when I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard I almost wet myself.

"Oh Simon. That is priceless! She knows absolutely nothing about me. If she did, she wouldn't be seen dead with me."

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"Simon. How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know, twenty three, four, something like that."

I smiled.

"I'm seventeen."

He stared at me.

"No?"

I nodded.

"I am still at school studying design, French and Art. I won a competition and got the chance to do a short modelling contract before going back. My father is a shady businessman and a crook, and my mother was blown up in a yacht accident near Greece with her lover a few years ago."

"There is no way you are only seventeen."

"It is amazing what a little make up can do."

"No, it isn't your face. Not that your face isn't fine. I mean, your face is beautiful, but it is everything else as well. Your figure, the way you move, the way you speak, and what you say. You are in a different league to all the girls I have ever met in my life."

He was barely able to look at me. The carriage had entered Central Park and was crossing one of the well-lit walkways. A NYPD mounted officer was patrolling on his horse, he nodded at the carriage driver.

"Simon you are sweet, but you haven't met many English girls, have you?"

"I have actually. I went to London last year with Mom. I met loads of models, and none of them were a patch on you."

This rendered me speechless.

We travelled in silence again, and even the driver found it disconcerting.

I smiled.

"So what kind of girl is your dream girl?" I asked.

He was quiet for a few moments, and then he glanced sideways at me, and flushed.

"Well?"

"That's easy. You are," he said.

I was rendered speechless again.

"I know you have a guy, but I would value you as a friend," he said.

I took his hand.

"Oh, you sad bastard," I said kindly, "Of course I'll be a friend. Simon, I am seventeen. My boyfriend is eighteen, and I haven't seen him for two months and for all I know he could be living in sin in a hippy commune in California. But he was there for me when I needed him, so I am loyal to him. But that doesn't stop me having as many friends, both male and female, that I want."

"Would you consider going out on a date with me?"

"Yes, as long as you appreciate that I will not hop into bed with you at the first opportunity."

He grinned.

"I think my Mom wants us to do that."

I smiled, a little sadly.

"Simon, I am a virgin, and I am guessing that you are too. But it is none of my business, so let's give Mom the fright of her life."

He frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's make it look like we have the hots for each other whenever we are near her, and deny anything to the press, and keep up the appearances of just being friends for the rest of the world."

He blushed.

"Now what have I said?" I asked.

"I don't need to pretend, I'm sorry."

"Oh, Simon. No, it is me who should apologise. That was thoughtless and inconsiderate of me. Okay, let's just be friends, and see where we go. Okay?"

He nodded. I thought he rather fancied the idea of having the hots for me. At that moment a scruffy man wearing dirty old tee shirt and jeans jumped out of some undergrowth and grabbed the bridle and pointed a gun at Simon. "Okay buddy, gimme your wallet!" he said.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I said, very loudly and in my very English accent.

"Huh?" said the robber.

"You dirty little shit. Have you no fucking sense at all?" I asked.

The frown got deeper, as this was not in his plan.

Simon was staring at the man, and I guessed he was about to do something stupid, so I stood up.

"Look, you pathetic little creep. You are about to be shot, so have you any last requests?" I asked.

He wavered, and his gun was now pointing at the horse. I grabbed the whip from the driver and let him have it on his arm. He dropped the gun and screamed. I hit him again, this time across the face and there was a blur of movement as two armed FBI agents took him out.

"Right. That's better!" I said, and gave the whip back to the startled driver.

I sat down and turned to Simon.

"Okay, where were we?" I asked, and his jaw opened and no sound came out.

The robber was by this time in handcuffs, and two NYPD officers arrived on the scene. I rolled my eyes. More statements, how dreary. By the time we had finished with the cops, who took away the battered robber, and kept looking at me in a strange manner, it was late. We returned to the hotel, and Simon was very quiet.

We arrived at the desk, and I asked for my cardkey.

"Miss Lake, there is a note from Mrs Kysinski," the clerk said, and handed me a folded piece of paper. I opened it and read the contents.

"Your mother has gone home. She is giving you the choice, stay with me or catch a cab."

"She wants me to stay with you?"

"No whips, I promise," I said, with a grin. The clerk's eyebrows threatened to take off, which made me laugh even more.

"I'll take a cab. If I stay the night, I can't promise that I would be able to behave myself," he said.

"Your choice. Will I see you at the show tomorrow?"

"I wasn't going to, but I think I will now."

I stood up on tip toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"Goodnight Simon, you are very sweet, but a little sad also, I think."

"Goodnight Sandi. You are simply the best."

I went up to my room, and had my third shower. It was still humid, so I turned up the air-conditioning. I lay on my bed and stared out the window at the New York skyline. In a way I was sad he hadn't wanted to stay the night, but it saved any complications.

The telephone woke me at a little after eight. The show was due to start at two, and I frowned. I answered the phone. It was Natasha.

"Alexandra darling. What have you been up to? Have you seen the papers this morning?"

"Actually, I was fast asleep until you woke me," I said, somewhat crossly.

"Well, you are famous, and it has given my show the most wonderful publicity, you are simply brilliant."

"Famous?"

"Yeah, your little adventure with the thief in Central Park, it is front page news."

"Oh fuck!" I said, and she roared with laughter.

"You are divine, even when you swear it sound so upper class and English."

"I'll see you later," I said, somewhat grumpily, and put the phone down on her.

I dialled the desk.

"Hi, this is Miss Lake in room 1008. I understand I have managed to get into the papers this morning. Could you send a copy up to my room with my breakfast please?"

I then had to select my choice of breakfast, by which time I was fully awake.I showered again, and whilst I was doing so the room service arrived with my breakfast and four newspapers.

SUPERBABE Lands in New York.

By Edward Harley.

Convicted felon Georgiou Lapinos (32) found himself in jail again last night after attempting to rob the wrong girl. At about 11pm in Central Park, New York City, Lapinos jumped into the path of a horse and carriage on its circuit of the park with a young couple enjoying a romantic ride. Armed with a .38 special, he held the reins and demanded the young man's wallet at gunpoint.

But he had not reckoned with English spitfire Sandi Lake, who, according to the driver Bill Myers (58) verbally attacked the man with some very 'earthy' language. Then, seizing the whip from Mr Myer's hand, the young supermodel literally lashed out and disarmed Lapinos with one strike, and her second strike knocked him to the ground. He was detained by police and arrested for attempted armed robbery.

Lapinos is wanted for seven similar offences, and on a warrant for failing to surrender to bail for an earlier charge.

Miss Lake, at seventeen, is one of the youngest models to hit the big time within the fashion industry. She has recently been contracted by the famous Kysinski Fashion House, to model Natasha Kysinski's Fall Collection. The Collection was previewed in London, Paris and Rome earlier in the month, with Miss Lake as the model for the entire show. It is held at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, where Miss Lake is staying.

Her stunning looks and colorful private life, have captured the imagination of the UK male. Her pictures now adorn more walls than the topless models from glamor magazines, and she keeps most of her clothes on.

She was recently the victim of a kidnapping attempt in Sussex, England, and the local police had to shoot one man and detained another after the gun battle to rescue her. Her father, Jonathon Lake, is rumoured to have underworld links, and she tries to distance herself from anything her father does.

Her looks have earned her the nickname of Superbabe in the UK, and she has certainly lived up to her name last night.

Her companion in the carriage was Simon Haddow (23), younger son of Natasha Kysinski. He spoke to this reporter last night from his home address.

"Sandi was amazing. She was so angry with the man. All I saw was the gun, and while I was still in shock, she stood up and really tore into the guy. I could see he was uncertain what to do, so she just took the whip and laid him out. The cops were there so fast, it was all unbelievable, she was just so cool."

Lapinos is to appear before the court today, and he knows he is going to jail for a long time.

The phone went, and I answered it.

"Miss Lake, this is the hotel operator. I have a young man on the line, he says he is a friend of yours, do you wish to take a call from a David Carter?"

"David? Yes, oh yes, sure," I said.

"Sandi?" said a familiar voice.

"Dave? Brilliant! Where are you?"

"I'm in New York, and I see you are too."

"Oh, you've seen the papers?"

"I can't leave you alone for a second. And who is this Haddow guy?"

"Oh, he is the son of the lady whose collection I'm here to model. I met him at dinner last night and we went for a ride as I had not seen anything of the city."

"Well he seems pretty smitten by you."

"You know how it is with us supermodels," I teased.

"I've missed you."

"Bollocks, you've had the time of your life. How's Mike?"

"Mike is great, we are staying in a motel just outside the city. Seriously, I have missed you."

"Aw, you are sweet. But I bet you haven't really."

"Well, most of the time I have. I did meet a girl in California, and she wanted us to get serious, but something held me back."

"What, her husband?"

"No you daft bint, you."

I was quiet.

"Sandi?"

"What?"

"I can't get you out of my mind."

"Foolish boy."

"No, it is just that I really do love you."

My heart went flippity flop.

"Mike called Jenny and she told him about the kidnap attempt, and I wanted to come back. But it was silly, there was nothing I could do. Then she told him about your modelling contract. You have done really well."

"Thanks," I said. I loved hearing his voice, but I was not certain whether I felt the same way as before.

"Dave. I need to see you," I said.

"Great, where will you be?"

"I am at the Waldorf, the show starts at 2 pm. But I need to talk."

"Oh, that sounds ominous," he said.

"Not really. I need to see you and talk to you before I really know what I feel."

"Oh."

"I've been through a lot, and on my own, and I am not sure whether I want to get too stuck in a serious relationship just yet. But you are special, and I need you in person to see whether I want you as much as I think I do."

I realised I was making little sense.

"I'll be over this afternoon."

"Great, I'll leave a ticket at reception."

"And one for Mike."

"Okay. See you later."

"Bye."

Well, I thought. That could have gone better.

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