Suddenly Kate stood up and walked over to the catwalk.
M paused, looked down at her. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Where did you learn to parade down a catwalk like that?’ Kate asked in a soft voice, but her eyes were slightly narrowed. There was an appraising look on her face as she gazed up at M.
‘Nowhere. What I mean is, I didn’t learn, not really.’
‘What do you mean by “not really”? Did your sister teach you? Did you model at her boutique? Because I’m sure you must have been on a catwalk before, and you have been trained.’
Without answering, M hurried along the catwalk to the stairs, walked down them and joined Kate. She said quietly, ‘I did do a bit of modelling for my sister, that’s true, but she didn’t teach me anything. However, my other sister, who’s been to many of the couture shows in Paris, sort of—well—showed me how top models walk. I wasn’t trained though, honestly I wasn’t. Besides, who would train me?’
‘That’s what I’m wondering,’ Kate said, and then laughed lightly, not wanting to antagonize this young woman, whom she considered their biggest find in years. Jean-Louis Tremont had needed a boost of some kind, and for some time now, and M would be the means to achieve it, she was convinced about that. The girl was not only beautiful, she had a unique style, a wonderful way of handling herself, and she moved like a dream. Moved like a professionally trained, high-fashion model who’d been working for years. And that was why Kate was sceptical about her story. But why did it matter? It didn’t even matter who she was or where she came from. What mattered was that she was under contract to them. And she was dating a famous man. A good-looking actor who was also a movie star. That would help them when it came to publicity. A dream couple, Kate thought, and made a mental note to play this up in January with the press.
‘I can only add this,’ Kate now said, taking hold of M’s arm, and walking with her to the dressing rooms at the other end of the auditorium. ‘Jean-Louis will be even more thrilled when I tell him how great you are on the catwalk. He wanted me to check that out now, just in case you needed guidance when you arrived in Paris in December. But obviously you don’t. Time saved. Oh, and by the way, when are you planning to go to Paris, M?’
‘In the middle of December…about a month from today.’
‘Is Laurence Vaughan coming with you?’
The mention of Larry’s name startled M for a moment, and she wondered how Kate knew she was involved with him, and then realized at once that Luke would have told her. ‘Yes, Kate, Larry’s coming to Paris with me,’ M finally answered. ‘We want to be together for Christmas, and also he’s going to start shooting a movie there in late February, early March.’
‘Oh, how wonderful that you can be together!’ Kate exclaimed, genuinely meaning this. She liked M, and wanted only the best for her, personally as well as professionally.
‘He’s away at the moment, otherwise I would have introduced him to you,’ M thought to add. Clearing her throat, she said slowly, ‘Do you think Glenda Bailey is going to agree to use me on the April cover of Harper’s Bazaar?’
‘Yes, I do. With one proviso. She will have to be impressed by the photograph of you in the wedding gown. But I’m sure Luke will pull out all the stops, and that the picture will be great. If the plan works, it’ll be quite a coup for us, you know.’
‘I realize that. When will the dress arrive from Paris?’
‘Claude Allard, one of Jean-Louis’s dressers, will be bringing it in this coming Monday. It’s currently getting the finishing touches from Jean-Louis. Claude’s sister lives in New York and she’s coming for Thanksgiving. With the dress. Luke will do the shoot the first week of December, otherwise it’ll be too late.’
‘Because of the magazine’s three-month lead time, I guess,’ M said in response, and wished she hadn’t opened her mouth when Kate threw her the oddest look.
Quickly changing the subject, M continued, ‘I’m so glad you were able to find the right lawyer for Caresse, Kate. I’m happy that she, Alex and Luke will become partners in the studios. It’s so much better, more profitable, for them to run it themselves.’
‘It was smart of you to suggest it,’ Kate remarked, wondering yet again who on earth M was. She seemed to have a handle on a lot of things. And how the hell did she know about magazine lead times? It doesn’t matter, Kate reminded herself. I’m going to make her into a star…she’ll be the greatest supermodel of all time. That’s all that counts.
M was well aware that Kate Morrell wanted to promote her as their brand-new discovery, the girl no one had ever heard of, the girl from nowhere who’d never been trained. Their creation. The girl they had miraculously turned into the world’s latest supermodel through their own cleverness. That was why Kate was always questioning her, probing, wanting to know about her past, her beginnings in the business. It was transparent. Basically Kate was anxious to know whether or not she had ever modelled clothes for anyone else. Obviously Kate didn’t want to have egg on her face if some person came forward to claim that the mysterious M had once worked for them, and that they had turned her into what she was today.
She hadn’t been a model before, she had told Kate the truth about that, and M didn’t mind the questions because she had nothing to hide. She was a novice. Nor did Kate’s publicity plans trouble her. She would take everything in her stride, do everything that was asked of her, within reason, to become the New Face of Jean-Louis Tremont. She would make herself accessible. And she would be professional. Her brother had always emphasized this to her. ‘Be a true professional, that’s all I ask,’ he had said to her before she left for New York.
Now, as she went up the front steps of the brownstone and let herself into the house, M smiled, thinking of the woman who had trained her, taught her the little bit she did know about modelling. Her eldest sister, the first-born. The one who was known as the most beautiful woman in England, if not the world. And she was indeed gorgeous, a dreamlike creature whom M had been in awe of most of her life. It was she who had demonstrated the model’s way of walking…the way of turning, the swift swinging around, the strutting, really, and the mannerisms.
Her eldest sister had been very strict and tough with her, and she had rebelled one day, exclaiming, ‘You’re too bossy, you’re becoming another Napoleon! No, better still, another Bismarck. Yes, that’s it, getting lessons from you is like going on German war manoeuvres. Hey, that’s funny, isn’t it?’ M had said, and they had howled with laughter, fallen about, making silly faces for a few minutes. After several more lessons, she had been informed she had graduated, and her sister had left her to her own devices, had told her to now do her own thing.
After taking off her coat, M went into the kitchen. The little chandelier over the table was turned on as usual, but the house was empty. M knew that Geo and James had gone to the theatre to see Dax’s performance again, and were taking him to dinner afterwards. A Streetcar Named Desire, the play by Tennessee Williams, which Dax was starring in, had been on for a limited run only, and it would close immediately after Thanksgiving. They had wanted her to go with them, but she didn’t feel up to it, still far too preoccupied with Larry, their upcoming marriage and their move to Paris. Anyway, she had a lunch date with Dax next week. To celebrate. He’d been offered a film, and was thrilled.
After putting the kettle on, she wandered into Geo’s studio and glanced at the pictures lined up against the walls. What an accomplishment, M thought, as she strolled around, gazing at the paintings. Geo had finished quite a lot of them, but apparently not enough. The art gallery in Chelsea, where her paintings were to be shown, had asked for more, and the show was now going to be much later next year. One thing was certain, though: Geo’s talent was amazing. The piercing whistle of the kettle cut into her reverie about Geo, brought her back into the kitchen; she made a pot of tea then went up to her room.
She pulled the suitcase out from under the bed, unlocked it, and took out her small briefcase. Groping
around inside it, she found the Harry Winston box, opened it and admired her engagement ring for a moment, then put it back. She took the envelope of traveller’s cheques out, slipped five hundred dollars into it, and returned this to the briefcase as well. M was determined to replace the thousand dollars she had used to pay James, so that she could give Birdie all the traveller’s cheques back when she next saw her. The money had been a ‘safety net’, according to her sister, but she hadn’t needed it. She had made it on her own.
Sliding the suitcase under the bed, she ran downstairs, poured a cup of tea, and sat down at the table, thinking about Larry. She had missed him terribly, and was glad he would be leaving Silver Hill early next week. They were going to spend Thanksgiving here at the house with Geo and James, and she and Geo were going to cook. Suddenly she jumped up, went to the small set of bookshelves at the end of the room and found the big American cookbook that Geo swore by. Taking it to the table, she started to look at recipes for Thanksgiving. M found cooking very therapeutic, and was looking forward to making a sumptuous meal for her darling Larry and their friends. And the following day she planned to move to the apartment in Beekman Place.
There was something extremely likeable about James Cardigan, Larry thought, watching his fellow Englishman opening a bottle of champagne at the far end of the kitchen.
Larry sat on a tall stool at the long counter; it was a great vantage point, giving him an overview of the entire room. What he liked about James was his open, straightforward manner, and his politeness despite his frank way of speaking and putting forward his ideas. James was genial, a genuinely nice chap, and Larry had trouble imagining him as a spy, a former member of MI6. Yet M disagreed, and had said she had smelled ‘cop’ on him the moment they had met at Iris’s party.
He swung his head, focused on the centre of the kitchen. There she was, his lovely girl, her black hair in a ponytail. She was wrapped in a big white apron, cooking like the expert chef she was. Geo, her abundant blonde hair piled on top of her head, was standing alongside M, making the gravy and keeping an eye on the cranberry sauce on the stove. The smells floating around him were delicious; made his mouth water. He knew he and James were going to be treated to a very special Thanksgiving dinner, and they had just agreed they were looking forward to it.
‘Here you are,’ James said a moment later, bringing him a silver tankard of champagne. ‘I like Geo’s idea of serving the bubbly in these antique silver mugs. Somehow the stuff seems to taste better.’
‘I know what you mean; a friend of mine does exactly the same thing. It’s the silver—it keeps the champagne cold. However, I’m still on the wagon, James. I learned a lot at Silver Hill.’ He rose, took his tankard over to the table at the far end of the kitchen and returned with another one filled with water.
The two men clinked silver tankards, and Larry said, ‘I’m afraid I’ve been a bit remiss, James. I haven’t actually thanked you properly for helping M to look after me when I was out of it. I might well have died if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘That young woman cooking her heart out over there wouldn’t have let such a catastrophe happen, I can assure you of that, Larry. She was being very protective of you, and in every way. She’s quite remarkable…but then you know that.’
‘I do, yes. I’ve never met anyone like her before; she’s absolutely unique.’
‘M told us the other night that you’re going to do a film in the New Year, and that it’s shooting in Paris. Nice and convenient, eh?’
‘It is indeed, I couldn’t be happier, and I love this particular script. It’s the best I’ve read in a long time.’
‘What’s it called? What’s it about?’ James asked.
‘It’s about Coco Chanel, and it’s called Coco in Love. It’s romantic and rather touching, and it has a lot of meat to it. It’s a period piece. At the beginning of her career, Chanel fell in love with a handsome young Englishman called “Boy” Capel, who supported her early on in her life before she became well known. He was very much in love with her and wanted to marry her, but Chanel refused. She insisted she had to repay the money she owed him before she could marry him. Anyway, he eventually married an English aristocrat, and, according to the script, he broke her heart by doing so. He died in Nineteen nineteen, which is when the film ends.’
‘And you’re playing “Boy” Capel,’ James said, making it more of a statement than a question.
‘I am indeed, and looking forward to it.’
At this moment Geo and M took off their aprons and came to join them. ‘How about a jugful of Dom Perignon?’ Geo said, coming to stand next to James. ‘All this cooking has made me thirsty.’
‘Coming right up—and one for you, too, I hope, M?’ James said, turning to her, smiling warmly.
‘Yes indeed, I’m parched. Thanks, James.’
Once the two women had silver tankards in their hands, James said, ‘Can I now prevail upon you both to come and sit down in the den for a few minutes, in order to cool off. I find it quite warm in here.’
Geo laughed. ‘It is when the oven’s going, but you might feel better if you took off your heavy sweater—and you too, Larry.’
Both men laughed and did as she suggested, and the three of them trooped into the den across the hall, following M, who was exclaiming, ‘Let’s make our plans for Paris. Decide what the four of us are going to do on New Year’s Eve.’
James soon realized that this wasn’t a very restful period in the den for the two women. They were forever jumping up and running to the kitchen to check on the turkey, the sweet potatoes, and all of the other dishes they were making. And so he finally stood up himself and said to Geo, ‘Let’s all go and join M in the kitchen, shall we? I think that will make life easier for the two of you.’
‘Agreed,’ Geo exclaimed, as she pushed herself to her feet, picked up the silver tankard and left the den.
James and Larry walked after her and, as they went into the kitchen, he turned to Larry and said, ‘Let’s park ourselves here at the counter, where we’re out of their way.’ He sat down on one of the bar stools and took a long swallow of champagne.
James, who had been studying Larry surreptitiously for a few minutes, suddenly said, ‘You’re looking awfully pensive. Is everything all right, old chap?’
‘Sure, sure, I’m fine. I was thinking about you, actually.’ Larry grinned at him. ‘I just can’t imagine you as Double O Seven.’
‘That’s because I don’t look like Sean Connery, Roger Moore or Pierce Brosnan,’ James shot back, a faint smile playing around his mouth.
‘Ah, but you do have a hint of Daniel Craig about you, James, my boy. You know he’s the new Bond, the star of Casino Royale, which opened earlier this month? He got raves.’
‘I expect he’s lean, wiry and fair haired,’ James remarked, a sandy-coloured brow lifting.
‘Indeed he is, and he’s going to be the fair-haired boy of Barbara Broccoli, the producer, I can tell you that. The movie’s going to make big money.’
Larry sat back, watching James walk down to the end of the kitchen, liking him a lot, pleased that he was becoming a good friend. There was something stalwart about James Cardigan, and dependable. He was trustworthy, Larry felt certain of this. A quiet man, with a lot of depth and inner strength.
The two men continued to sit at the counter, occasionally chatting, sometimes falling silent, but they were at ease with each other, and relaxed. Suddenly Larry leaned closer. ‘Silver Hill was such a good experience for me. I’m glad I went, and I wouldn’t have done so if Matt Branden hadn’t advised me to check myself in. So thanks again for Branden, he’s a very clever doctor, brilliant. Anyway, I learned a lot about myself, my problems with my brother, and why I react to him the way I do. According to the psychiatrist I had at Silver Hill, Dr William Fowler, I revert to my childhood role when Edward starts hounding me, become the little boy victim. I really responded to Dr Fowler, and I feel better than I have for a long time.’
; James was pleased that Larry had spoken out, confided in him a little, and nodded his understanding.
‘I’ll never be like that again,’ Larry added. ‘I have M to consider…I would never want to scare her like I did when I got back from Canada. Not ever.’
‘She’ll keep you on the straight and narrow, no doubt in my mind about that!’ James chuckled. ‘She’s a bit of a Margaret Thatcher at times, don’t you think?’
‘Very bossy, she is, my bit of trouble and strife.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
The bride did not wear a white wool suit with a white fur as originally planned. Nor did she carry a posy of white winter roses. It didn’t even snow. But it was a beautiful day, cold but sunny, with a pale blue sky that echoed the colour of her Tremont coat and matching pillbox hat.
The groom was smart in a dark blue suit, pale blue silk tie the colour of her coat, and dark overcoat that matched his dark glasses.
They were the best-looking couple in the line at City Hall. Several people glanced at them curiously, but they paid no attention, just stood quietly together, holding hands and waiting their turn. When it finally came, they were asked to fill in papers, to date and sign them, which they did. When they handed their sets of papers back to the clerk they were told they were now a married couple.
They were still holding hands as they left City Hall and hurried to the car, which was waiting for them outside. They were laughing hilariously, and Larry said, ‘That was as easy as renewing my driver’s licence. And hardly a ceremony.’
‘Oh, who cares!’ M answered, and flashed him her cheeky smile. ‘Gosh, I’m now Mrs Laurence Vaughan!’
‘You are indeed, and don’t ever think you’ll be anybody else’s missus either, because you won’t. This is for life.’
‘You can bet on that,’ M shot back, squeezing his hand.
Once they were inside the car, and the driver was pulling away from the kerb, Larry brought out a wedding ring; taking hold of her left hand, he slipped off the sapphire, put on the plain gold band, replaced the engagement ring, and kissed her cheek. ‘There we are! It’s all legal and proper, my rings are on your finger, and we’re well and truly married, my girl. My very best darling girl.’
Breaking the Rules (2009) Page 21