As Copper gazed around her, a voice called her name cheerily. It was Christian Bérard, spattered all over with sky-blue paint, including blobs in his huge, tangled beard. His bright eyes, which were almost the same colour as the paint, were wicked. He carried his little white bichon frise under one arm, as always, and with the other he held the large paintbrush he had been using. ‘Copper! Where is your Anactoria?’
‘Hello, Bébé. Who is my Anactoria?’ she asked cautiously, for Bérard’s mind was a strange one and his jokes sophisticated.
‘Why, Suzy Solidor, of course.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Ah, I forget you were raised by wolves,’ he said merrily. ‘If you’d had an education, you’d know that Anactoria was the friend of Sappho of Lesbos. The very special friend.’ He rolled his protuberant eyes to make sure she didn’t miss the insinuation. ‘It’s my little Jacinthe’s birthday.’ He ruffled the dog’s curly fur. ‘I’m having a party at my studio on Saturday night. You’ll come, of course.’
‘Well – I already have a date for Saturday night.’
‘With your Russian? Ah, yes. I hear he is very jolly,’ he said with a droll expression. ‘I absolutely insist that you bring him along.’
The idea seemed a bad one to Copper. She didn’t want to mix Henry with the bohemian crowd. But she did not want to refuse, either; Bérard was Christian Dior’s closest friend. ‘I’ll ask him, I promise.’
‘And bring your pornographic little cockney friend, too. She is enchanting.’
‘All right.’
‘Bless you, my child.’ He made the sign of the cross over her with the brush, like a cardinal sprinkling holy water. She was not quick enough to avoid the shower of sky-blue paint.
‘Bébé, you’re impossible,’ she exclaimed angrily. His squeals of laughter followed her as she ran to wash it off.
Copper had warned Henry that Bérard’s parties started late, so they did not arrive until eleven on Saturday night. Henry was formally dressed, as always, in a tuxedo with a silk scarf. She was more than a little anxious about the imminent intersection of her two worlds. What Henry would think of Bérard’s crowd, and what they would think of him, were imponderables.
Pearl had come with them and was in the irritable, twitchy state that meant she hadn’t had her ‘fix’.
The studio was a cavernous place in an old block in Montparnasse and was already filled with people. Bérard had heated it to suffocation point with his stove. Most of his guests were wearing the extraordinary garments that were customary on such occasions, but Bérard himself was in his pyjamas and cigarette-ash-daubed dressing gown. Copper had seldom seen him in anything else. He bustled through the crowd to greet them, with Jacinthe, as ever, beneath one arm.
‘Welcome, welcome,’ he cried out. ‘And here is Pearl. Such a mouth. Such embonpoint. My dear, one could positively eat you. And this—’ His blue eyes popping, he dropped a mock curtsey to Henry. ‘This is surely the god Apollo descended from Olympus. Greetings, Phoebus Apollo! Here is Jacinthe, in whose honour you have come down to earth. It is her birthday. You may kiss her.’ He held the woolly little dog out to Henry.
Copper wondered how Henry was going to take to this fat, dirty artist with his extravagant manner and wild beard, who was obviously already completely drunk. She needn’t have worried. Henry appeared amused by him and kissed Jacinthe solemnly.
Bébé pulled them into the throng and began introducing them to his strange collection of friends. Most of the couturiers were in attendance, even Balenciaga – tall, darkly handsome and almost impossibly well-dressed – who seemed to be dazed by the noise and chaos around him.
The solemn Poulenc was there, as was a large, square man who turned out to be Darius Milhaud. Bérard introduced Henry to his brooding Russian lover, the ballet dancer Boris Kochno. Copper left them talking Russian together and wandered around.
A workbench was crowded with bottles of alcohol of all kinds and colours. Somebody poured her a glass of crème de menthe, which she liked, and she drifted among the crowd, half-listening to the hubbub of conversations surrounding her. Around the walls of the studio was piled an assortment of Bérard’s works, finished and in progress. There were dozens of fashion drawings, which he effortlessly produced for the couturiers and magazines. He was a favourite of Coco Chanel, as well as Elsa Schiaparelli and Nina Ricci, all of whom tolerated his notorious unreliability and frequent binges because his work had an indefinable glamour that no other artist could achieve.
Towering over the party were also some huge props for the Ballets des Champs-Élysées, which he had helped to found together with Boris Kochno, and various pieces that he was doing for the Théâtre de la Mode. Almost hidden among all this work were the oil paintings that he did for himself. Copper paused in front of a portrait of Boris, a brilliant work. Bérard was truly a prodigious artist who poured out his talent unstintingly. She wondered how long he would be able to survive this work pace with his addictions to opium and alcohol. She’d seen George Fritchley-Bound kill himself in the same way.
Well after midnight, when the party was at its loudest and most crowded, Suzy Solidor finally arrived. She was wearing a red-and-gold Chinese jacket with a high collar. She was breathtaking, Copper thought. She made her way through the crowd towards Suzy as though pulled by a magnet. Her head was swimming with the glasses of crème de menthe she had drunk.
‘Chérie!’ Suzy greeted her eagerly. They had not seen one another for some days. ‘I have missed you so much.’
‘Come, I want to introduce you to Henry.’
Suzy’s face changed. ‘I don’t want to meet that man. He’s a spy, you know that?’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘No men are good. Why have you brought him here?’
‘Bébé invited him. Don’t be jealous.’
‘But of course I am jealous. I was looking forward to being with you alone.’
Copper laughed. ‘It’s a party, Suzy.’
Suzy peered through the crowd to where Henry was talking to Boris. ‘You like these handsome brutes. Don’t you understand they just want to dominate you? Perhaps you like that. A thick pair of lips to kiss you with and a thick pair of boots to kick you with.’
‘Come and talk to him, at least. You’ll see how charming he is.’
‘I don’t wish to be charmed by him.’
Copper gave up. ‘Do you want a drink? There’s a collection of weird and wonderful bottles over there.’
‘No. I have something better. Come.’ Suzy took her hand and pulled her out of the studio and up a flight of stairs to the rooms above. There was an empty, unlit bedroom in the silent apartment. ‘Don’t turn on the lights,’ Suzy said. She locked the door and opened the curtains. A panoramic view of Paris was spread out below Montparnasse. The sky was bright with an icy full moon.
‘It’s magical.’
‘It’s midnight,’ Suzy said. ‘One half of Paris is making love to the other half.’ She produced a gold cigarette case. In it was a single cigarette. ‘Moroccan hashish. The very best.’
Copper put her hands behind her back. ‘Umm . . . I’m not sure I want to. I’ve never tried hashish before. But you go ahead.’
‘It is divine, I assure you. Why do you hesitate?’
‘Well, I’m here with Henry . . .’
‘What does that have to do with it? Does he rule your life?’
‘No, he never tells me what to do.’
‘He will start soon enough. Don’t trust him. These people – they are so arrogant, so high-handed.’
That struck a chord with Copper. ‘He is a little domineering.’
‘I hate them. They think they own one. Has he asked you to be his mistress yet?’
‘He’s asked me to be his wife,’ Copper said. She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Suzy was furious.
‘How dare he!’
‘I’m very flattered, to tell you the truth.’
Suzy ro
unded on her. ‘You’re not thinking of accepting?’
‘Not yet.’
‘“Yet?” What is this “yet”? Are you saying it is a possibility?’
‘Anything is possible,’ Copper said, smiling.
‘You have atrocious taste in men,’ Suzy said shortly.
‘Well, let’s not discuss that tonight.’
‘Then smoke hashish with me.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘Nonsense.’ Suzy lit the cigarette and sucked the smoke deep into her lungs. She blew the plume out over the prospect of Paris. ‘Come, my beloved. Smoke with me.’
Reluctantly, Copper accepted the cigarette, hoping it would soothe Suzy, and inhaled. At once, she began to gag on the thick, acrid smoke. Suzy clamped a strong hand over Copper’s mouth to stop her from exhaling. She struggled free, coughing.
‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘No, you’re not. Again.’ She offered the cigarette to Copper and made her take several more drags.
‘I can’t take any more,’ Copper choked. ‘That’s enough.’
Suzy smiled at her enigmatically as she took the cigarette back. ‘Is that not divine?’
Copper explored the strange feeling that was growing in her head, as though her brain were expanding in her skull. ‘I feel very strange.’
‘I got it from a German officer who used to come to my club. I’ve kept it for a special occasion.’
‘What if the épuration find out?’ Copper giggled. She was starting to feel disturbingly light-headed. ‘A gift from a Nazi.’
‘I didn’t say it was a gift. It had to be paid for.’
‘How?’ Copper couldn’t help asking.
‘I rendered a service.’
‘Don’t be so mysterious. What kind of service?’
‘I will show you – if you smoke it with me.’
Against her better judgment, Copper accepted the proffered cigarette and tried again. She was getting more expert at keeping the greasy smoke down. Her lungs no longer hurt. They smoked the thing between them, the room filling with the pungent, incense-like fumes. Copper felt all her anxieties and inhibitions floating away. For a while, her senses seemed heightened: every sound from the party below throbbing through her body; the air in the room like a cool caress on her skin. Then, all reality faded away. She danced silently around the room as though she had wings, her arms floating.
‘How do you feel?’ Suzy asked, dark eyes following her as she danced.
‘Like a character in a fairy tale. Or a bird. Or an angel.’
‘Now shall I show you what service I rendered the Nazi officer?’
‘If you please.’
Suzy began to slowly unfasten the cheongsam she wore. Her eyes stayed on Copper’s, and Copper felt her heart begin to pound heavily. One side of the red-and-gold garment fell aside, revealing half of Suzy’s body. She was naked beneath the silk. The moonlight silvered the curve of her breast, the firm contours of her belly and abdomen, casting into shadow her navel and loins. Suzy’s face was half-pearl, half-shadow. ‘Come,’ she said quietly. Copper felt herself drawn forward, as though she no longer had any control over her limbs. ‘I made him kneel before me. In his uniform and his shiny boots. Comme ça.’ She pressed down on Copper’s shoulders. Copper knelt submissively before Suzy, looking up. The red-and-gold dragons on the cheongsam spat fire at her, seeming to have become sinuously alive, writhing slowly and voluptuously. Suzy opened the cheongsam fully and drew Copper’s face to her loins, until the curls were brushing Copper’s lips. ‘Cet officier allemand – voici ce qu’il voulait, tu comprends?’
‘Oui,’ Copper whispered.
‘I laughed at him. But I don’t laugh at you.’ She was pressing herself more urgently against Copper’s mouth, opening her thighs. ‘For you, I feel something completely different. I want you. I give myself to you.’ She, too, knelt, and pressed her naked body against Copper’s. ‘Are you disgusted with me?’
‘No.’
‘Even when I tell you I enjoyed playing the putain?’
‘I’m not disgusted.’
‘Truly? Sometimes I am disgusted with myself.’ She kissed Copper lingeringly on the lips. This time, when Suzy’s tongue pushed between her teeth, Copper could not resist. She felt it explore her mouth, firm and strong, like everything about Suzy, filling her. Suzy’s hands moulded her breasts, slipped under her clothes, seeking her thighs. Her touch sent a thrill shuddering through Copper. She was in the coils of a dragon far stronger than she was, overwhelmed by its desire and its greed. Her own weakness was delicious to her, her body melting into honey.
Distantly, she heard her name being called. It was Pearl’s voice, on the stairs. Somehow, Copper found the strength to draw back. ‘They’re looking for me,’ she said in a shaky voice.
‘Let them look,’ Suzy hissed.
‘I have to go.’
‘No. Stay with me.’
‘I can’t.’ She rose on unsteady legs, rearranging her clothes. ‘I’m sorry.’
Tight-lipped, Suzy got up, fastening her cheongsam. ‘You are a coward.’
‘Please don’t.’
Suzy seized Copper’s face in her hands and kissed her passionately on the lips, hard enough to hurt. ‘You are mine, mine.’
But Copper could hear Pearl calling her name. She broke away, shaking her head. ‘I can’t stay. I’ll go first, you follow.’
‘There you are, Copper Pot,’ Pearl said, meeting Copper coming down the stairs. They went back into the deafening noise of the studio. ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘I went out for a breath of fresh air.’
‘In this freezing weather?’ Pearl demanded. ‘You’ll catch your death. Look, I’ve got to get back to the flat. I need a fix.’ She took Copper’s hand, which was indeed as cold as ice. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing,’ Copper replied dully. But she felt frightened and dazed. The drug was so overpowering and she was trying to hide its effects.
‘Are you sick?’
‘I’m fine,’ Copper muttered. The party was in full swing now, a carnival of music and colour. Bérard had put on one of the ballet costumes that hung around the walls – an extravagant clown’s outfit in vivid oranges and yellows – and was dancing to loud applause. His face was suffused with blood, his eyes almost closed. He was lost in his own world.
Henry pushed through the crowd to reach them. He looked into Copper’s face. ‘Copper? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Copper repeated.
‘You are very pale.’
‘Just tired.’
‘She was with that woman,’ Pearl said. She pointed to Suzy Solidor across the room, a spectacular figure with her platinum hair and her red-and-gold Chinese dress. Her eyes locked with Copper’s for a moment. Then she turned back to her conversation, her aquiline profile indifferent.
Copper swayed. Henry put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Maybe you should go home, my dear.’
Copper’s voice was dull. ‘You’re right. I’m ready to go home now.’
Copper stumbled as the three of them went out into the street. Henry had to steady her. His face was troubled. The night was bitterly cold, a sparkle of ice starting to form on metal surfaces. They had to walk down the steep, cobbled street to find a wider road where there was a chance of getting a cab. Though Henry held on tight to Copper, her shoes skidded on the ice and she almost fell twice. She said nothing. The hubbub of Bérard’s party faded away behind them and the city was silent.
‘I wish we’d never come,’ Pearl muttered angrily. Henry said nothing, concentrating on supporting Copper.
By good fortune, they found a cabbie who had started work early and set off for home.
Copper lay back in the seat, her eyes closed, her face white. She made no responses to questions. Pearl was furious.
‘She’s done something to her.’
‘Who’s done something to her?’ Hen
ry asked.
‘That dyke.’
‘You mean Miss Solidor? What has she done to Copper?’
‘Given her something. Drugged her. I know the signs, trust me.’
By the time they got back to place Victor Hugo, Copper was feeling awful. She ran to the sink in the corner of her bedroom that sat under dangling ribbons of developed negatives, and retched violently, her knuckles white as she clutched the ceramic. Her skin was clammy and cold and her face was the colour of ivory. Henry held her forehead, his other arm around her waist. Pearl got a towel and mopped her face.
When Copper had finished being sick, Henry and Pearl helped her into bed. The weird feelings in her head were starting to fade and she felt less panicky. Henry kissed her and left, looking troubled.
Pearl was angry. ‘She doesn’t give that for you,’ she said, snapping her fingers. ‘Do you really think she cares for you? She doesn’t. Can’t you see what she is – a heartless actress, making an exhibition of her perversions for money. While Henry—’
‘Don’t talk to me about Henry.’
‘He’s a good man, Copper.’
‘What would you know about him?’
‘I know a diamond when I see one. You’re going to lose him if you don’t give Suzy up.’
‘I won’t give Suzy up. I’d sooner give Henry up.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’
Copper rolled on to her side. ‘Go away. I’m going to sleep.’ She was asleep almost instantly, looking absurdly young, her red hair tumbled across her face, her bruised-looking mouth half-open.
The next day, Copper woke with a hammering headache. She felt hung-over and out of sorts all day. Henry came round to see how she was, but she was too listless to respond to him very much. She sat sluggishly staring at the floor during his visit, answering his enquiries in monosyllables.
‘What happened between you and Suzy Solidor last night?’ he asked in a quiet voice.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered.
‘Then why are you like this?’
The Designer Page 15