Piece of My Heart- Blog Tour

 

Author: Penelope Tree

Publisher: Moonflower Publishing 

Publishing Date: 23rd May 2024 

Many thanks to the author and publishing team for sharing the extract 

Blurb 

Set in the beating heart of the 1960s fashion scene, Piece Of My Heart is the brilliant new novel by the supermodel who lived through it all, Penelope Tree.

Fame. Money. Beauty. Sex. Love. Ari wants them all. But at what cost?

Trapped between the suffocation of English boarding school and a chaotic home-life dominated by her eccentric, aristocratic mother, Ari longs for a different kind of life – one lived in the glamour of Swinging '60s London, with its pop stars and fashion icons. When she is discovered at sixteen by star photographer Bill Ramsey, she gets her chance.

Suddenly, Ari's life is transformed into a dizzying whirlwind of drugs, photoshoots, and parties, all with Ramsey by her side. The couple are the darlings of the media. But in the fickle world of fashion nothing lasts forever, and Ari's addiction, her eating disorder, and her increasingly dysfunctional relationship with Ramsey send her life spinning out of control.

A Vogue cover shoot in Nepal offers Ari a make-or-break chance – not just to revive her ailing career, but to win back Ramsey's love. And yet, in the captivating surroundings Ari finds herself wondering how much more of herself she must lose to keep the things she always thought she wanted.

Extract. 

The reception area at Vogue House was surprisingly fusty. I had imagined marble 

staircases and six-foot vases of flowers. The reality was much less intimidating. A 

scuffed parquet floor and the faint whiff of mildew were the main things I noticed 

when I walked in from the cold. An expressionless security officer cast a jaundiced 

eye over me from behind the front desk, before laboriously examining several 

typewritten pages of names until he found mine. 

 

The lift took forever to go up three floors, and by the time the door rolled open, I 

was shaking with anxiety. 

 

Upstairs, racks of clothes lined the edges of the open-plan room, and framed 

covers of back issues covered the scuffed walls. I paused at the top of the stairs, 

braced to meet a stereotypical dragon of a fashion editor. Instead, a smiling young 

woman appeared to greet me. 

 

‘Hi, Ari,’ she said, as if we were old friends. ‘I’m Sophie. We’d like to start by 

trying a few pieces on you, if that’s OK?’ 

 

She was only a few years older than me, friendly and distinctly unintimidating. I 

liked her instantly. 

 

She took me to an office where another rack of clothes waited for us. 

 

‘There are so many things I want you to try, but I think this one in particular would 

be perfect on you.’ 

 

Sophie held up a dark purple velvet shift with starched white collar and cuffs. It 

had a hint of a school-marm about it, but also an indecently short skirt. ‘You can wear 

it with these, I think,’ she added, handing me charcoal-patterned tights. 

 

I was learning not to be self-conscious about taking my clothes off in front of 

strangers, so I stripped off my dress and draped it over a chair. 

 

‘Gosh, you’re so enviably tall and slim,’ Sophie observed, with a sigh. ‘I’m always 

on a diet, but even if I lost a stone, I’d never have a figure like yours.’ 

 

‘Oh, it’s only because I run everywhere; it keeps my weight down,’ I told her. A 

well-trodden lie. 

 

When I pulled the dress on and straightened it, she drew in a delighted breath. 

‘It looks fab on you. Just, wow.’ She clapped her hands. ‘I knew it would work. 

Right. Now I want you to try another one…’ 

 

I tried on outfit after outfit. Everything she gave me fitted as if it had been made 

for me. It didn’t occur to me at the time that this was because Sophie was such a 

brilliant fashion editor, she had spent days working out the right look for the shoot. 

When I’d tried on the last outfit, Sophie leaned back against her desk, smiling 

at me. ‘You know, I had a hunch when I saw Antoine Boucher’s pictures of you in 

the Sunday Times that you would be perfect for this shoot. Keep on what you are 

wearing, and let’s go meet Miss Miller. I want her to see you in person.’ 

 

Bea Miller was famous in London fashion for her exacting standards and perfect 

eye for a great fashion story. So my heart was stuttering as we walked down the 

corridor to a door, painted high-gloss racing green. Perhaps sensing my sudden panic, 

Sophie gave me a reassuring smile before knocking. 

 

Inside, most of the lights were out. I stuck close to Sophie as we crossed a vast 

darkened chamber to where Miss Miller stood behind a desk. A light box covered 

with photographic negatives lit up her face from below. In its pale glow I could see 

her honey-blonde hair was piled on top of her head, and the plump hand she extended 

across the desk had sharp nails lacquered blood red. I thought she had an intelligent, 

thoughtful face, with a touch of the headmistress about her. 

 

She deftly lit up a Rothmans with the gold lighter on her desk and exhaled deeply. 

‘So, this is Ariadne,’ she said, exhaling a stream of smoke. ‘It would be nice to see 

you properly. I do apologise for the Stygian darkness – we’re working on layouts for 

the March issue.’ She glanced past me. ‘Minnie? Open the blinds, will you?’ 

 

A young girl in a yellow wool trouser suit put down her pad and pencil and hurried 

to the windows. Soon, bright winter sunlight flooded the room. 

 

‘We featured your sister in the October issue. You’re not much like her, are you?’ 

said Miss Miller. ‘I would never have guessed you were related.’ 

 

‘Who’s this then?’ came a reedy voice from behind me. I turned around. 

 

Bill Ramsey was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner, a sea of photocopied 

photographs spread out in front of him. 

 

When our eyes met, he scrambled to his feet. 

 

‘I know you.’ His eyes searched my face. ‘Something to do with horses, no?’ 

 

I laughed and shook my head, aware that the air around us appeared to be rippling 

like water. Since I’d thought of him every single day since Henrietta’s photo shoot, 

his actual presence was extremely unsettling. 

 

‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were going to call?’ 

 

Ramsey stared at me closely, without embarrassment, and I gazed back at him 

as steadily as I could, considering the sudden surge of energy coursing through my 

system.