by Lee Winter
Maddie resumed trudging towards Hyde Park and looked up. The Véronique Duchamp tent was enormous. A zoo vehicle was parked beside it. Odd.
Maddie headed past it and found the front flap. A security guard checked her name on a clipboard and waved her through.
Maddie’s eyes grew wide when she saw all the preparations underway. It looked like a circus tent. A really trippy, fashionable, highbrow circus tent.
“Madeleeeiiinnneee!” Natalii cried out the moment she saw her, causing the heads of carpenters, set designers, and a painter to snap around. The young Frenchwoman, dressed in splotched, torn jeans and a white T-shirt, rushed up and gave her a flying hug. “You came! And only seven hours early!” She kissed her on each cheek. “Good. Maman will want to see you at once. Come with me.”
Natalii dragged her into a rear, private area, which had been adorned with a gorgeous array of red velvet chairs and had enormous sketches and illustrations stuck to all the makeshift walls. Maddie recognised them as being the designer’s dresses for the show.
“Non, non, non!” Maddie heard as she entered. “The red gown must come before any white. Are you an imbecile? And where are the models with the breasts? Hm? Why is it you send me the skin and bone children?”
Véronique’s arms were flung in the air, railing at the same man Maddie had seen in the airport footage pulling the designer’s bags. He ignored her ranting as he jotted down notes. Véronique had an unlit cigarette hanging out of her mouth, stuck to her bright-red, glossy lips, and seemed to have forgotten it was there. Her arms were ringed by a riot of bangles, and she wore a silver jumpsuit studded with coloured glass, which flashed under the light as she moved. Véronique spun around at Maddie’s arrival, and her face warmed.
“Ma chérie!” She raced over and attempted to kiss her on each cheek but became flummoxed by the cigarette in the way. She spat it out. “Filthy habit!” She smiled. “Madeleine, I loved this story you write. Already, I have so many compliments. From all over.” She waved at the entrance, as if signifying the world.
Maddie relaxed at last. “Did Perry send you both a complete set of the photos? He said he would.”
“Oui.” She stopped still and gave Maddie a thoughtful look. Her eyes narrowed. “Hmm.”
She pointed to Maddie and glared at the implacable assistant. “See? It is not so impossible? Look! Skin and bones and flesh and so joli. Beautiful. Now go! Find me this. Exactly this.” She gave Maddie’s arm a light slap.
“So hard,” Véronique said under her breath. “I try to design the dresses women want to wear. Women who want to look gorgeous. And we all have the breasts and the hips. These models? Non. Flat. Children who look like my ironing board. I need shape! Especially for dresses I have that need curves. I had the perfect model for these styles, and what has happened? Anastazie tripped on stairs on her way here. Now…” she snapped her fingers, “…like that, she is in the hospital. To get a replacement for her, you would think I ask Pascal for a field full of camels. Although that he probably could get.” She scowled for a moment, then brightened. “Now then—you are here early? What occasion is this? You missed us?” She looked hopeful.
Maddie smiled at her enthusiasm. “Yep. And I thought maybe you need some help? I mean I’m sort of between jobs now, since Elena fired me, so…”
“The Bartell woman? Pfft.” Véronique spat out the name like a curse. “Good riddance to be free of the insane one. Natalii, where are my cigarettes?”
“No!” Maddie said. “I mean, yes, she fired me, but she tried to re-hire me. Everything kind of went crazy before she could.” Her chances of getting Elena an audience with Véronique were rapidly going south. “I mean, she published my story and was so great at mentoring me. But then she knew I had to move on, so she…” Maddie faded out, realising this was possibly the least flowery endorsement anyone had ever offered. “And, um, I like her. So…”
Okay, getting worse. Uggh.
Natalii found a packet of cigarettes and passed one over to her mother while shooting Maddie a knowing look.
“Mm.” Véronique ran her finger along the cigarette and tapped it against her gold metal lighter. “And does she feel the same? Your boss that you like?”
Oh hell. Of all the questions, this was one that stumped Maddie most. She stared at the mercurial designer and wondered what to say. “God, I hope so?” Or “not like that”. Or “she’s the queen of mixed messages”.
“I’m not exactly sure.” Maddie looked down and blushed under Véronique’s scrutiny. Christ. She could hire herself out as a heater at this rate.
Véronique lit her cigarette and drew in a deep breath. Then she gave Maddie a slow, teasing smile. “Oh, Madeleine, I think there may be a secret you keep from the flower lady.” The tone was light, but her eyes were perceptive, curious.
Maddie groaned to herself. “She’s married,” she said in a whisper. “Well, was. It’s complicated. She’s not…I mean…not into women. Or me. I know it’s all kinds of pathetic. Just ignore me.”
Véronique appeared to consider that as she smoked, then shifted her gaze to her daughter, who looked more than a little interested in her mother’s reaction.
“The only thing pathetic, ma chérie, is the soul incapable of amour.” Véronique gave Maddie a stern look. “If she hurts you, though…” She jabbed her cigarette at the air in a vague threat.
“It’s…nothing. I know it’s silly. It’ll pass.” God, she was starting to tear up just thinking about it.
Véronique looked her square in the eye. “Madeleine, if the heart is involved, it is never silly. Although I do not recommend the French rugby hommes, as you know. Do not brush aside these feelings as nothing. They are real to you.”
Maddie nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “Would it be okay if I brought her to meet you tonight? After the show?” she asked, her tone tentative. “I know you don’t like meeting strangers, so it’s okay if you say no. But I was just hoping…”
Véronique’s expression became speculative. “This would make you happy, me meeting her? The Bartell woman?”
Maddie nodded.
“Why? Because it would make her happy?”
Maddie nodded again.
“Hmm.” Véronique Slid her gaze around the room. It landed on a sketch on the far wall. She stalked over to it. “This is the centrepiece of my show.” She traced the lines.
Maddie glanced at it, impressed at the beautiful flowing piece of couture. “It’s stunning.”
“Oui,” Véronique said without a trace of modesty. “Especially here.” She tapped the bodice. “And yet it accentuates a vital something les modèles lack.”
She turned and studied Maddie. “I will do the deal with you. Wear my centrepiece for me tonight, show it as I intended when my thoughts gave it life, and I will grant your Bartell woman a meeting.”
“W-what? Me?” Madeleine’s throat closed over in panic. “I’m not a model! I’ve never modelled in my life.”
Véronique gave a faint snort. “The model of this garment must do but un single pass of the runway. No more. Can you not walk only so far, pause, turn, and walk back? Are you capable of this much? Mm?”
Maddie gulped. “I don’t know. Seriously. I mean I have two left feet. What if I fall over? What if…everyone laughs. And Elena will be there, too, watching. I can’t! I’d die.”
“Madeleine,” Natalii said, “I will show you how. Maman taught me from a small girl. I know the way it is done.”
“Excellent!” Véronique clapped her hands. “It is settled. Pascal! Cancel this call for the more bosomy models. It is done.”
The assistant appeared, nodded, and disappeared again.
“Oh God.” Maddie gasped, staring at both Duchamps in horror as they gave her matching wide smiles.
“Stop looking as if the world has ended.” Natalii grinned and elbowed her. “You said you had no job, oui? Well then! We are, as you say, here to save the day!”
Maddie gave a faint, strangled mo
an.
CHAPTER 26
On with the Show
Elena settled herself into her reserved front-row seat at the Duchamp show. She looked around, taking in the colourful tent and an empty trapeze swinging from the rafters of the structure. The room was at capacity, as to be expected for the premier event of Australian Fashion Week.
She could not see Madeleine. Surely, being friends with the daughter of the designer, her former assistant could have scored herself a front-row seat? Although the seat to her right was empty, so perhaps she would be here soon. Anticipation shot through her, and she chose not to analyse it too hard. It was natural to miss a…friend.
Elena waited, her patience tested, as the rest of the crowd filled in. However, by the time the lights dimmed and the music started, there was no still sign of the world’s suddenly famous fashion reporter.
Perry, at her left, inched forward in his seat, looking excited to see what lay in store. Véronique Duchamp always had some surprises up her sleeve in her exotic shows, so his enthusiasm was well placed. In a seat two rows behind her and just to her right, Felicity fanned herself with the program. Felicity, not being an official “someone”, would never score a front-row seat at any fashion week, much to her irritation.
A shadow appeared to Elena’s right, and she turned, a little more eagerly than she’d care to acknowledge. The word finally died on her lips. Instead of her former assistant, Emmanuelle Lecoq lowered herself into the seat.
Elena offered a glittery smile. “Emma. So lovely to see you again.”
The CQ editor’s lips gave a slight twist, offering a hint of a mockery. “Elly. I believe congratulations are in order. However did you get that story?”
Her words were almost lost as the music increased in volume.
“One of my enterprising employees,” Elena replied.
A lime-green spotlight slashed a line up the stage and back. The limelight? Literally? How Véronique.
“You mean one of your ex-employees, surely? I was under the impression you fired her, almost a week ago, if industry gossip is to be believed.”
Elena frowned into the darkness, wondering who the stool pigeon was. “Madeleine wished to seek new opportunities.”
“Not quite how I heard it, dear.” A bony hand lightly patted her wrist. “If she’d been one of mine, I’d never have let her go. In fact, I even offered her a job.”
Anger surged. Elena snatched back her hand and folded it in her lap, well out of reach. The music drowned out any possibility of further talk. Elena had an irrational urge to rip the woman’s large, pretentious Chanel sunglasses off her smug face. It was night, for heaven’s sake. Instead, she gave an indifferent sniff and turned back to the catwalk, fixating on Emmanuelle’s job offer. Had Madeleine taken it?
As the first model pranced out, she returned to wondering something else. Where on earth was she?
* * *
Véronique Duchamp really did know how to put on a show, Elena decided. The zoo theme was well executed, with models in sparkling, geometric animal heads lurking and prowling around fake bushes along the edges of the platform, as other models swished along the catwalk. Nature sounds and wildlife calls could be heard behind the stirring beats.
Towards the show’s end, the purpose of the trapeze became clear when a svelte, leotard-dressed “monkey” swung down, snatched an exotic, floppy hat off one model, and, on the return trajectory, with perfect precision, plopped it on the head of the model following behind her. Neither model flinched at the aerial antics inches from their heads, while the crowd clapped its delight.
“Superb,” Perry said in an awed whisper. “I think Véronique was a Broadway choreographer in another life.”
Elena afforded him a small smile. The sweeping spotlights began to converge on one point, and a voice-over announced the pièce de résistance. Elena, Emmanuelle, and Perry all edged forward as the music built to a crescendo. Véronique always saved the best to last. She had never disappointed in three decades.
The spotlight captured and slid down a female form, revealing more and more. Her face was in darkness, but the dress was lit up ethereally. The gown was gorgeous—a swirl of wafting material so fine it seemed to flow over the body like liquid. The crowd broke into applause. All except for Elena, whose focus was on the model’s form, not her couture.
There were no jutting collar bones, angular elbows, or sharp hips. This woman had a slightly fuller shape for a model, and an actual bust. That, in itself, was both unexpected and appealing. Elena appreciated soft, subtle curves like these a great deal. The model also accentuated the fluid dress as though she and its fine drapings were always meant to be as one. The woman’s gait, however, was not precise or bold; her feet were not plucked up deliberately like a dressage horse and then drilled down. No, her walk was steady, almost leisurely, like someone strolling along the beach with a hat in one hand and not a care in the world.
Elena arched a brow. Did Véronique want the room to know: this model is you? You could wear this? Was that it? It would explain the body shape too. Elena marvelled at the cheekiness of Véronique in thumbing her nose at convention yet again.
As she watched the woman’s feet, encased in slender, white heels (Giuseppe Zanotti, perhaps?), she saw the faintest wobble they made each time the model planted her heels. They weren’t even that high. Elena stared in confusion. And then it hit her. This was not a model.
The spotlight began to rise up the woman’s body. She felt Perry stiffen beside her, suck in a harsh breath, and whisper “Ah!”
Before Elena could ask him why, the woman reached the end of her saunter and looked straight at her, just as the spotlight fully lit up the model’s features.
Elena froze at the sight of a face she had come to look forward to seeing every day. It took her a moment to process the impossible image. Why would Madeleine be on the catwalk? Was she imagining it? Before she could make sense of that, the model did the unthinkable. She smiled. It was not just any smile. But a wide smile that was as dazzling as it was out of place on any runway in the world. She seemed unaware she was even doing it.
Felicity’s horrified squeak behind her was drowned out by the collective gasp of the room at the unexpected faux pas. To her left, Perry clapped his hand over his eyes and groaned softly. It was a smile so familiar to Elena that it made her heart clench to see it again. She could only stare back in astonishment at Madeleine Grey, her ungainly, awkward, constantly embarrassed former assistant, draped in a gown so exquisite she could pass as a goddess. She looked luminescent under the beautiful lighting, her eyes shining.
Elena swept her gaze over the stunning woman. That was what she was, she now realised. Hidden under all those ridiculous grunge clothes had been a woman of such beauty she now stole Elena’s breath. She sat speechless, as she drank in the sight of her. Desire coiled inside her, sharp and dangerous, begging her for something she had never dared think about.
And she finally understood.
Madeleine was not her friend. Not like Perry. It wasn’t normal to feel this way for a friend. It wasn’t normal to want to dust your fingertips over a friend’s body and map it the way she suddenly had a burning urge to do to Madeleine’s. She savoured the sight of her. Her Madeleine. The woman she…felt deeply for.
This could never happen, a tiny voice of reason whispered to her. Of course it couldn’t. For so many reasons.
She crushed the inner voice and drank in the sight of her, clapping hard now, along with the rest of the crowd. The cold, constant ache in her heart at missing this woman so much eased for the first time in a week.
How had she ever thought she could let her go? Not once, but twice?
The roar of the crowd and its drumming, loud applause faded out, and she could only feel the blood thundering in her ears at this most unexpected development. Her lips parted for a ragged in-pull of breath, then an equally uneven exhalation, as Madeleine did a jaunty hip swish when she turned.
Breathtaking.
“Oh.”
It came from her own lips.
CHAPTER 27
Afterglow
Relief flooded Maddie. Under the spotlight, she paused, holding the pose as Natalii had shown her, her head straight, as the cameras flashed and shutters clicked. Even in the semi-darkness, she felt the presence of Elena, her gaze pinning her in place. Her former boss’s lips were parted, and Maddie’s pulse pounded even harder than it already was.
The music shifted—her cue to finish her walk. She pivoted and headed back up the runway. Maddie focused on keeping her toe straight and planted (“It is all in the toes, oui?”), leaning slightly back and sashaying her hips just a tiny bit. She’d love to have seen Elena’s reaction to that bit of sass.
A whoosh from overhead announced the trapeze “monkey” was back, and she forced herself not to react as a solid weight dropped on her head. This dazzling, blue-jewelled crown was insured for $300,000, Natalii had informed her earlier, much to her dismay. She prayed it wouldn’t slide off.
Seven more steps. Six. Five.
The crowd erupted, as Véronique stepped out from behind the curtain at the back of the runway and gave her an approving smile.
Two steps left. One.
Véronique passed Maddie, giving her a wink and…
That was it.
Safely behind the curtain, Maddie almost fell with relief into Natalii’s arms.
Two leggy Amazonian models strutted out past her to flank the designer, who was taking her bows.
“Oh God!” Maddie exhaled and kicked off her heels. “I think I had a heart attack. Or maybe I’m still having it. Am I even conscious?” She looked enviously at a nearby chair but didn’t want to risk the dress. Instead, she dropped the crown on it. A security guard rushed over to collect it.
“You were magnifique,” Natalii said. “Come with me and I’ll help you with your dress.” She pulled her forward. “Tell me everything. Did you see Elena? She saw you? Was there skyfire?”