The Designer

Home > Other > The Designer > Page 22
The Designer Page 22

by Marius Gabriel


  ‘There, my dear Copper. He has come and he has gone.’

  ‘What happened between you?’ Copper asked.

  Catherine’s fingers tightened around hers. ‘He still loves me. Nothing has changed.’

  Copper searched Catherine’s face. ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘Nothing has changed,’ Catherine repeated. ‘We had an arrangement before I was arrested, and that arrangement will remain the same – if I choose to accept it.’

  ‘What’s the arrangement?’

  ‘He will never divorce his wife. He is a Baron des Charbonneries, and he is a Catholic. Neither circumstance allows him to consider a divorce. It’s simply not done. I can be with him. But I can’t be his wife. I can’t take his name, and I can’t have his children.’

  ‘That’s hard.’

  ‘But I can have him.’ Catherine wore her crooked smile. ‘What else matters, Copper? So long as I can have him, what more can I ask for?’

  ‘She’s going to be a Catherine and a Catherinette,’ Dior said sadly, when Copper told him of this conversation.

  ‘What’s a Catherinette?’

  ‘It’s what we call a woman of twenty-five who is still unmarried. After St Catherine who was martyred for refusing to marry a pagan. On her feast day, the Paris spinsters all wear colourful hats. I could have wished a happier fate for her.’

  ‘She has love,’ Copper pointed out. ‘As she says, she doesn’t want anything else.’

  ‘They’re two strong people,’ Dior agreed. ‘They will arrange their lives the way they want to. He says you gave him the third degree. Asked him if his intentions were honourable.’

  ‘I suppose it was none of my business. I just wanted to protect Catherine.’

  ‘He said you were quite stern.’

  ‘I’ve suffered at the hands of a careless husband,’ she pointed out.

  Catherine was now strengthening, and a fortnight after this, she announced that she was going to leave Paris and go to the Dior family home in Callian, near Grasse, in the Côte d’Azur. Here, with sunshine and fields of flowers to lift her spirits, her recovery could proceed in peace. Hervé des Charbonneries would go with her and they would map out a life together.

  Copper and Dior went to see them off at the Gare de Lyon. Catherine held Copper tight in her arms. ‘Thank you, my dear friend,’ she said. ‘Come to see me.’

  ‘I will,’ Copper promised. Though still thin and weak, Catherine was no longer the frighteningly emaciated waif who had arrived at the Gare de l’Est a number of weeks earlier. There was hope in her eyes again. She and Hervé boarded the train, found their compartment, and leaned out of the window to say their last goodbyes.

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ Catherine called as the train pulled out of the station. She waved, vanishing as she had arrived, among clouds of steam.

  Dior was crying into his handkerchief as they left the platform. Copper put her arm around him. ‘We’ll see her again soon.’

  ‘My poor little Catherine,’ Dior sobbed. ‘I should have looked after her better.’

  ‘There was nothing you could have done. We’re each on our own tightrope. All we can do is pick one another up after we fall.’

  While they were making their way through the crowded station concourse, Copper caught a glimpse of a profile that was painfully familiar. At first she thought she was dreaming. She stopped in her tracks and called out over the noise.

  ‘Amory? Amory!’

  The figure paused, and for a moment she felt he wasn’t going to turn. Then he twisted his head to look at her. She found herself looking into the beautiful violet eyes of her ex-husband. Her head swimming, she left Dior’s side and pushed her way through the throng of travellers to greet him.

  ‘Hello, Copper.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were in Paris.’

  ‘I’m just passing through.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘I see you’re still hanging around with what’s-his-name.’

  ‘Dior. We’ve just seen his sister off.’ She tried to catch her breath. Seeing him again had knocked the wind out of her lungs. He looked leaner than she remembered him, wearing military khaki, his blonde hair tousled, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Have you got a moment to talk?’

  He checked his watch. ‘Sure, I have thirty minutes before my train. We can have a glass of wine.’

  She explained to Dior, who nodded sadly and went back home to recover himself alone. She and Amory made their way to Le Train Bleu, the heavily gilded and opulently frescoed station buffet. They found a quiet corner in the crowded room. Amory ordered a bottle rather than a glass of wine from a harried waiter.

  ‘You’re looking good,’ Amory remarked offhandedly, lighting a cigarette. He wasn’t showing much interest in her, his eyes roaming around the room. She had never engaged his full attention, she thought bitterly. She never would.

  ‘So are you,’ she replied. But it was only a half-truth. Now that she examined him more closely, Amory had lost a lot of weight since she’d seen him last, and while little could diminish his physical beauty, he had a gaunt look. His cheeks hollowed into caverns as he sucked on his cigarette. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

  He exhaled. ‘I’ve been at a concentration camp in Germany.’

  Copper recalled Catherine’s experiences. ‘I remember you wrote to me from there. That must have been horrible.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it’s fascinating.’ A strange light came into Amory’s eyes. ‘I’m on my way back there.’

  ‘You’re still covering the story?’

  ‘I’ve been working on it for weeks. It’s going to win me that Pulitzer.’ The wine arrived, and he filled their balloon glasses. She sipped, but he drank deeply. ‘It’s a major story. The ramifications are endless. It just goes on and on.’

  ‘What goes on and on?’

  ‘The whole thing. After I left you, I got myself assigned to a forward unit. We saw some heavy fighting. There were casualties every day; a lot of casualties. The officers were pushing us hard. We were trying to beat the Russians to Berlin. I was with the 157th Infantry Regiment when we liberated the place. It’s huge. Sprawling. We could smell it from a mile away.’ He poured himself another glass of wine. ‘The bodies were piled up everywhere: in boxcars, in the huts, in the incinerators. Not bodies – skeletons. Some of the skeletons were even walking around and talking as though nobody had told them they were dead.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to hear this,’ Copper said quietly.

  He gave her a tight smile. ‘We didn’t want to see it. But we did. We had to. Our boys, battle-hardened veterans, were crying and throwing up. The Germans were still trying to burn the last bodies when we arrived. Know what our sergeants did? They lined the SS guards against a wall and shot them. Prisoners of war, technically. The Nazis were begging for mercy, but our guys kept firing, bringing more cases of ammunition, firing again.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘The German bodies piled up in heaps.’ He lit another cigarette from the stub of the first. ‘I watched the whole thing, and I was asking myself, are we any better than the Nazis? Is this justice or savagery?’

  ‘And what’s the answer?’

  ‘The answer is, it’s humanity. Just humanity.’ He laughed. His manner was as cool as ever, but his laughter, like his face, was somehow empty, as though he’d lost something. Not just a physical presence, but something internal; something deep inside. ‘The inmates took over. We didn’t give them any weapons, so they did the job with rocks and iron bars, with their bare hands. They even killed some of the women guards – after they did other things to them.’

  ‘How could you bear to watch any of this?’ Copper asked.

  ‘It was like arriving in hell. Our boys were afraid of the inmates – those starved, shattered people, pleading for food, clawing at us for help. Our soldiers shrank away as though they weren’t human. Well, you’ve seen the photographs.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen the photographs.’

/>   ‘It got into me. Into my soul. I started to understand it. I ended up staying on while the army outfit I was with moved on. I’ve turned into a concentration camp specialist. I’m writing the definitive account.’ He leaned forward suddenly, grasping her forearm with hot fingers. His lilac eyes burned into hers. ‘The camps are vast, Copper. They swallow you up. You can walk for days and you’re still in them. Still in hell.’

  ‘Amory, this has had a devastating effect on you.’

  ‘No. It’s made a man of me.’ He let out that brittle laugh again. ‘It was the best medicine for what was wrong with me.’

  ‘And what was wrong with you?’

  ‘A lot of things,’ he replied succinctly. ‘I was drinking too much, falling into bed with every willing girl. You had been the only restraining influence in my life, and without you, I was out of control.’

  ‘Are you in control now?’ she asked, watching him anxiously as he yanked the cork out of a fresh bottle.

  ‘Sure. Absolutely.’ He poured, his eyes fixed on the glass.

  ‘I don’t like what I’m hearing. This isn’t you.’

  ‘Oh, it’s me, all right.’

  ‘You’re drinking too much.’

  ‘As soon as I get back, I’ll stop. I don’t need alcohol there.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be going back. You need a break.’

  ‘I have to keep digging. I have to get to the bottom of it all. What makes us tick. There’s always more. We hanged the camp commandant on his own gallows. I photographed that. Isn’t that a kick, huh?’ He seemed amused by her expression. ‘You’re shocked. I need to be shocked, Copper. I need the jolt it gives me. I’m interviewing a priest at the moment. He spent three years in a camp. Three years! He doesn’t want to give it up, but I’m digging it out of him. It’s great stuff.’ He finished the bottle of wine and reached for his duffel bag. ‘My train’s leaving. I have to get to my platform.’

  They said the briefest of goodbyes. As she watched him make his way out of Le Train Bleu, shouldering through the crowds, it occurred to her that he hadn’t asked her a single question about her own life – what she was doing, whether she was happy, if she was okay. She had once loved him madly, but not anymore. Too much water had passed under that particular bridge. She was indeed part of his past now, as he was part of hers. But she was aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as he vanished from sight. He had not struck her as a well man. She almost wished that she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t spoken to him.

  Copper had taken the bold step of submitting her story on Catherine Dior to Life magazine. She hadn’t expected much of a reaction. But to her shock, she received a swift response.

  Life would take the story and photographs with a number of cuts; they would also add some file photographs of the camps Catherine had been imprisoned in, and would run the story as part of a group of three ‘stories from behind the barbed wire’. She would get credit for her story, and her own byline.

  The editor who called her from the States was complimentary.

  ‘It’s good work. Do you know what Life’s motto is? “To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other and to feel.” Well, you’ve done all that, Miss Reilly – and if you can keep doing it, we’ll keep an eye on you.’

  The past weeks had precipitated many changes in Copper. Catherine Dior, in particular, had affected her deeply. Through Catherine, she’d seen how fragile life could be and how short-lived happiness could be.

  Seeing Catherine leave Paris with a man she loved but could never marry, Copper had had mixed feelings. Life was not perfect, but everyone deserved a shot at happiness. You had to take your chances. Sometimes you had to accept a compromise. And just because you’d made one mistake didn’t mean you were doomed to repeat that mistake, or live with its consequences forever.

  Seeing Amory, too, had frightened her. In this world, to be alone was a dreadful thing. It could lead one to the gates of hell.

  Copper was in bed one night, with Jacinthe emitting ladylike snores at her feet, when the telephone rang. She answered it, hoping against hope that it was Henry. It was. As soon as she heard his voice, she burst into tears.

  ‘My darling, please don’t cry,’ he said gently.

  ‘I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead.’

  ‘I am very much alive,’ he said. ‘And longing for you.’

  ‘Are you coming home?’

  ‘Not just yet.’

  ‘When will you come?’ she demanded. ‘I miss you so terribly. I worry about you. Please come back to me.’

  ‘Nothing will stop me once I am free,’ he promised. ‘But I still have things to do.’

  ‘Are you in danger?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Don’t get killed,’ she said, breaking into fresh tears. ‘I don’t want to be here without you.’

  ‘You won’t have to be, I promise.’

  ‘Come back,’ she heard herself saying, ‘and I’ll marry you.’

  There was a silence on the line and for a moment she thought they’d been disconnected. Then he said, in an altered voice, ‘Do you mean that?’

  She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,’ he said, and she could hear the joy in his voice. ‘I’ll be back in Paris in a week. I’ll arrange a registry office.’

  ‘Please keep it quick and simple!’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to give you time to change your mind.’

  What have I said? she asked herself when the call was over. What have I done?

  She replaced the receiver with a shaking hand. She’d been missing him so badly that she would have said anything to get him to come home. But hadn’t she been telling herself she was not ready for another marriage?

  There was no retracting her acceptance now. That would break Henry’s heart. She’d said the words – she wouldn’t have let them out of her mouth if she hadn’t meant them. Would she?

  She fought against her second thoughts. It was time. She’d been rattling around Paris alone for far too long, rootless and fancy-free. It was time she settled down before she ended up half-crazy, like Amory. Henry offered her so much – security, devotion, companionship. She lay back in bed, cradling the sleepy dog in her arms. She loved Henry, that much was certain, and in the end, that was all that mattered. Like Catherine Dior, if she could have her man, what more did she need? She was glad she had finally capitulated.

  Copper decided that the first person she should tell was Suzy. She went to see her the next day. For once, Suzy was out of bed before mid-afternoon and wrapped in her dressing gown. She opened the door of her apartment. Her face lit up. ‘You came, after all.’ She held out her hands. ‘Forgive me, chérie. I behaved badly.’

  Copper was moved by the expression in Suzy’s dark eyes. ‘You’re forgiven, of course.’

  Suzy kissed her on the lips. ‘I was afraid you would never come back to me.’

  ‘Well, here I am,’ Copper replied ruefully. ‘I wanted to talk.’

  ‘Don’t reproach me. I was vulgar and cruel. I showed the nastiest part of myself to you. You were right. At least now you have seen the worst. There it is, my ugly soul bared to you.’

  Copper smiled. ‘You’re never ugly.’

  ‘You’re so beautiful when you smile.’ Suzy was staring into her face.

  There was no point in delaying it any longer. She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve come to tell you that I’m going to marry Henry.’

  An icy wind cut down all of Suzy’s joy in an instant. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve agreed. He’s coming back to Paris in a week. We’ll just have a quick ceremony.’

  ‘You crush my heart.’

  ‘I don’t want to do anything so violent, I promise you.’

  ‘But you do. You can’t help it. Is this because of Yvonne?’

  ‘Oh no, of course not.’

  ‘It
is. You want to punish me.’

  Copper shook her head. ‘It’s because I love him.’

  Suzy buried her face in her hands. ‘Damn you. Nobody has ever tortured me as you have.’

  ‘Tortured you? Oh, Suzy!’

  ‘You’ve made me suffer agonies of waiting.’ She raised her face from her hands. Copper saw that Suzy was in earnest. Her face was pale, her lips bloodless. ‘And now this. I can’t bear it. There is nothing as cruel as the cruelty of beautiful young women.’

  Copper was dismayed. ‘You know I never wanted to hurt you.’

  ‘I have given up so much for you. All my affairs, all my friendships. My every thought. My every desire. Everything, sacrificed for you. And now you’re flying away from me, and it will all have been in vain.’

  ‘We’ll always be friends,’ Copper said helplessly.

  ‘I want to be more than your friend.’ As though by accident, Suzy let her gown slip open. She was naked beneath it. The warm scent of her blonde skin was intoxicating, of that smooth woman’s body that was as supple as a man’s yet had a woman’s softness; a woman’s curves. ‘I want to be yours. All of me. Did you never love me? Even a tiny bit?’

  ‘You know that I did – I do.’

  ‘Then why are you killing me like this?’

  Copper had known this would be difficult. ‘I’m so sorry. I care about you, but I can’t live alone forever.’

  ‘You don’t have to be alone.’ Suzy’s long fingers slipped behind Copper’s neck, drawing her forward. Her lips searched for Copper’s. ‘I will take care of you.’

  ‘Oh, Suzy,’ Copper whispered against the moist, warm mouth. ‘I just can’t—’

  ‘Say nothing.’ She silenced Copper with kisses. ‘Think nothing, be nothing – except mine.’ She pulled Copper on to the sofa, tugging at the buttons of her dress. Her hand slid under the fabric, her fingertips trailing along the curves of Copper’s breasts, raising the soft skin in gooseflesh.

  ‘Stop, Suzy. It’s too late for any of this.’

  ‘Don’t say it’s too late. I’m begging you, chérie.’ She poured on to Copper like a mountain lion, pinning her down on the cushions. Her warm limbs enfolded her. Suzy’s greater physical strength was thrilling, this creature who could run and swim like an athlete, but with all a woman’s grace. Her eyes had darkened as she stared into Copper’s. ‘You were only trying to hurt me, weren’t you? You don’t really mean to marry that man. Tell the truth.’

 

‹ Prev