The Designer

by Marius Gabriel

  ‘Gaston isn’t dead yet,’ Henry pointed out.

  ‘It’s dying, which is the same thing. Can you imagine trying to tell those old witches what to do? And as for the atelier – I would have to start by sacking the entire staff, and I can’t face that. I have a good job with Lelong, and it would be madness to leave it for something so uncertain. Better to be first mate on a luxury liner than captain of a sinking ship.’

  ‘You can always find an excuse not to do something,’ Copper said sharply. ‘You just don’t want to tell Lelong that you’re leaving.’

  ‘It’s true I wasn’t looking forward to that particular interview.’

  ‘I knew it!’

  Infuriatingly, he was adamant. ‘Maison Gaston is moribund, and Boussac was misguided, even perhaps méchant, to have made the proposal. I have an appointment to see him tomorrow, and I will deliver a polite refusal.’

  Saying goodbye to him after midnight, she grasped his lapel. ‘I hope you wake up tomorrow and change your mind, you obstinate man.’

  ‘Trust me. I won’t.’

  ‘He just won’t push himself forward,’ she said to Henry as they walked home. ‘Sometimes I think Tian will never get out of his rut. Perhaps he doesn’t even want to get out of his rut. He’s happy to be stuck in it forever, growing old in Lucien Lelong’s back rooms, happy with his life of parties and dinners, never taking a risk.’

  ‘You’ve just described a contented man.’

  ‘You are the last person to condone laziness, dear Henry.’

  Copper’s husband of twelve months had made her happier than she had believed possible. There seemed to be no man kinder or more loving than Henry Velikovsky, and no house more lovely than the home they had made together. Unlike her marriage to Amory, which had begun with a rush of passion and had soon cooled off into apathy and then disillusionment, her marriage to Henry just kept getting better.

  She loved his company, hurried back to him each time she was away, and found that despite herself, she pined for him when he had to travel. As for the passion, that had grown steadily. She felt loved and desired, and she loved and desired him in turn. That her husband was crazy about her was evident in everything he did. To be supported and appreciated, to be cherished and adored, these were the sexiest feelings she knew.

  It was a life filled with romance and beauty. The old house covered in vines required a staff of five persons to maintain it, including a lady’s maid, that most indispensable adjunct to a fashionable Parisienne – even one who had once been arrested for trying to overthrow the state. But Henry’s fortune covered all that amply, and it was surprising how quickly one grew accustomed to such a life. There had been a wonderful surprise – the collection of antique furniture and Impressionist paintings stolen by the Nazis had been located and returned from Germany, and now graced the house again.

  Copper looked back now on her tough upbringing in Brooklyn and her bohemian existence with Amory with nostalgia. Was that Copper really the same woman as the Countess Velikovsky, who now had a front-row seat at all the défilés de mode haute couture, who knew every designer in Paris, whose judgments were published in the great fashion magazines?

  She had kept her byline, Oona Reilly. Being a countess was a kind of play-acting, which people demanded of her even though she (and Henry) were amused by it. As Henry had said on the night they’d met, people were snobs and loved to be associated with aristocracy, even one which no longer existed outside of the history books.

  ‘My darling, I’ve had a communication about your ex-husband.’

  She felt an unpleasant shock pass through her heart. ‘Nothing bad, I hope?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He’s here in Paris. He’s asked to see you.’

  ‘When you say, here in Paris . . . ?’

  ‘He’s in a sanatorium. The director passed the message on to me.’

  ‘A sanatorium? So he’s still sick?’

  ‘They didn’t say anything about his state of health, but presumably he isn’t well.’

  ‘I see,’ Copper replied heavily.

  ‘My dear,’ Henry said. ‘I want you to know that this is your decision. If you decide not to see him, I will not reproach you. And if you decide to see him, I will not be discomposed.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  He pressed her arm firmly. ‘Quite sure. It’s up to you completely.’

  ‘Thank you, Henry. I’ll think about it.’

  Copper’s decision to see Amory was not an easy one to reach, but she felt a sense of obligation. She had, after all, been his wife for eighteen months, and she ought not turn her back on him now, even though that time had not been a very happy one.

  The Marie-Thérèse Sanatorium was set in a leafy park on the banks of the Seine. Americans who fell ill in Paris went there; and indeed, the robust nursing sister who met her, wearing a blue-striped uniform, spoke in the clear tones of the American Midwest.

  ‘My name is Sister Gibson. I’ve been engaged by Mr Heathcote’s family to provide additional care. Thank you for coming to see him.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘He was admitted after he tried to kill himself.’

  ‘Again?’ Copper felt cold all over. ‘When was this?’

  ‘A month ago. He’s still recovering from the wounds he inflicted on himself, but he’s not in danger anymore. Not from the wounds, at any rate. The danger is inside him, which is why his family suggested I contact you. He’s in the day room.’

  The day room was sunny and almost over-warm, its rows of tall windows giving expansive views of the river through the trees. There were patients and visitors seated in groups here and there. Amory was alone at a table at the far end of the room scribbling in a notebook, around which he had thrown his free arm, as though shielding what he was writing from all eyes.

  Copper had somehow got it into her mind that Amory had cut his wrists, but she saw with a shock that there was a large dressing on the side of his head. As he raised his head to look at her, she saw the dark bruising that extended over the right half of his face. The eye on that side appeared to have somehow moved position, as though he had developed a squint, and the white was flooded with crimson.

  It was all she could do to greet him with something like a composed expression.

  ‘Hello, Amory.’

  ‘Hello, Copper.’ He closed the notebook. ‘I guess it’s too much to hope that you’ve smuggled in a bottle of rye,’ he said when the nurse had left.

  ‘Only this.’ She handed him the book she had bought him at Shakespeare and Company, the English bookstore in Paris. ‘It’s the latest Steinbeck.’

  ‘Cannery Row. Another saga of hobos and idiots?’

  ‘I thought it was very good.’

  He laid it aside. ‘I’ll give it a try.’

  ‘Amory, what have you done to yourself?’

  ‘I tried to blow my brains out, but I guess my hand was shaking too much. I removed the top of my skull instead. They’ve patched me up with a metal plate.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘You might think the operation would have let a little light in,’ he went on, ‘but that doesn’t seem to have been the case. Which is why they’ve dragged you here. You’re supposed to talk some sense into me. Please accept my apologies for spoiling your Saturday morning.’

  ‘Don’t say that. I wish I could help.’

  They looked at one another. The gaze of those violet eyes was disconcerting rather than intoxicating now, the clear left one fixed on her intently, the bloodshot right eye wandering into the distance. She wondered if he had lost the sight in it.

  ‘I should never have married you,’ he said.

  She grimaced. ‘Are you blaming me for this?’

  ‘Ultimately, yes.’

  ‘And you don’t think any of it is your fault?’

  ‘Oh, I do. And I’ve tried to administer a suitable punishment. It hasn’t worked very well. But don’t worry, I’ll do better next time. Third time lucky, they s
ay.’

  Copper rose to her feet. ‘If you’ve asked me here just to tell me you intend to kill yourself, I have better things to do.’

  Unexpectedly, he gave her a lopsided smile. ‘See, now, that’s what I’m talking about. You always do that to me.’

  ‘What do I do to you, Amory?’

  ‘Make me feel foolish. Like a silly little boy throwing a tantrum. Sit down, honey.’

  ‘I never wanted to make you feel foolish,’ Copper said, sitting back down again.

  ‘But you did, right from the start. You were always more grown-up than me. More of an adult. Better at everything.’

  ‘I never said I was better.’

  ‘You didn’t have to. It was painfully obvious. I was pretending, but you were the real deal. Hell, you’re even a better writer than I am.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  He drummed his fingers on the notebook. ‘Know what used to burn me up? The way you took over from George. He’d just hand everything to you, and you’d do it effortlessly, like it was nothing. With your high school education.’

  ‘You know I had to save his bacon.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do it so damned well. I couldn’t stand you constantly showing me you were better than me.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was a competition.’

  ‘It wasn’t. You were way ahead of me from the start.’

  ‘Why are you telling me all this now?’

  ‘Because I’ve decided to be honest, if nothing else in my life. You made me see that I was a fraud. That’s why I had to hurt you.’

  ‘Are you still making excuses for your infidelities? You don’t have to anymore. They’re irrelevant.’

  ‘I’m not making excuses. It’s the truth. I tried to break your spirit.’

  ‘Well, you almost succeeded,’ she said.

  ‘You flatter me,’ he said dryly. ‘I never came close. I slept with every woman who came near me. It made you stop loving me, but it didn’t break you. You know what the problem was? I loved you.’ He paused. ‘I still do.’

  This was a line of talk that she emphatically did not want to pursue. ‘A long time has passed, Amory.’

  ‘A long time,’ he agreed, nodding his bandaged head slowly. ‘After Brussels, I started work on my article again. I still thought the reason I had the breakdown was the horror I was witnessing. It wasn’t. It was the realisation that I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t up to the job. It was too big for me. I didn’t have the strength and I didn’t have the talent.’

  ‘I always had faith in your talent.’

  ‘Ah, the burden of that faith,’ he replied ironically. ‘We should never have come to France. My father offered me a job in the bank. But I wanted to spread my wings. All the way through college, they all told me how wonderful I was. The girls, the professors, you. It took marriage to you to show me that I wasn’t a genius.’

  ‘Because you claim I made you feel inferior?’

  ‘The term the shrinks use is “emasculated”.’

  Despite her compassion for him, she felt anger burn inside her. ‘I never tried to emasculate you. I did everything I could to support you and encourage you.’

  Amory’s gaunt face twisted in that crooked grin again. ‘You always had a temper to go with that flaming red hair.’

  ‘And you always had an excuse for everything you did wrong,’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m not going to sit here and listen to you put the blame on me for everything that’s gone wrong in your life. You made me very unhappy. The fact that you made yourself miserable in the process isn’t my fault. You want my advice, Amory? Go back to the States and take that job in the bank. It’s not too late.’

  He pointed to his bandage. ‘You think the investors will be impressed by a guy with a hole in his head?’

  ‘Get a wig,’ she said shortly. ‘Wear a hat. Use your imagination.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Tell me about this husband of yours.’

  Copper felt the cogs of her mind engage against the idea of exposing her happiness with Henry to Amory’s nihilist scorn. ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’

  ‘He’s that good, huh? Or is he that bad?’

  Copper gathered her things. ‘I’d better go.’

  His laughter dried up. ‘Don’t leave. I’ll stop being a jerk.’

  ‘I don’t think you will.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. I should get back to my novel anyhow.’ He opened the notebook and flipped through the pages. Copper saw that they were covered with doodles in red ink. There were no lines of text, only staring faces and meaningless scribbles. ‘This is my best work yet,’ he said with a skewed smile.

  As she left the day room, Copper reflected that Amory was right in one thing he had said, at least. He was still essentially a child, while she was an adult. If she had felt that way two years ago, she felt it even more now. She had grown up, and she was married to another grown-up, who behaved like an adult and treated her like an adult.

  ‘How was your visit?’ Sister Gibson asked Copper at the door.

  ‘I don’t know whether it had the effect you wanted,’ Copper replied.

  ‘Maybe it did. There was a lot he needed to get off his chest.’

  ‘I hope he recovers from the wound.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you say he has more than the one wound?’ Copper looked into the nurse’s china-blue eyes, wondering what tales Amory had told of her cruelty. Sister Gibson smiled. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes. I’ll tell the family you came. They’ll be pleased, I’m sure. Good day, Mrs Velikovsky.’

  Sixteen

  ‘I’ve done something stupid,’ Dior said.

  Henry poured him a glass of wine. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Dior took the glass, but he was too agitated to drink it. He paced the carpet in distress, his face pale. ‘I went to see Boussac. About Gaston, you know. I went in there determined to refuse his offer. But—’

  ‘You said yes instead!’ Copper exclaimed.

  ‘I did something far worse. I told him I wanted my own couture house, under my own name.’

  ‘Tian!’

  ‘It all just burst out of me. I told him it was time for a change, that the old fashions were as dead as the dodo. I said there was no use trying to breathe life into a corpse, and that we had to go back to the highest traditions of French couture or go under forever.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He asked what else I wanted, in a very ironic tone. I told him I wanted the best workers in Paris, making the most luxurious clothes for the best-dressed women in France.’

  Copper was listening with bated breath. ‘And then?’

  ‘He told me that this wasn’t what he had been thinking of at all. He said my plan was overambitious. And then he showed me out.’

  Henry refilled his glass. ‘At least you told him what you wanted.’

  ‘What if he thinks it over – and agrees?’

  ‘Then you’ll be made.’

  ‘Oh, my God. Then I’ll be finished, you mean.’

  ‘He must have finally snapped after all the years under Lucien Lelong,’ Copper said to Henry when Dior had left.

  They were in their bedroom and she was rolling her stockings down her slim legs. Henry had been watching her with smoky eyes while he undressed. ‘Stop.’

  She looked up. ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Just don’t move. You’re so beautiful.’

  ‘With my stockings half off?’

  ‘I want to remember this moment for ever.’

  Copper smiled, pausing in her undressing. ‘What’s so special about this moment?’

  ‘Every moment with you is special. But sometimes it strikes me—’

  ‘What strikes you, my dear?’

  ‘How very beautiful you are. That you are here with me. That you are mine at last. The miracle of you. All that is astonishing to me. And when that thought strikes me, I want to take a moment out of time and hold it forever, so it can never be lost.’ He came to kneel in front
of her. ‘I can still hardly believe that you’re my wife.’

  ‘Well, I am. I promised never to run away again.’

  ‘Are you happy with me?’ he asked as he slipped her stockings all the way down to her ankles with deft fingers.

  ‘I’m blissfully happy, Henry. You must know that.’

  He took the diaphanous nylons off her slender feet. ‘There is nothing that I could improve on?’

  ‘You exceed all my expectations constantly.’ She ran her fingers through his hair. ‘You’re not worrying about anything – anybody – are you?’

  He kissed the delicate veins of her ankles with warm lips. ‘I want to make you happy.’

  ‘No man – or woman – has ever made me feel the way you do,’ she said tenderly. ‘If you’re worrying about Suzy, she never gave me the happiness you do. You give me heaven. If I’d known how happy you would make me, I would never have left you at the altar like that. I’d have shouted “Yes, yes, yes” and dragged you home to bed.’

  ‘That would have been a happier end to the day,’ he admitted.

  ‘You’ve never told me how you felt after I left you standing in the cathedral.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘I felt like a man who’d had the gates of paradise shut in his face.’

  She groaned. ‘Did you hate me very much?’

  ‘Not for one moment. I hated myself. I knew the fault was mine. And I knew I had to get you back somehow – or never be happy again.’

  ‘I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was very frightened.’

  ‘And I was too sure of myself. I’ll never make that mistake again.’

  ‘Do you understand why I ran?’

  ‘You thought I would take away your freedom.’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t realise that you were giving me freedom – the freedom to live my life the way I wanted to; the freedom to express myself. Henry, I can’t think when you’re doing that,’ she whispered.

  ‘You don’t need to think,’ he said, kissing her thighs. ‘This is a moment we’re stealing from time. It’s ours forever.’

  ‘But you’ll have to stop if you want to finish this conversation.’

  He smiled up at her. ‘What else is there to say?’