by Rosie Clarke
I had brought a few addresses with me, of course, but I wanted to research the market thoroughly before I got down to establishing contacts. And there was a showroom I wanted to visit this very afternoon. I had particularly liked their designs, which appeared to be on the rails of all the best shops, and the showroom was situated right here in the centre of the city – just off one of the fashionable avenues leading from the Champs Elysees.
There was a lively feel to the fashions I had seen. The French clothing industry seemed to have thrown off the effects of the war much more easily than we had at home. Of course, some of the fashion houses had continued to function right through the war, making haute couture clothes for wealthy patrons – including the ladies who had visited escorted by German officers.
I knew feelings still ran high in certain quarters over this, but as far as I was concerned the war was over. Now that I had had a good look at the clothes on sale in France, I was all the more determined to have some of their merchandise on sale in my shops if I possibly could.
I had by now decided to turn Philip’s offer down, even if he would agree to change that clause in the contract. After careful thought, I had come to the conclusion that it would not suit me to be in business with him. Besides, before I left on this trip, Sol had offered to finance a shop in Oxford Street for me.
‘If you want to move up there, why not have your own business?’ he had suggested. ‘I can lend you the money, Emma. I’m not talking about a little shop like the others … I mean a large store selling everything from underwear to shoes.’
‘That would need a lot of money,’ I’d said, looking at him uncertainly. ‘It’s what I really want, Sol. I’d thought I would have to wait a few years, then sell those I already have but if you’re sure …’
‘I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t,’ he said. ‘Let me write to the lawyers, tell them you are not prepared to accept the contract as it stands. We’ll let Matthews down lightly. He won’t be best pleased when he discovers what you’re going to do – but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’
I put the inevitable meeting with Philip Matthews out of my mind. I would have to tell him personally, of course, but I would invite him to dinner at the house so that Sol could be with me. I suspected that Philip might have a temper when it was roused.
For the moment, I was more concerned about making contacts with manufacturers in France. I left my taxi outside the showrooms of Marie Bourdeille, and paused to look in the window before entering. As I did so, I heard a terrific row going on inside, then the door was opened and a young woman was thrust out of the door. She caught the heel of her shoe on the step, and would have fallen had I not moved swiftly to support her.
Without looking at me, she turned to glare at the much older woman who had pushed her out and let loose what could only be a torrent of abuse. It was answered in kind, and the older woman spat at her, then slammed the door in disgust.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked once the door was closed. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle. I am sorry, but my French isn’t good enough to ask whether you were hurt or not …’
She looked at me, and smiled suddenly. ‘I’m English, well, at least, my father was. My mother was French, that’s why I speak the language so well … I can swear like a trooper! And that bitch in there got what she was asking for.’ Her cheeks went red. ‘Forgive me for being rude, and thank you for helping me. I might have hurt myself – not that she would care. She would rather I was dead, then she would could get away with stealing my work.’ She spoke with a slight French accent, but her English was perfect. ‘But I’m not going to let her have those designs for nothing. Either she pays or I’ll make sure she’s sorry …’
I stared at her in surprise. ‘Stealing your work – are you a dress designer?’
‘Yes, and a good one, despite what she thinks!’ She looked angry. ‘I sent her three designs last Christmas. She returned them to me, said they were not professional enough for her to use in her workshops – and now they are selling all over Paris.’
I felt a tingling of excitement at the base of my spine. ‘What were they like? Was one of them, by any chance, a full skirt, ankle length with a plain top, and a little jacket to match the skirt?’
‘Yes … how did you know that was one of mine?’ She looked surprised. ‘She wouldn’t have told you – she denies ever having seen my sketch.’
I studied her for a moment in silence. She was a pretty girl of perhaps twenty with honey-blonde hair, which she wore dragged back into a chignon, and green eyes.
‘I didn’t know – but it was the style I liked best of all Marie Bourdeille’s designs. I was about to order six of each size for my shops – but now I don’t think I want to do business with her very much.’
‘Her clothes sell well,’ the girl said and frowned. ‘I’m Francine White, by the way. You shouldn’t let me put you off buying from the old … well, what I mean is, she is one of the best designers in the middle price range.’
‘But if you designed the set I liked best …’ I smiled at her as my idea began to take shape. ‘Why don’t I buy you a drink, Francine? My name is Emma Reece and I have something to suggest to you …’
‘Did you say you had a dress shop?’ she asked, a flicker of interest in those green eyes. ‘Only, I thought I might try for a job in London, working in a dress shop. I could work on my designs in the evenings, and maybe I can find someone to take a few of them in London. Someone who will actually pay me for them. That mean old … so and so … didn’t have to steal them. I was only asking a few pounds. It wouldn’t have hurt her to pay me something.’
‘I think I can do better than give you a job as a sales assistant,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and have that drink, Francine, and I’ll tell you what I have in mind …’
I was feeling very pleased with myself as I entered the hotel that evening. Francine had not yet agreed to design exclusively for me, but she was considering it. She had agreed to come to London very soon, and I had promised to show her the showrooms and workshops. Francine was obviously ambitious. I suspected she was playing hard to get, which wasn’t surprising after the way she had been treated, but I was confident of talking her round once she got to know me.
‘Oh, Madame Reece,’ the receptionist said as I went to the desk to collect my key. ‘Your room has been changed. Here is your key.’
I looked at the number and frowned. ‘But this is on the top floor. I don’t understand. Why has the change been made? My single room was adequate. I don’t need a suite.’
‘But your husband arrived this afternoon, madame. He asked for the change.’
‘My husband …’ I was very surprised. I had not expected Jon to come out and join me. Indeed, when I left London he was still in Cornwall. He must have returned and flown out to be with me. ‘I see.’ I smiled at her, feeling pleased. ‘Thank you. I didn’t realize he was coming.’
‘He ordered flowers and the best champagne,’ the receptionist went on. The expression in her eyes told me that she thought it was all very romantic.
I nodded and smiled but said nothing as I went on by and into the lift. Jon was being very extravagant. Maybe he had something to celebrate. He might have found a house he liked – or perhaps he had sold another of his plays.
I unlocked the door of the suite and went in, feeling astonished as I saw its opulence. There were sumptuous sofas, gleaming glass tables, and a huge display of exotic flowers, also a basket of fruit and champagne cooling in an ice bucket. This wasn’t like Jon, even if he had sold a play. Fifty pounds wasn’t going to pay for all this! What on earth had got into him?
‘Jon …’ I called as I laid my shopping down. ‘Where are you, darling?’
I could hear water running away. It sounded as though he had been having a bath. I went through to the bedroom, and looked in the wardrobe. My clothes had been moved from the single room and were hanging neatly on the rail.
A man’s shirt lay on the bed, and there were toilet arti
cles strewn beside it. A pair of large scissors were on the bedside table, and some cufflinks. I frowned as I saw them. Were they Jon’s? I certainly hadn’t seen them before. He must have bought them recently.
I took a thin dressing gown from the wardrobe, then began to remove my blouse and skirt. It had been a warm day, and I had spent most of it trudging round the streets. I could do with a wash when Jon had finished in the bathroom. I slipped off my things, and put the robe on, turning as the door from the bathroom opened.
‘Jon … this is a surprise …’ The words died on my lips as I saw who had walked in. He was wearing a silk dressing gown in a rather lurid pattern of crimson and gold, and he wasn’t my husband! Instinctively, I held my robe more tightly around my body. ‘Philip! What are you doing here? I was told my husband …’
He gave me what passed for a smile, but struck me as being more of a sneer. ‘I thought you would rather I pretended to be your husband, Emma. For the sake of discretion. No one has to know any different while we’re staying here.’
‘Oh, yes, they do,’ I said, and walked towards the telephone. ‘I’m going to ring for reception immediately and tell them to move my clothes back where they belong. How dare you do this, Philip? You had no right … no right at all!’
‘I thought it would make you laugh,’ he said, looking a little annoyed. ‘Surely you can see the advantages?’
‘I see none for me.’ I glared at him. ‘I have no intention of sharing a room with you – or a bed!’
‘Come on, be nice,’ he said, his voice soft and persuasive. ‘It isn’t so very different from the arrangement you had with Sol, is it? Or that American you went around with during the war …’
‘Sol is my friend and my feelings for Jack are none of your business.’ I felt cold and a little sick. This was a shock and not a pleasant one. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get changed and pack my things.’
‘You weren’t like this when we talked before,’ he said, eyes narrowing, expression sulky. ‘I thought you understood this was part of the bargain?’
‘You forgot to mention it,’ I said, my tone crisp and cutting. ‘Just as you forgot to mention the exclusion clause. As it happens, I have decided not to go through with the contract, Philip. Even if I had wanted to be your partner, this would have changed my mind. I am not and never will be interested in you as a man – you aren’t my type.’
‘Well, that’s a shame,’ he said, ‘because you are very definitely mine. I’ve made this trip for your sake, Emma – and I don’t intend to lose out on my investment.’
Something in his tone put me on my guard. I had seen that look in a man’s eyes before: it was the kind of look Richard had had sometimes … the times when he had come close to raping me in our marriage bed. I backed away, looking for an avenue of escape.
There was no point in screaming. Even if someone heard, it might be ages before anyone came to investigate. As far as the management were concerned, this man was my husband. They would think long and hard before interfering.
‘Don’t you dare to touch me,’ I said, trying not to give way to fear. Men like this one enjoyed seeing fear in a woman’s eyes: it gave them a feeling of power. I saw him for what he was now. What on earth had ever made me consider the idea of going into business with him? I had been a complete fool! ‘If you do …’
‘What will you do, Emma? Scream? There’s no one to hear you up here. If they did, they would turn a blind eye. The French are very understanding of these things … they know women like you scream when they are enjoying themselves.’
What did he mean, women like me? I was beginning to feel very frightened, but I knew I had to hide my fear.
‘Keep away from me, Philip. I’m warning you …’
‘I’m stronger than you.’ He was sneering at me, so confident of his power to persuade or bully me into doing what he wanted. This wasn’t the first time he had forced a woman to obey him. ‘When I’ve finished with you, you’ll never want another man near you … little whore. I know how to make women like you crawl …’
I gasped, feeling the fear shoot through me as I saw the expression in his eyes. He wasn’t like Richard. Richard had been tortured by his jealousy – this man was evil, mad!
He made a grab at me. I struggled and pushed him off. He hit me across the face twice, so hard that I tasted blood in my mouth – then punched me in the stomach. I fell to the floor in a heap, retching. I was terrified, but also angry. No man had ever done that to me, and I didn’t intend to let this one get away with it.
Before I could move, Philip dragged me to my feet and pushed me so that the backs of my knees were against the bed. I could feel my legs giving way, and knew that once I was trapped beneath his weight, I would have no chance of getting away. That wasn’t going to happen. Self preservation made me throw off my fear. I gave a yell of rage and went for his face with my nails, scratching his cheek so hard that the blood ran. He jerked back, staring at me in disbelief and cursing.
Then, before he could attack me again, I darted forward and caught up a pair of scissors from the table beside the bed. He had clearly been using them earlier, and the sharp blades were open wide. I held them in my hand, prepared to stab him to the heart if necessary.
‘Come any closer and I’ll kill you, Philip,’ I said, hardly knowing what I did. ‘I swear I’ll kill you.’
I could see he did not believe me. He tried to reach out for me and I plunged the scissors into the fleshy part of his upper arm. He gave a yell of pain and sprang back, clutching the deep wound.
‘You bloody bitch,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll make you pay for this.’
‘I warned you,’ I said, standing my ground. I was fighting for my life, a tigress. I could see the blood dripping from his arm into the carpet. ‘Get out now, or I’ll put these through your chest next time.’
‘You’re mad,’ he said, but he was backing away, believing me capable of carrying out my threat. At that moment he was right to believe it. The tables had turned; he was afraid of me now, his face white with disbelief. I doubted that any woman had ever stood up to him before, and it had shocked him. ‘You led me on …’
‘No, I never did that,’ I said. ‘You led yourself on. You’re not my type, Philip. I don’t even want to work with you. You make me sick to my stomach. Now get out of here, before I decide to stab you again. I’m going to pack my things, then I’ll be gone. You can come back and collect yours later.’
‘But I’m wearing my dressing gown …’ His voice carried a whine now, as if he were about to burst into tears. Like most bullies he was a coward underneath. ‘You can’t turn me out …’
‘Just get out …’ I lifted my arm threateningly. ‘I mean it, Philip.’
‘I’ll ruin you, Emma Reece,’ he muttered sulkily. ‘You won’t get away with this, believe me. I’ll ruin you and Solomon Gould. By the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t have a penny left between you …’
I dashed at him with the scissors and he bolted, out of the bedroom and through the sitting room into the corridor. I bolted the door behind him, then went back into the bedroom and put the double lock on the door. Then I slumped down on the edge of the bed. I was shaking, the dizziness sweeping over me. All at once, I felt the vomit rise in my throat and I made a dash for the bathroom, retching over the toilet as the bile spilled out. Afterwards, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth.
The horror of what had just happened was churning inside me. If Philip had not left those scissors on the bedside cabinet, he would have succeeded in raping me. Without a weapon to defend myself, I would probably not have been able to prevent him from carrying out his threats. The thought made me vomit again, and I leaned against the basin feeling weak.
I stared in the mirror on the wall, seeing my pale reflection. The things he had said to me kept running through my head, making me feel ill. Even though he had not succeeded in carrying out his threats, I felt dirty, violated. He was depraved, evil!
; Suddenly, I could not wait to get out of the hotel. I ran into the bedroom, swept my clothes into my cases, picked up the bag containing my documents and money and rang for the porter.
‘Are you leaving, madame?’ the receptionist asked, sounding surprised.
‘Yes. I’ll pay for the room I booked, the suite will be paid for by Mr Matthews. That man was not my husband. He attacked me. I want a taxi waiting for me when I come down, and have my bill ready – otherwise I shall leave without paying. And I may ask my lawyer to take action against you for moving my things without my permission.’
‘Not your husband …’ She sounded shocked. ‘But he said …’
I slammed the receiver down on her. Anger had replaced the fear. I was furious with the hotel for moving my belongings without checking with me first, disgusted with Philip Matthews for his vile behaviour – and angry with myself for having fallen into his trap.
Sol had been right to warn me – and so had Jack. I only wished I had listened.
My face looked a mess. I glanced at my reflection in my compact mirror as the taxi drew up outside my home. I had applied powder but there was no way I could hide the dark bruises on my cheek, and I was still sore from being punched in the stomach. I could hide that, but how was I going to explain my looks?
I paid my taxi and went into the house. Mrs Rowan came out to greet me, the words dying on her lips as she saw my swollen lip.
‘Oh, madam,’ she cried. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I had a little accident,’ I said. ‘It’s all right. Nothing serious. Please don’t make a fuss.’
I left her staring as I went through into the sitting room. There was no point in hiding myself away. I might as well get it over with.
When I went in, I discovered that Jon was with Sol. They were having a drink and laughing over something, but as they turned and saw me, the laughter was silenced.
‘What happened?’ Jon asked. ‘You’ve been hurt, Emma …’