Rachel Lindsay - Designing Man

by Rachel Lindsay

  "Catching up on some work," he explained. "Anything to pass the time."

  She wandered over to a bookshelf and began to scan the titles, aware of his watching her. She was tempted to tell him he had nothing to fear from the police but decided against it; to do so would mean involving Paul and Dina. With a book in her hand she walked over to a chair but before she reached it, the door opened and Paul himself strode in, his expression furious.

  "Did you have to talk to the inspector about me?" he demanded. "You surely don't think I was really going to kill my father?"

  Alix's eyes sparkled with anger at the injustice of the first part of his accusation. A murderer she may well fear him to be, but giving him away to the police was another matter entirely.

  "You're always ready to believe the worst of me, aren't you? You don't give me a chance to explain. As it happens I never said a word to the inspector about it. And I wasn't spying on you and Dina, either, if that's what you think. I came down to show you my dress and when I saw you together, I went away."

  Some of the anger left Paul's face. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "But Truscott mentioned you, and I naturally assumed you were the one who'd told him."

  "Well, she didn't." Peter stood up abruptly. "If you must know, it was me!"

  "You!"

  "Yes. I was in a spot myself and… The police found my fingerprints on Henri's desk and—"

  "And you thought you'd direct their suspicions to another quarter?" Paul's anger exploded again.

  "I didn't do it to harm you," Peter protested. "But one of the maids saw me hovering behind Alix when she opened the sitting-room door, and once Truscott started asking questions, he soon got it out of me."

  Hurriedly Peter collected his writing materials together and left the room.

  Paul remained where he was and Alix, unable to bear the look on his face, sat down and pretended to read. Dimly she was aware of Paul moving closer to her but she did not raise her head.

  "Alix," he said, his voice shaking. "Alix, look at me."

  Reluctantly she did so, seeing how pale he was and how dark the shadows beneath his eyes.

  "Will you forgive me?" he asked. "It isn't that I'm always ready to believe the worst of you—though heaven knows you've every justification for thinking so—it's just that thinking you believed me capable of…of…" He leaned closer, his eyes anguished. "In the garden last night, why did you push me away?"

  Alix lowered her head. There were two answers she could give and both would be disastrous. She could as easily tell him she- suspected him of being a murderer as she could tell him she knew he was in love with Dina!

  "I was tired," she lied, "and it didn't seem the time or the place."

  "You looked so beautiful in your diamond dress," he said, "and unexpectedly vulnerable. I hadn't planned to kiss you but—"

  "A passing fancy," she intervened lightly, determined not to let him know how deeply his words had hurt her. "Don't worry about it, Paul. I won't sue for breach of conduct! You were overwrought and like most men in similar situations you needed physical contact."

  "Physical contact!" A spasm contorted his face. "How awful that sounds."

  "Call it what you will," she shrugged.

  "How about love?"

  "Love?" With a great effort she kept her voice casual, determined not to let him see how he unnerved her. Was he trying to tell her he didn't love Dina? "I didn't know we were talking about love," she said.

  It was Paul's turn to be silent and, as she watched, she saw his mouth grow hard and his eyes become veiled.

  "I wasn't," he said in a cool voice.

  Alix blinked her eyes to hide the sudden uprush of tears. "Where's Dina?" she asked loudly.

  "In the sitting room. The inspector asked to see her. I hope she'll be careful what she says."

  "Careful?"

  "About the sleeping pills. I told the inspector she took them to get a good-night's rest."

  "So did I." Alix laughed mirthlessly. "But I'm afraid it didn't go down well. He knows the truth." She rose. "I think I'll see if he'll let me go back to London."

  "I'm sure he will. There's nothing you can do here. It's been an awful business. I'm sorry you were mixed up in it." Wearily he rubbed his hand across his eyes. "When shall I be seeing you?"

  "That depends. I take it you'll be carrying on at the salon?"

  "I suppose so. Alix I…I feel everything's gone wrong between us. You do believe in me, don't you?"

  Not sure what he meant, she was wary how she replied. All she knew was that she must restrain her desire to throw her arms around him and kiss away the lines of strain on his face. How horrified he would be if she did, when all he wanted from her was sympathy. But something prevented her from giving him the reassurance his question demanded. Perhaps it was her jealousy of Dina. Whatever it was, it froze the words of compassion that rose to her lips and she stood before him like a statue.

  Giving her a long measured look, he retreated from her and went to sit at his father's desk, keeping his head averted as she opened the door and then closed it behind her.

  Alix returned to London without seeing Paul again and for the next few days did her best to forget the Duval tragedy. It was a vain hope for the newspapers were full of it, and the Sunday ones carried articles by several people who had known the great designer in his heyday. Inevitably there were lurid accounts of his many love affairs and mention was made of Dina, though care was taken not to be libelous.

  No arrest had yet been made, and at the inquest the coroner returned a verdict of "murder by a person or persons unknown." As expected, the papers also exploited this to the full, and Alix, realizing the futility of trying to stop them, decided to create so much public interest in Duval's as a fashion house that Paul as a man would be spared. In consequence there were several features about him, too, showing his slow emergence as a designer in his own right until now, as the new spirit of Duval's, he would emerge as the new leader of world couture.

  It was nearly three weeks after Henri's death before she saw Paul alone, though even then it only came about because he asked her to come and see him.

  She had not been to the salon for ten days and was at once aware of a difference. Gone were the heavy brocade drapes from the windows, their place taken by diaphanous white curtains that filtered the light and veiled the sumptuous interior from the view of passers- by. Polished parquet gleamed where once heavy carpet had lain, and concealed lighting had replaced the glittering chandeliers that had illuminated the staircase. The same cool young redhead was sitting at the reception desk, however, and she informed Alix that Paul Duval was expecting her.

  Outside the door of the room that had once been Henri Duval's, she hesitated, then knocked and stepped inside. Here, too, things had been changed. The ornate French furniture had been replaced by the functional Swedish kind Paul preferred, while the floor was covered with an off-white carpet that threw into relief a long settee upholstered in dark green velvet.

  He hasn't wasted much time in altering things, she thought, and instantly suppressed a feeling of revulsion. Why shouldn't he make changes? The king was dead. Long live the king!

  Paul rose but did not come toward her, contenting himself with leaning against the side of the desk. The last time she had seen him alone had been at Croxham Manor, when he had been overcome with the knowledge that he was suspected of murder. She remembered the way he had frozen into detachment when they had talked about love, and she vowed she would never give him the opportunity to do so again.

  "It's a long time since I've seen you alone," he said quietly. "I have the impression you are avoiding me."

  "I've been very busy on your behalf," she hedged. "French Vogue called me this morning and—"

  "That's what I wanted to talk to you about," he cut in. "Our publicity. I once said some very hard things to you and I…" His lids came down over his eyes.

  "What I wish to say is that…that no matter what's happened in the past, I want y
ou to go on working for us. It's important for us to have someone like you. Even more so now than it was before."

  Alix was barely conscious of what he was saying, all her attention given to taking in every detail of his appearance and not succumbing to it. In the past month she had gone over all the events that had taken place on the evening of the murder and no matter which way she looked at it, suspicion focused on Paul. Seeing his sherry-colored eyes watching her, she longed to tell him what was troubling her. But she dared not. How furious he would be to know she suspected him. She glanced at his hands, with their long sensitive fingers and manicured nails. Difficult to believe they could hold a gun a,nd kill a man.

  It was impossible! He could not be a murderer. She clenched her bag on her lap. What if he were shielding Dina? This thought, though not as bad as believing him a murderer, was almost as distressing, for it meant he loved the girl so much that he could disregard the fact that she had killed his own father!

  "You agree with me so far?" Paul asked, and Alix, who had not heard a word, nodded and went on staring at him, though this time she concentrated on what he was saying.

  "I have redecorated the salon completely. It has to fit in with our new image. I also want to put in a boutique on the ground floor and turn the top floor over to a wholesale showroom."

  "Wholesale!"

  "Yes. All the big names in couture have gone into it and there's no reason why we shouldn't. The bulk of our profits will be made there."

  "I thought you weren't interested in money?"

  "I won't design clothes solely for money," he corrected. "But that doesn't mean I can't design for the cheaper market. In fact, Duval Wholesale will shame everyone else's!"

  "Well, there's nothing like a new broom for sweeping clean," she murmured, looking around the room. "But do you think you're wise to do it so soon? Some people might consider it tactless."

  "I've good reason to know what gossip can do," came the bitter answer. "But we have to make changes sooner or later and there's no point wasting time. I thought you, of all people, would understand."

  "I do understand. But I'm not sure it's wise."

  "Would you rather I behaved like a hypocrite? You know I didn't like my father's taste, either in decor or clothes, and I don't see why I should pretend I did just because he's dead."

  "Murdered!" Alix said. "That makes a great deal of difference."

  The little color he had drained from his face. "What you really mean is that until his murderer is found, the finger points at me!"

  It was useless to deny this, yet she had to be careful how she agreed with him. It would be disastrous to her desire to go on working for him if she gave away her own suspicions of him.

  She opened her mouth to speak but was forestalled by the telephone ringing. He picked it up and she was close enough to hear Dina's lilting voice at the other end. ^

  "Of course I don't mind," Paul said softly into the mouthpiece. "I've a mass of work to do anyway, and I can break the back of it tonight… Yes, tomorrow after the show… Till then."

  He put down the receiver and stared at it pensively, giving Alix a chance to control the turbulent feelings that the conversation had aroused in her. Why should she be surprised that Paul had so willingly stepped into his father's place in Dina's life? It was natural that Dina, heartbroken at losing the man she loved, should turn for comfort to his son. But would that need for comfort last or was Paul prepared to accept second best?

  "Where was I?" he murmured, as if the telephone call had broken the trend of their discussion.

  "Talking about the wholesale market," she replied.

  "Ah yes. What I was going to say was that I won't have time to supervise all the alterations I want, and I wondered if you know an architect who can help? We'll have to have some structural alterations in order to build a boutique downstairs."

  At once Alix's mind flew to Mark. "A friend of mine might be able to help. I'll ring him now and see if he'll do it."

  With Paul watching, she dialed Mark's number and, with the memory of Dina's call still in her mind, was unusually warm in her conversation.

  "He can come and see you this afternoon," she queried at Paul and, as he nodded, arranged this with Mark before replacing the receiver.

  "Is he a special friend of yours?" Paul asked unexpectedly.

  "We're good friends."

  The well-curved eyebrows rose. "Is that a euphemism for being lovers?"

  She colored but refused to show embarrassment in any other way. "You are buying part of my working life, Paul, not my private life."

  "I'm sorry. Let's say I don't want to lose a good publicist now I've decided to have one."

  "You wouldn't have to lose me," she mocked. "Even if I married Mark, I'd still go on working."

  He turned to his desk and the sight of his slimly built figure with its haughty turn of head, inflamed her to anger.

  "What about you?" she demanded. "Isn't marriage on your mind, too? Or wouldn't you want a wife with a career of her own?"

  Slowly he sat down, bringing his face back into her line of vision. It was as rigid as a mask and gave away nothing of his feelings.

  "At the moment, Alix, your questions are academic. I am sure you understand why."

  She nodded and rose. As long as suspicion rested on him he was not free to marry. Besides, bearing in mind the woman he wanted, haste would be indecent. The thought of Paul with Dina was unbearable and she walked quickly to the door. Why do I want him? she asked herself bitterly and wrenched at the handle.

  "Let me know how you get on with Mark," she said and slammed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  To Alix's surprise, Paul and Mark liked one another and soon became firm friends. They took to playing squash together twice a week, and from Mark she learned that Paul, for all his faunlike appearance, was a formidable player with boundless energy.

  "He's a deceptive chap," Mark explained to her one evening. "Quiet spoken and gentle yet made of steel. He's too good for your friend Dina."

  "What a biased thing to say," she protested, then could not stop herself asking, "Has Paul said anything to you about her?"

  "Only that she's beautiful and a good actress. He can be quite forthcoming about his work and his business plans but he's close as a clam when it comes to his private life."

  "He's still a murder suspect," Alix said, leaning forward to pick up the coffeepot. Mark had taken her out to dinner but they had returned early to the apartment because she had complained of a headache. A couple of pills had helped to settle it into a slight ache at her temples, though the mention of Paul's name was threatening to turn the ache into a throb.

  "You can't honestly suspect him," Mark said.

  "Of course not," she lied. "But until the murder's solved, Paul won't feel free to marry."

  Mark pressed his lips. "You think he's that serious about Dina?"

  "Don't you?" she countered, longing for him to say no. But to her disappointment he nodded, then nodded again.

  "Thinking about it," he said, "I can see you're right. He's far more relaxed with her than he is with anyone else." Mark set down his cup. "We've talked enough about Paul. Now let's talk about us."

  "Not again."

  "Again and again," he smiled. "I still want to marry you and I'm still hoping to wear you down."

  "You wouldn't be happy with a worn-out wife!"

  "I'd make sure you had lots of time in bed to recover!"

  She laughed but refused to let him go on hoping. "It's no use, Mark. I don't love you and you'd be better off seeing someone else."

  "I don't want to see anyone else. You've spoiled me for other women. You're so intelligent and alive you make everyone else seem like plum pudding! I said as much to Paul the other day and he knew exactly what I meant."

  "I'm sure he did," Alix said dryly. "He sees me as a hard and glittering diamond."

  "Diamonds are a girl's best friend," Mark responded and pulled her across the set
tee and into his arms. "But I'd be much more to you than a friend, if you'd let me. Alix…"

  His lips came down hard on hers, his desire for her overcoming his usual care not to hurt her. She tried to respond but could not feel any emotion, and after a moment of suffering his exploring touch and moist mouth, she pushed away from him and jumped up.

  "I know," he said ruefully, "It's late and you're tired."

  "You've got a good memory," she said, going with him to the door. "If only you'd remember I only want to be friends!"

  "I'll try," he said without conviction and tweaked a heavy strand of her hair before striding down the corridor to the elevator.

  Early in October the boutique was opened. It was an instant success, as was Paul's venture into the wholesale market, and the staff were kept working full-time on simplified adaptations of the new Phoenix line. Difficult to believe Henri had been alive when the Phoenix Line had first seen the light of day!

  To Alix's surprise, Paul was not pleased with the way things were going, and it was not until she saw him alone again—and their meetings together were as infrequent as she could make them—that she learned the reason for his disquiet: many of their most valued clients were leaving.

  "It's my father's death, of course," he explained. "It's nearly three months since it happened, and no arrest has been made."

  She knew he was right. Until the murderer was discovered there was an aura of suspicion around Paul's name that was bound to affect some of his clients.

  You wouldn't consider going completely into the wholesale market?'' she asked.

  "No. Anyway, the wholesale trade is helped by my success as a couturier."

  "Then we'll have to find you more rich customers," she said forcefully. "New ones who'll come here because of your name—not your father's."

  He looked as if he wanted to protest, then swallowed his words and nodded.

  "No gimmicks," he warned.

  "You're not a gimmicky personality," she said crossly and stalked out.