by Lee Winter
Today, the movements below didn’t hold her eye. Elena’s heart was in her throat. The one thing she’d vowed never to do at work had happened. She’d succumbed to a personal emotional display. She’d been weak after a lifetime of training herself to give nothing sensitive away.
Nothing had ever enraged her this much. Madeleine Grey had suggested her corporation was infested with harassers, and the long line of assistants in her employ had never been sure whether Elena had been turning a blind eye to it all along or simply hadn’t known.
But that revolting thought paled next to the disgusting lie that each night she shared a bed with a man who groped women. Someone right under her nose.
She glared out the window. Richard wasn’t perfect. She’d always known that. But he’d been so helpful to her career. He knew everyone. She’d had difficulty overcoming her natural reticence to engage the human race. He was charming, and people flocked to him, found warmth, and felt he was speaking directly to them. He could close deals and bring clients and rivals over in a way that had been thrilling to watch. The thought that he also…
Rage stirred in her belly. Madeleine Grey had ruined her image of the man she’d married with a single sentence. Elena glowered at the grey, inner-city streets, seeking answers. She turned the simple truth over of what she knew about her husband. Power was his turn-on.
Power. Was his turn-on.
She spun away from the window and stared at his photo on her desk. He was handsome, confident, and ruthless. Surely he wouldn’t be…also that.
No.
He couldn’t be.
How dare that woman hurl such a charge out there like this? What proof had she apart from hearsay from assistants long departed from the company? Anyone could put a name on a list.
But why would they? a little voice nagged at the back of her head. What benefit was it to them to do so? The list had never been made public. If it was part of some spiteful vendetta, the allegations would be all over the media. But no—this list had been tucked in the back of some handbook, passed from assistant to assistant to keep them safe.
Elena’s stomach lurched again. It couldn’t be true. She refused to believe it.
But if it was false, why would Madeleine tell her such a lie?
Her PA’s accusation wrenched the rug out from under her. Had it been anyone else, she’d have known immediately their aim had been to hurt; that all this was about an ulterior motive. But Madeleine didn’t seem to want to hurt her. She didn’t have any motive. Indeed, Madeleine didn’t seem to want to hurt anyone. She didn’t have a malicious bone in her body. Elena frowned. This…cruelty was out of character for her former assistant.
But wasn’t it true that everyone had a vicious streak when pushed? A darkness, when one was attacked, that led one to do and say things designed to injure. Everyone. Even an eternally smiling young woman who once presented her with exotic gifts while stuttering out speeches about how Elena was her inspiration.
She glared at the streets of Surry Hills and wondered at the strange disquiet she felt. That Madeleine had been the one to betray her with these allegations had caught her completely off guard. And that was what hurt most of all.
CHAPTER 16
Sweet Amour
Birds had the perfect life, Maddie mused, sitting on a park bench around the corner from her work (ex work). Pigeons swooped and strutted about, mooching for food. Humans complicated everything that should be simple. Like Maddie. She hadn’t even managed just going into work, working, and going home. No, she had to get herself entangled in a silly bet that had gone thermonuclear.
She’d been sitting here for an hour, waiting for the sick dread to leave. Having Elena’s rage directed at her for the first time was like being gouged and clawed. Her look of hurt and disbelief, though, was far worse.
Felicity’s defeated expression, after she admitted selling her soul for her career, was burnt into Maddie’s psyche, too. The woman wasn’t entirely wrong, either. Maddie had no job, limited savings, and given she now lived alone, she could barely afford rent. Morals wouldn’t keep her warm and fed.
Her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number.
“Madeleine?”
Maddie’s heart stuttered at the familiar pronunciation, then sank at the less familiar voice.
“Natalii?”
“Oui. Good. I need you. Vite!”
“What? How did you get my number?”
“Your Simon gave it to me. We are the Facebook friends.”
“You’ve got a nerve.” Maddie peered at a few kids playing on a slide on the other side of the park. “Your stupid stunt really pissed off my boss.”
“Well, I have it worse than you! My Adèle, she saw the pictures on the internet. I am now fini!”
Maddie groaned. “So we’re both fini.”
“No, no, I do not accept this. You will come to my hotel now. I have the Skype; you will explain to Adèle that it was all just in fun. She knows I am crazy when I drink. Tell her it was our silly way to make your lady jealous.”
“Why would Adèle believe me?”
“Ah chérie, if you could see the way your face alights when you describe your Elena! Adèle will see this too. I know it!”
Maddie snorted. “Well, there will be a lot less glowing now. Elena fired me an hour ago.”
There was a startled intake of breath. “Non!”
“Oh oui. She shredded me, then tossed me out. So, yeah. I doubt Adèle will see much more than my anger.”
“Was it because of the kiss? Oh Madeleine, I am sorry.” At least she sounded genuinely remorseful.
Maddie sighed. “No. Okay, it’s not like I’m doing anything productive here. I’ll come and try.”
“Merci, merci, merci!”
“Don’t thank me yet. My bad mood is hard to hide.”
“Madeleine, I will not forget this. So—I will see you soon?”
“Yeah, sure.”
* * *
Adèle turned out to be a rather severe-looking punk rocker, with electric-blue streaks in her black hair and cheekbones so fine they could cut glass. She was striking and cool rather than beautiful, but Maddie could see why Natalii was so taken with her. Right now, though, she was glaring through Natalii’s video link with blazing eyes.
“So you bring the pute to mock me?”
Maddie wasn’t sure exactly what a pute was, but given it was said in the same biting tone as Véronique’s “gutter wench” the previous night, she could guess.
“Ma chérie, non.” Natalii uttered a string of pleading French. After a few minutes, she turned to Maddie and gestured to the webcam, an expectant look on her face.
“Uh hi,” Maddie said to the stony face watching from Paris.
“So,” Adèle said in heavily accented English, “my Natalii claims all this was for fun. For small revenge to make your boss crazy by putting her assistant into the gossip papers. Because your boss sent so many of the flowers to Véronique.”
“Revenge?” Maddie shot a look at Natalii, who looked shamefaced and guilty. “You… All this was revenge?”
“Just a little.” Natalii did not meet her eye. “It was too tempting not to. But it was not the only reason—”
“And she claims she was drunk,” Adèle continued, “and that you were innocent as a kitten, because you are feeling great love for your boss.” She shot Maddie a sceptical look while misery etched Natalii’s features. Adèle leaned forward and stared hard. “So, Australian, make me believe it. Tell me what is this Elena Bartell to you?”
Maddie closed her eyes, trying to rewind to before the horrors of the morning and thought about all the times Elena had studied her with interest and made her heart beat faster. Before she cut it out and stomped on it and…shit, no…back to the day we met. Yeah.
She opened her eyes. “The first time I met Elena, she insulted me. She implied that I was badly dressed. She even threatened to fire me over it. But she did it in such a way, it made me want to know more about her. I
’m not sure how she did that. I spent weeks watching her. I discovered what she was really like. She’s curious about things and people who intrigue her. And smart. She has a really dry sense of humour she doesn’t share often. She likes to hide behind her scary persona and pretend she’s a corporate machine. She’s so much more.”
Maddie paused as she thought about her, and a smile warmed her face. “And then one night we had this real conversation. She looked so interested. And…it meant a lot. After that, one chat became many chats, and it was all I could think about. I looked forward to it so much. Well, before…I came here. And now…”
She stopped again, as all the recent memories washed over her. “I know it’s ridiculous. I mean, I know she’s married and straight, but whenever she gave me glimpses of her real self, when we were alone and it was late, I felt special. Like she thought I was interesting enough to get to know. I started to believe that. But it was a mistake.”
Maddie rubbed her eyes and gave a bitter laugh. “One day, she called me in and tore me apart. She made me doubt who I was. She told me I wasn’t a journalist. I cared too much. Then she fired me and tossed me an assistant job instead. You’d think I would hate her for that. But no, even after everything, I still love to watch her at work. I love to watch her. I won’t get that again, though. Hell.” She choked on her words and stared at Adèle through tear-glazed eyes. “Did I mention Elena fired me today?”
Adèle peered back at her uncertainly.
Maddie shook her head. “I’m an idiot. She’s fired me twice now, but still, I can’t stop what I feel. I’ll miss her so much. Which is totally messed up. I told the truth, and she fired me for it. But all I can focus on is that I won’t see her ever again. What the hell is wrong with me? I must be a sadist or something. But you asked me what she is to me. Okay, when I think of her—Elena is beautiful and vicious and impressive and terrifying and charismatic and vindictive and a complete, utter hypocrite, and still even the thought of her drives me crazy.” She paused, as a new thought hit her.
Oh God! Maybe she really did love her. Oh. Hell.
Don’t let that be true.
Awareness mingled with surprise coursed through her, as she turned over that thought. There was a rapid-fire French conversation that seemed to go on forever, while Maddie sat in shock engrossed in her own fears. By the time tears were welling in Natalii’s eyes and words of sweet amour were being exchanged, Maddie was jolted out of her reverie, her cheeks blushing at having understood way more French than she wanted to.
They stopped talking, and Adèle pinned Maddie with a contemplative look. “Merci, Madeleine. You have saved us when you did not have to. You could have punished Natalii for hurting your life, but you did not. This is a noble act. And Natalii knows she will not be making so foolish a mistake again. I wish you well with your great amour.”
“I don’t think she’s that. After today, she hates me.”
Adèle smirked. “Ah, Madeleine, you give up too easily. For shame.” She waggled her finger, and her Skype screen closed down with a blurp.
Natalii looked at Maddie with profound relief. “You have done us a very great favour. So I will return it. I will give you something you want very much. Maman hates the media and would never grant you an interview. But I could ask her to give you the answer to one question. This I believe she would do. Okay?”
“Uh…” Maddie stared at her in astonishment.
“Just one,” Natalii repeated. She gave a rueful smile. “Maman is a hard woman, driven, and always about the control. I think that even her own daughter she has difficulty finding pride in, so I do not have much sway. I do not think it wise to ask for more. So, one question. You will want this, even so?”
Maddie nodded quickly. One question with the world’s most famous designer who had never, ever spoken to the media? Was there even any debate?
Her thoughts must have shown on her face because Natalii laughed and playfully slapped her arm. “As I thought. I will arrange this. Wait here. Think of a good one, though. Careers are made of less, oui?”
And with that she was gone.
CHAPTER 17
Of Cafards and Couture
Maddie’s thoughts were chaotic and frantic. She mentally sifted through everything she’d ever read about Véronique Duchamp. She could ask about her influences, style, trends, what drew her to fashion. It all seemed too weak, too obvious. And she was no fashion journalist. She barely paid attention to what swirled around her at work. Her whole existence at Style Sydney had been focused on making sure Elena had everything she wanted. Predicting her needs.
She frowned and rubbed her forehead. Maybe that was the answer. What would Elena ask? Some question about the transcendence of seasonal trends incorporating all her lines for the last thirty years probably. In other words, a way to tie in an entire career into one article using a single quote. She could almost picture Elena instructing, in precise detail, her design team to lay out Véronique’s fashions over the years to go with it. Because Elena lived and breathed fashion and revelled in seeing the big picture.
The problem was that Maddie didn’t live and breathe fashion. And she couldn’t see its big picture if her life depended on it. This was no good. She needed something else. Something different.
A profoundly daring idea hit her. She’d either crash and burn or…
Natalii returned, her usual wry smirk cemented on her face, indicating she’d just had another run-in with her mother.
“It wasn’t easy, but she has agreed. Come, we do this now, as she wants it out of the way so she can have lunch.”
Maddie followed the younger Duchamp into an adjoining room that was ludicrously opulent. She stared at the gold fittings and brocaded chairs and felt out of place in her plain pants and linen shirt. Véronique was arranged in one of those fine chairs, stiff and ramrod straight, looking regal in a green and charcoal dress that had bits of fluff affixed to it at random places.
“So? The little cafard who kisses my daughter. Sit!” Véronique ordered.
Maddie dragged one of the heavy “court” chairs over, as the imposing designer watched. It made an awful screeching noise. Maddie finally positioned it opposite the fashion icon and settled herself.
“I’ll give you privacy to do this.” Natalii turned to leave.
“No,” Maddie said quickly. “Please stay.”
Matching eyebrows arched, as mother and daughter swung to look at her.
Maddie gave a nervous grin. “Anyway, thanks for speaking to me, Madame Duchamp…”
“Mademoiselle,” Véronique corrected. She waved her bejewelled fingers. “I am not some infernal homme’s property.”
“Oh, sorry! The stories on you never said either way. There’s nothing about your private life.”
At the designer’s indignant snort, Maddie rushed on, “Hi, anyway. I’m Maddie Gr…”
“I do not care. Je vous accorde une question. Proceed.”
Maddie licked her lips and sent a prayer to any higher beings listening that her insane gamble would work. “You must love your daughter very much.”
Véronique leaned forward, eyes flashing with outrage. “This is your question? What is this? You can ask me one question about anything, and you ask if I love my Natalii!”
“No, I already know you do,” Maddie said, rushing in. “Very much. Or you wouldn’t have let a cafard in here. So my question is, please could you explain, in detail, all the times and reasons over the years you have felt really proud of your daughter? A daughter who, I might add, you have done a wonderful job raising as an independent and strong woman with an excellent eye for design.”
It was no lie—Maddie had seen Natalii’s fashion sketches on Facebook, and she definitely had a gift.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Natalii pale and shoot Maddie a what-the-hell look.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Véronique gave a tiny upward twitch at the edges of her lips. “That would take a while.”
Madd
ie grinned. “I have nowhere else to be.” She placed her phone on her knee and hit record on the microphone app.
“Hmmph,” Véronique said. “Well then, let us start at the beginning. My Natalii was always different. She didn’t cry much as a bébé. She worked things out quite well by herself. She walked very young. And talked back to me always. I knew then that this one, she was special.” Maternal pride lit her eyes, and the designer settled back with satisfaction, as she sifted through fond memories. “Very special.”
Natalii blushed and didn’t seem to know where to look.
Maddie nodded, trying to look encouraging. “I’ll bet.”
Véronique considered her squirming daughter, and mischief danced in her eye. “At age seven, I almost gave her the new name. Athena. Now why do you think that is? And not because I have any love for the Greeks.” Her eyes became slits at the mere thought. “Non, Natalii was a heroine. Ah, it was a sight, barely in school, challenging two older bullies who had been hurting her friend. Her teacher said she had, what is it, the English words? A mean left hook.”
“Oh, non!” came an appalled moan from beside Maddie.
Véronique laughed. It was an odd sound, a sort of huffing wheeze, but unmistakable.
“You had a junior boxer on your hands?” Maddie smiled. “I’m intrigued.”
“Oh oui.” Véronique slapped her hand on her knee. “She was that and much more. Let me tell you about the time I decided we should move out to the country and live off the land. It was not perhaps the best of my normally géniales ideas. Not good for either of us—we were both so used to the modern ways.”
For the next hour, Maddie sat entranced as she learned all about the lives of the Duchamps—from their ill-fated attempt at milking cows, to the day Natalii decided she wanted to be a designer. Several times, the conversation dissolved into laughter, as mother and daughter were reminded of events long forgotten. By the time they got to the present day, the words were flowing freely.