Luke beamed. ‘I’m pleased you like the display, Jean-Louis, and it seemed to me that the pictures somehow looked more dramatic in black and white, don’t ya think?’
‘Fantastic, mon ami, fantastic.’ He turned around as M walked into the studio and he went to greet her. Jean-Louis took her hand, bent over it, kissed it and gave her a warm smile. ‘It is nice to see you again. So many congratulations, the photographs are incredible.’
‘It’s the clothes really, monsieur,’ she replied, meaning this. ‘You and Luke are the true geniuses here, not me.’
‘Ah, flattery, mademoiselle, flattery,’ the Frenchman murmured, charmed by her, his dark eyes twinkling. He liked her a lot, had taken to her instantly when they had met a few days ago. He knew Kate was correct about her. She would be a star. And his muse, his inspiration. Her style and class were incomparable.
Kate was thrilled with the blow-ups. Taking hold of Luke’s arm she walked him forward, so they were standing directly in front of them. ‘What do you think about using these very same blow-ups in the Madison Avenue store? Mid-December, through into the New Year? They’d make a wonderful display.’
‘You and Jean-Louis know best, Kate, and I guess they would lead into the new collection—you’ll be showing it in late January in Paris, right?’
‘Absolutely, and by the way, we want you to photograph this new collection, Luke, but we’ll talk about that later. Right now I have to settle things with M.’
‘She’ll want you to use Blane’s, you know. She has a loyalty to them.’
‘No problem, none at all. But she told me yesterday that she’d like to have all of the details herself first, before we got in touch with Blane’s. Apparently she has a sister in London who owns a boutique, and she wanted to discuss our terms with her, before Blane’s got involved.’
Luke couldn’t help laughing. ‘That’s not surprising,’ he finally said, still chuckling.
Kate looked at him curiously. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because Caresse has always said that M is a tough cookie when it comes to business. Don’t misunderstand me, though—she adores M; but then everyone does.’
‘I can see that, and I understand why, she’s a genuinely very nice young woman. And I can’t say I blame her, wanting to have her older sister, a businesswoman, as a sounding board.’
A short while ago, Kate Morrell had taken Jean-Louis Tremont to Kennedy to catch the night flight to Paris. But before leaving the Farantino Studios, she had conferred with Luke and M for a few minutes. Something of a mover and shaker in the world of fashion, she was a decisive person. And once she had made up her mind about a project, she always forged ahead, undeterred, her heart set on accomplishing her ends. In this instance her aim was to make M famous before the January collections.
She explained this to M and Luke, and then told M, ‘I need you to come to the shop tomorrow, because we have to take all of your exact measurements. Jean-Louis has already designed part of the new spring/summer collection, the rest he is now going to build around you. And naturally the clothes must fit you perfectly.’
Addressing Luke she had gone on, ‘And I would like you to be there at the same time, Luke, because Jean-Louis and I want you to photograph some of the prêt-à-porter line, on M, of course, because we do very well with our ready-to-wear collection. Together we will select the pieces.’
They had both agreed to be at the Madison Avenue store at two o’clock, and Kate had been as pleased as they were, obviously delighted they were so cooperative.
Now Luke stood alone in the studio. The overhead lights were out, and it was in darkness except for the three high-intensity spotlights focused on the six blow-ups of M. She had gone home and Caresse was cleaning up the kitchen, and he had wandered in here to turn off the spotlights, but had been momentarily captivated yet again.
Even though he said so himself, it had been an inspired idea to present the photographs like this. The blow-ups had blown Jean-Louis away, to coin a phrase. As if he had needed convincing, the designer had been enchanted by Frankie’s pictures of M when he had first seen them in Monte Carlo.
Luke sighed under his breath, thinking of Frankie, missing him, as he did every day. What a needless death it had been. A fatal crash on the Grande Corniche because Frankie, as usual, had more than likely been driving too fast; but there was no doubt in his mind that the driver of the other vehicle had been speeding as well. How often had he warned Frankie to slow down? He had never stopped worrying about Frankie’s racing driver mentality—Frankie loved whizzing along at high speed, regardless of anything else.
Moving forward, Luke turned off one of the spotlights and suddenly the whole mood of the studio was altered. Shadows were thrown across one of M’s blow-ups, gave her an eerie, ghostlike appearance. Luke shivered, goose flesh prickling his neck, and for a reason he did not understand he had a sudden premonition of disaster looming. Startled at himself, he tried to push this irrational feeling aside, but found he could not.
Luke turned off the second light, and was about to kill the last spot, but he didn’t. Instead he gazed up at the ten-foot-tall M in the glamorous black evening gown, and thought how extraordinary she looked. She was one of the most photogenic women he had ever worked with, and he knew at this moment that she would be a big star in the fashion firmament: Kate Morrell would see to that. But this was a dangerous world, full of temptations of all kinds, from excessive praise, ego-pumping accolades and extensive press coverage, to sudden celebrity, partying and frequently soul-destroying drugs. Many a great model had taken a tumble.
He breathed deeply, blew out air, reminding himself that M was practical, businesslike, and down-to-earth. He was as positive as he could be that she would remain very much herself, and yet he still felt chilled to the bone, beset by troubling thoughts of the future…
TWENTY-ONE
M was not only frustrated but worried. And on the verge of becoming really angry. For the past few days she had been unable to reach Larry. Quite simply, he wasn’t responding to her messages or returning her calls, and she couldn’t imagine why. She just didn’t understand what was going on with him.
She sat on her bed in her room at Geo’s, staring into space, her mind racing, her mobile in her hand. And then she checked her watch for the umpteenth time. It was just eight thirty on Saturday morning. Five minutes ago she had tried to get him on his mobile, but it was turned off. A moment later she had dialled the Four Seasons Hotel in Toronto and asked to be put through to Mr Laurence Vaughan’s room. The phone had just rung and rung, and she had finally ended the call in exasperation.
She bit her lip, wondering what to do, and then realized there was nothing she could do. Anyway, he was coming back to New York later today, after two weeks in Toronto with his father.
Edward, unfortunately, had arrived a week ago, sooner than expected, and the mere idea of this troubled her. No wonder we kept playing telephone tag on Monday, she now thought. Edward is probably giving Larry a hard time, taking it out on him, because he was forced to fly to Canada by their mother so that Larry could leave. Seemingly, Edward usually had better fish to fry when it came to being a good son.
So why had he arrived sooner than expected? Don’t even go there, she told herself. She stood up, pushed her phone into the pocket of her jeans and went downstairs to the kitchen.
Her mind remained focused on Larry as she made coffee. The first week he had been in Toronto they had spoken twice a day, but since last weekend they had been out of touch. Perhaps Larry wasn’t responding because there were problems with his father after all. She considered this for a moment and dismissed it, chided herself for being stupid. Larry had told her that his father was in good shape and perfectly normal, so his sudden silence was much more likely to have something to do with the arrival of his brother.
The thought of Larry exposed to Edward filled her with dismay. But he was due back this afternoon, and she would soon know everything, and things would normaliz
e. In the meantime, she would just have to be patient. And she wasn’t going to phone him again either, because she didn’t want to be perceived as a nuisance. She knew she would hear from him the minute he arrived at the Beekman Place apartment, there was no doubt in her mind about that.
Taking her mug of coffee over to the table near the window, M sat drinking it, acknowledging to herself that she was a little disappointed she hadn’t been able to share all of her good news with her fiancé. Fiancé. Yes, that’s exactly what he was, and soon he would be her husband. Her thoughts turned to their marriage; she was well aware she would have to tell him who she really was before they went to City Hall to ‘tie the knot’, as he called it. If she married him under an assumed name it would not be legal. She wondered what he would say when she told him her name wasn’t Marie Marsden…
‘Hi, hi, hi!’ Geo exclaimed from the doorway in a cheerful voice, and came bouncing into the room full of energy and vitality, a bright smile on her face.
‘Good morning—you’re in good spirits,’ M answered, smiling back. ‘I just made coffee a few minutes ago, so it’s nice and fresh.’
Geo nodded. ‘I’ll come and join you…Incidentally, James stayed over last night, so don’t be surprised if he comes wandering in shortly.’
‘It’ll be nice to see him,’ M replied, meaning this.
As she poured herself a mug of coffee, Geo announced, ‘I have some great news.’
‘You’re engaged to James,’ M asserted, hoping this was true.
‘No, not yet.’ Geo sat down opposite M, leaned over the table and added, ‘But if he asks I’m going to say yes.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it, and I’d kill you if you didn’t. And so what is your news?’
‘I got a call last night from Annette Lazenby. She’s alive and kicking. And in Rome! What a relief it was to finally hear from her.’
‘I bet it was, and did she fill you in? Tell you why there has been such a long silence?’ M asked, suddenly riddled with curiosity about a woman she barely knew.
‘She did. She said she’d had a bad case of bronchitis, and was really sick. I think it was only because of James’s intervention that she got out safely.’
‘I didn’t know he’d intervened,’ M said, looking surprised, the expression in her eyes puzzled.
‘Sort of…he called someone he knows, who’s now based in Pakistan, and asked him to do a bit of checking.’ Geo shrugged, rolled her eyes. ‘That’s all I know. James didn’t tell me anything else.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he? And I bet he’s a good man to have in a crisis. I think men like James usually operate on the premise that the less one knows about something problematical, the better off one is. Don’t you agree?’
‘I do, yes.’ Clearing her throat, changing the subject, Geo said, ‘So, from the few little tidbits you’ve thrown my way, I think you really did get your first break, didn’t you, M? It’s a big break, isn’t it?’
M grinned. ‘I’m happy to tell you that it is, and I’m thrilled. Thanks to Luke and his photographs I’m going to be under contract to Jean-Louis Tremont. I’ll be doing the January and February shows for him in Paris.’
‘Congratulations!’ Geo exclaimed; she instantly jumped up, went around the table and hugged M. ‘I’m very happy for you, I really am. You deserve this chance.’
‘Geo…there’s something I have to tell you…I’ll be giving up my room in December. I’m going to be living in Paris…’ Her voice trailed off a little sadly, and she stared across the table at Geo, then sighed. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘But it’s all right, honestly it is,’ Geo assured her. ‘I’ll miss you, of course. But I have a feeling I’m going to be with James permanently, whether we marry or not, and I believe he’ll want to live here with me. Alone. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think I’m going to be a landlady any more, not after you leave.’
‘But what about Annette?’ M asked, a brow lifting.
‘She indicated she may be going to live in Rome, although she didn’t explain why. I’m just glad she’s safe.’
Changing the subject again, Geo now said, ‘Tell me, how has Larry taken the news?’
‘He’s happy for me. As pleased as punch, and he’s going to come with me to Paris in December,’ M confided, without elaborating too much, never one to discuss private matters.
Geo grinned at her. ‘Hey, I have a great idea! Why don’t you get married before you fly away to a new life in Paris? Isn’t that a fabulous thought?’
‘It is, yes—I’ll think about it.’
Geo had gone upstairs to look in on James, wondering aloud, as she left the kitchen, if he was still sleeping. And M sat alone at the kitchen table, finishing her mug of coffee, lost in her thoughts.
Oddly, she was thinking about Annette Lazenby, whom she didn’t really know at all, and discovered she was filled with relief that the journalist was going to move out and live in Rome. Annette had proved to be a worry to Geo in the long run, especially after Annette’s distraught mother had kept phoning relentlessly and always in tearful desperation, begging Geo to help.
‘None of us are our sisters’ keepers,’ M had pointed out to Geo recently, and Geo had quickly agreed she was right. Nonetheless, Geo had been compassionate enough to want to help and had dragged James into the equation.
M knew him, and knew him without benefit of time; her deepest instincts told her that he was a decent man with a conscience. Apparently he was able to intervene. As a former agent with MI6, operating out of England, he obviously had a wealth of knowledge and contacts, and so he had done what he could. And more than likely discreetly, and he had made this effort because of Georgiana. She admired him for that; she was also happy that these two had found each other, and that they were soul mates.
As for Annette Lazenby, M decided she had behaved recklessly by going to Afghanistan when the country was in turmoil. But then that was what she did as an investigative journalist. She went to get the facts. M sighed under her breath, stood up, went out of the kitchen, down the corridor, and crossed Geo’s studio, making for the little garden at the back.
Who am I to criticize her? she asked herself, sitting down in the metal chair on the patio. I have also been reckless; I threw myself into Laurence Vaughan’s arms, and he doesn’t even know my real name; I’ve lied to him by omission without thinking anything through. I gave myself to him in every way. I’m in love with a man who has many troubling issues with his family, which must impact on our relationship—yet he becomes embroiled with them at the drop of a hat.
M was well aware that Larry lived in New York because he loved it, but she also realized he wanted to keep his daunting family at arm’s length. To her, Edward Vaughan spelled danger, and she hoped and prayed there had been no quarrels in Toronto.
The problem was that Larry believed he was not as good as those of his siblings who were actors. Miranda, who was a set designer, was the only sibling who did not come into the equation. M had found herself arguing with him just before he had gone off to Canada, pointing out, and somewhat forcefully, that he was, in fact, better than them; even better than his father, who she thought had become a bit pretentious—even pompous—in his acting. He was considered one of the great actor knights—Sir Nicholas Vaughan, knighted by the Queen, and standing alongside the likes of Sir Anthony Hopkins, Sir Michael Caine and Sir Sean Connery, to mention only a few of that illustrious circle, all of the same generation.
Larry’s the best, she thought. No, he’s not the best: he’s better than the best. Only his mother ranks alongside him when it comes to talent. Why didn’t he see it? Why was he so vulnerable to them? So open to hurt?
And he remained bloody loyal. Oh, God, who was she to talk? There was no one more loyal than she herself. She was totally loyal to her lot, no matter what…Come hell or high water, she would stand up for them, fight for them, protect them, die for them, if needs be. And this despite anything they might have done to her in the pa
st, any pain they might have caused, which was always unintentional. She was one of five, just as Larry was one of six. She closed her eyes, shutting out the memories, but they would not go away, lingered.
A slight wind suddenly blew up, ruffling through her hair, wafting across her face, and she opened her eyes, sat up, blinking in the brightness of the morning. It was a pretty day with a pale blue sky and golden sunshine; although it was already the end of October, it was more like September, not cold at all, a brilliant day…an Indian summer kind of day. Immediately she thought of her mother, who basked in delight whenever it was a day like…a summer’s day in autumn: that was the way her mother always put it.
At that moment M saw her mother clearly in her head, and her father as well. And alongside were her two sisters and her brothers. Each of them sharply and precisely defined. She suddenly laughed out loud, thinking of how shocked they would be when she told them about Larry. Her siblings had teased her mercilessly when she had been ten because of her crush on him, after she had seen his memorable Hamlet. They would be really surprised, she decided, and laughed again.
In a sense she was sad she couldn’t confide in her sisters, and her mother. Once she and Larry were married she would tell them before they found out. That was the only fair thing to do. It was bound to leak, wasn’t it? Yes, she was positive it would. Still, once they were married it wouldn’t matter that her family knew. Certainly they couldn’t give her a big wedding, which was a relief.
M was certain they would like Larry, and take him to their hearts. He was very engaging, and it was that which would impress them—not his fame, nor his looks. Neither would matter to them. After all, they were all famous and good looking themselves.
She zeroed in on Larry, her mind racing. Where are you? Why aren’t you calling me? Are you avoiding me? What’s going on? She had no answers for herself, and her frustration and disappointment spiralled into exasperation.
Breaking the Rules (2009) Page 16