Jeremy Guscott has a 42in chest, an outside leg of 43 inches and cheveux noirs. It says so on his model’s Z card. On one side of it, there is a photo of the hunk playing rugby; on the other, he sits, legs astride on a chair, while a blonde with a plunging neckline stands behind him with her legs apart.

‘I wouldn’t say I have the typical look of a male model because I’m rather short in the legs and long in the back,’ he says, sitting forward and gazing straight on out of melting eyes. ‘I’ve been told I look like Bruce Oldfield, but often I think I look too serious.’

Such work may seem, traditionally, rather a sissy sideline for England’s rugby union star as the team prepares to take on Wales at Twickenham on Saturday – but he’s happy.

Actually, he can hardly believe his luck. Just over two years ago he was working as a brickie, and a lot of his friends still do. But he is now famous for his graceful and brilliant athleticism, for his surprising attacks and resilient defences.

He presents himself in a calm and confident manner. But as a teenager, he was expelled from Ralph Allen comprehensive in Bath just before taking his CSEs.

‘I can look back on it these days and laugh,’ he says. ‘I also look back with anger. I got suspended for things like answering back to teachers, being obstinate and totally ignoring them, walking out of classrooms or smoking. At other schools, you would’ve just got detention.’ He smiles defiantly.

He is slim and moves in a feline way. The first time I met him informally, he appeared gentle, disarmingly charming. But in interview he is defensive, petulant even. Talking to him on some subjects is like arguing with an errant teenager. You quickly realise that this is a self-protective attitude.

Take the question of mini Guscotts. This week it was revealed that he is going to become a father.

‘You said you were going to get to work on having children straight away after the World Cup,’ I said. He gives a (rare) genuine laugh. ‘There’s no evidence of this, none at all,’ he says, distantly. ‘But my wife and I are both 100 per cent sure that we want children.’

He married Jayne, his sweetheart of five years, 20 months ago. It’s a mixed marriage and he met her after she kicked him at a local disco. (She insists it was her friend.) In similar fashion, his father came from Jamaica and had a mixed marriage to a woman he ran over on his bicycle. ‘I’ve not known anything different from a mixed marriage,’ says Jeremy. His maternal grandfather disapproved so strongly of his parents marrying that he refused to see Jeremy until he was three. ‘I’ve not had any problems with racism,’ says Jeremy, swallowing hard. He did, however, get called Sambo at school. ‘Kids get called Four Eyes and Fatty. You’re not going to get a reaction out of me, Caroline.’

We’re sitting in the tiny, bare sitting-room of his terraced house on the outskirts of Bath with his female manager, who is there to help him feel comfortable. There are some reproduction sepia photographs of Bath on the walls. It is a bland environment, with decor that is devoid of personality. He’s done a little magazine modelling and recently walked his first catwalk as the guest-of-honour model at Oxfam’s 50th birthday celebrations, in front of Prince and Princess Michael of Kent.

‘He felt really uncomfortable in that environment. He was polite but couldn’t wait to go,’ says a friend.

I ask about his modelling career. Is he a sex symbol? A matinee idol? ‘Oh, thanks.’ He gives a weak laugh, but the clothes he wears today could have come straight from one of his mail-order catalogue sessions. M&S camel double-breasted jacket, Blazer shirt and trousers, and camel suede brogues – this is the flash look that has just got him into Esquire magazine’s Best Dressed Men list.

Well, does he think he’s sexy? ‘I don’t think I’m sexy,’ he says, curtly. Or good looking? ‘I’m not being pressed on that.’ Do women chase after him? ‘Not that I’ve noticed. You just get the odd letter through the post that suggests they’d like more than a signed photograph.’

This is just a sideline. He actually works nine to five in the sales department of British Gas. ‘I’m in the housing development department, dealing with getting gas to villages that haven’t already got it.’ Somehow, he manages to make his tone quite menacing. ‘It’s quite wide and varied, and I enjoy going out and talking to people,’ he says, talking like a beauty queen. ‘I wouldn’t pursue another career. My future is with British Gas.’ He has, of course, been offered around £1 million to become a professional rugby league player. But he says he’s not interested in money – his ambition is to be a manager in British Gas marketing. Of course. But the real reason comes out later. With rugby union, he can come and go as he pleases. ‘I don’t think I could cope with the restrictions of being a professional. I didn’t cope very well with being told what to do when I was at school. I’m still not that good with people who order me around and tell me what to do. I wouldn’t be the boss.’

In his early days, his coaches reckoned he had a talent for the game but a suspect temperament. Is he still difficult? ‘Can be.’ And with an attitude problem? ‘I don’t think so.’ Nor does he think he’s too big for his own boots. ‘I still have the same friends I’ve grown up with. When you’re with the squad, you can’t be seen to be big-headed and nobody is.’ He concedes that he is aggressive. ‘I’m not afraid to tell people what I think of them,’ says this 26-year-old. ‘It’s never been a problem.’ His parents live 100 yards away. ‘Family, friends and community are important to Jeremy,’ says a friend. ‘He’s very deep-rooted.’ His father came from Jamaica 30 years ago and worked at the Avon Rubber Company before taking voluntary redundancy and becoming a hospital porter. His mother has been a teacher for 10 years.

Gary, his brother, is two and half years younger. ‘I’m always taking the mickey out of my mother and saying Gary was the favourite child,’ says Jeremy. Their father never used to let them out to play and get mucky. ‘We laugh about it now. But he wouldn’t ever let us go out and play and get dirty.’ Was his father too strict? ‘He was very strict.’

But, he says, with an almost quizzical tone, that it was a happy home. What went on in his childhood that led to him act in such a bolshie fashion at school? ‘I can’t think of anything. I can’t think why I did it.’ He clears his throat defensively.

One thing’s for sure – on Saturday, he’ll be boss. And he’ll be able to go out and play and get dirty.