Breaking the Rules (2009)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Ready!’ she called out, and grinned as she turned around. Larry had dressed in a similar fashion, was wearing black jeans, a black blazer and a crisp white open-necked shirt. ‘I keep telling you we think alike,’ she said.

  ‘So I see, and you look gorgeous, my girl.’ Taking hold of her arm, he led her out of the suite and down the corridor to the lift. ‘Am I relieved you’re not one of those women who mess around with their makeup for hours.’

  ‘Call me Swifty. That’s me.’

  A moment later they stepped out of the lift and into the hall. It was exactly eight thirty and Luke Hendricks was standing there waiting for them.

  There were hugs and kisses, and Luke said, ‘My God, you two look fantastic. I wish I had a camera.’

  ‘Not tonight, Josephine,’ M murmured, and seeing Luke’s baffled expression she explained, ‘That’s a famous phrase of Napoleon’s, supposedly uttered once by him to Josephine, his wife. I guess he was feeling too tired.’

  The two men were still laughing at M’s comments as the three of them walked down the Galerie des Gobelins, heading in the direction of The Bar. It had recently been redone and was colourful, glamorous, modern, and the ‘in’ place to be. And very busy.

  Luke ushered M through the door and led her towards the far end of the room. She suddenly spotted Caresse sitting with Geo and James, and let out a small whoop of delight. Rushing forward, she left Luke and Larry to follow in her wake.

  Caresse jumped up the moment M reached the table, her perky little face filled with excitement. ‘I got in this morning, and I’ve been dying to see you ever since,’ Caresse explained, beaming at her.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here!’ M answered, hugging her redheaded friend, of whom she had grown so fond.

  ‘I wasn’t going to miss your first walk down the catwalk,’ Caresse replied, sitting down, still grinning. ‘It’s an event.’

  Geo stood up and hugged her, and so did James. Geo said, ‘We didn’t want to miss your debut either, so we came over for a few days.’

  ‘I’m so happy you did, I’m thrilled the three of you are here, really happy to see you all.’

  ‘It’s also our honeymoon,’ James announced, rather proudly. ‘We got married a few days ago at City Hall.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ M sat down, her expression one of genuine happiness. These three people had become very important to her in New York, and she considered them dear friends. And she was delighted that James and Geo had married.

  ‘This is going to be a real celebration tonight,’ she said. ‘Let’s have some champagne, Larry. You remember Larry, don’t you, Caresse?’

  Larry came and shook Caresse’s hand, greeted her with genuine warmth, and sat down at the table. Turning to M, he said quietly, ‘Shall we tell them our news?’

  M was silent for a moment, thinking quickly, and then she said, ‘Why not? It’s going to be announced this coming week anyway.’

  All eyes were on Larry as he said in a low, confiding voice, ‘We got married, too. Also at City Hall in New York, just before we left in December. We did it in secret and we’d like you all to keep it a secret for a few days, because Kate Morrell wants to make a big splash when she announces it. After the spring and summer collection has been shown.’

  Everybody promised to keep quiet; they gave their congratulations in hushed voices, and Luke asked, ‘No photographs?’

  ‘Of course not!’ M threw him an amused glance. ‘However, I was married in the pale blue Tremont coat and pillbox hat, and there’s no reason you can’t take our “wedding” shot, so called. We can stage it next week.’

  ‘What a clever little thing you are,’ Luke laughed.

  ‘Not so little, Luke.’ Reaching out, M took Geo’s hand in hers. ‘I’m so happy you married James, and that you, James, married Geo. You’re the perfect couple. Congratulations again, and isn’t it nice that the four of us are celebrating our nuptials together tonight.’

  ‘It is.’ James then grimaced all of a sudden. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be too popular with my parents when we tell them we got married without them being present. I think they were hoping we might tie the knot in England so they could be there.’ He shook his head, and continued, ‘What about yours? How did they take it?’ James looked from M to Larry, a questioning expression on his face.

  M said, ‘I never know what to think when it comes to my parents and their reaction to the things I do. They regard me as a bit of a kook, I guess. They were sweet and congratulatory, then wanted to know if we’d like to get married again. In England, at our family home, where I grew up, and I said why not, and that seemed to satisfy them. They sounded happy when they hung up.’

  ‘And mine are in the middle of the most monumental row since that strange little man the Prince of Wales announced he was abdicating to marry the love of his life, Wallis Simpson. And don’t ask me what my parents’ row is about. I don’t really know. However, because of it, they were sort of…well, offhand. Preoccupied with their own drama. But my mother said something about being certain my new wife was lovely, and that I was a very lucky chap. It was as if I’d been married before, the way she spoke.’

  ‘So basically we’re off the hook,’ M asserted.

  ‘Only for the moment,’ Larry announced, and motioned to the waiter, asked for the wine to be served, then he said to the others, ‘Earlier I ordered Billecart-Salmon pink champagne, and it’ll be here in a moment. I hope you all like pink champagne?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve never had it,’ Caresse said, and then blushed, wishing she hadn’t said this. ‘I’m sure I will though,’ she added, still pink in the face.

  Larry continued, ‘I booked a table here at the hotel, at the Relais Plaza. We happen to love it, and who wants to go out again in this cold? M and I were frozen stiff today.’

  ‘It’s my favourite spot,’ Luke said, and James agreed, then went on, ‘And it’s my dinner.’

  ‘Oh, no, not this time. It’s mine,’ Larry argued.

  ‘No fisticuffs, chaps,’ M said, and was glad when the waiter arrived with the champagne.

  Once they had toasted each other several times, and sipped their champagne, Larry said, ‘I’ve got to tell you this amazing thing I just learned from M. It’s a marvellous story. Better still, let her tell you herself.’

  ‘What amazing thing?’ M asked, playing dumb, and gazing at him over the rim of her glass, her eyes loving.

  ‘Your story about the Avenue de la Grande Armée.’

  M burst out laughing, and immediately recounted the tale of Mata Hari. They were all agog, listening attentively.

  When she had finished it, Luke said, ‘Listen, kiddo, you’ve just given me a great idea for a magazine spread. Featuring you, naturally. I’d love to transform you into different famous women for a series of pictures…’

  ‘Perhaps you could transform me into an Audrey,’ M suggested teasingly.

  Luke, who was deadly serious about his sudden idea, ignored her teasing. ‘It would have to be done with wigs most probably, but the makeup would be easy. Some good artists could make you over to look like some of the famous women who’ve stayed here. I bet the hotel has a record.’

  ‘They do,’ M responded, understanding now that he was indeed extremely serious. ‘They’ll show you their albums. Many big movie stars came trotting here over the years; it’s always been popular with the movie crowd. The Plaza is also considered the pantheon of the haute-couture world, because all of the famous fashion designers are located around here, on Avenue George Cinq, Rue François Premier and Avenue Montaigne. Actually, Luke, I think you’ve hit on a fabulous idea, even though it’s probably been done before.’

  ‘Everything’s been done before,’ Luke shot back. ‘There’s nothing new under the sun.’ He paused, gave her a long look. ‘But do you really think the idea will work, M?’

  ‘I do. Ask the others what they think.’

  He did. They all talked about it for a while, drinking their champagne and enjoyi
ng themselves. And they laughed a lot when they came up with the names of famous women who would challenge Luke’s inventiveness when it came to hair and makeup for M.

  ‘That was fun,’ Luke said later to Caresse as they left The Bar, trooped down the Galerie, across the lobby and into the side door of the Relais Plaza.

  Larry preferred the second level of the Relais, and Werner, the maître d’, greeted them warmly and led them up the steps, over to a roomy table in the centre. Once they had been seated, had studied the menu and ordered, M said to Geo, ‘I want to show you something. Something really special. Come on.’

  They both stood up, but as M pushed her chair back, she suddenly noticed a sad look settling on Caresse’s face. Not wanting her to feel left out, M exclaimed, ‘And you too, Caresse! I want you both to see this wonderful work of art.’

  Suddenly full of smiles again, Caresse rose, and she and Geo followed M down the three steps into the other part of the restaurant. Although it was busy, M managed to manoeuvre them closer to the bar.

  ‘Just look at that,’ she said once they stood near the bar, indicating a panel on the wall above it. ‘That dates back to the Nineteen thirties, and it’s a bas-relief depicting Diana the huntress. I think it’s beautiful, so unusual. I’ve always admired it, and it was recently re-gilded, so it looks better than ever.’

  ‘It’s certainly unique,’ Geo agreed, ‘and the panel has actually been sculpted on the wall, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. And what I love about it is the sense of movement it depicts. It looks so…alive, with Diana and the dogs chasing the stag.’

  Caresse agreed, and added, ‘The restaurant is…gorgeous. Did you see those two stained-glass panels of Nineteen-twenties women? I hadn’t noticed them when we came in. I think—’ Caresse cut herself off, and grabbed hold of M’s arm. ‘I can’t believe it, M,’ she cried in a whisper. ‘Look, over there at that table where the blonde woman is sitting. She’s with that awful guy Samson, Howard Dart’s real-estate client. The guy who was badgering me to sell the studios. He’s a jerk, just like Howie.’

  M followed the direction of Caresse’s gaze and saw that she was correct. It was Samson; he had suddenly noticed their presence and was staring across the room at them.

  M shrugged and muttered to Caresse, ‘Don’t pay any attention to him, don’t acknowledge him, just walk straight ahead, follow me.’ As she spoke she led the way, her nose in the air, heading down the room.

  Caresse and Geo did the same thing, appeared oblivious to Samson. But seeing him had upset Caresse, and she hadn’t liked the way he had focused his gaze on M. She shivered involuntarily. There was something odd about Samson. He seemed sinister to her.

  THIRTY

  The scene was a hive of activity. Very well-organized activity, M decided. She was sitting in a chair at a dressing table, watching everything with undisguised interest, not missing a trick, and enjoying every moment.

  Dressers were moving about, checking clothes, coordinating shoes and accessories, sliding garments along racks to be certain all were labelled accurately and matched the model’s name written large on a big card attached to each rack. Hairstylists and makeup artists manoeuvred through the group of assistants from the House of Tremont, and did so with ease and grace. All were intent on ensuring every girl looked perfect—beyond perfect, if that were at all possible.

  And of course a bevy of the most beautiful girls were at the centre of this activity, sitting around in cotton robes like M, waiting for the magic hour when they stepped out onto the catwalk to do their stuff. M identified a couple of top models, as well as others she did not know. They were all occupied: on mobile phones; reviewing their makeup; reading newspapers or magazines; checking diaries; searching through holdalls. They didn’t do any fraternizing, she noticed, and this did not surprise her. Everyone here was, at this precise moment, preoccupied with themselves and their upcoming performance on the runway.

  As she glanced around she noticed that some of the models looked bored to death, others were lost in thought, yet others daydreaming. But still, there was a sense of tension and excitement here. M was sitting in the large area used for dressing rooms, behind the stage and runway of the venue where Jean-Louis Tremont was soon to present his spring/summer collection. It was the last Monday in January, 2007, a day M knew she would never forget.

  As usual, the great French fashion designer was showing his latest line of haute-couture clothes at the Grand Palais on Avenue Winston Churchill, his preferred venue. He was showing at three o’clock for the same reason—preference; he liked an afternoon event best, mostly because it catered to the press. The show would last forty minutes, and from four o’clock onwards, the photographers could shoot away to their hearts’ content. They could stay until midnight if they so desired, as far as he was concerned.

  M became introspective, which she usually did when an important moment in her life drew closer. Today, most especially, she wanted to concentrate on the clothes, remain focused on what she was about to do…which was to walk down a runway in front of hundreds and hundreds of people for the first time in her life. Very shortly it would be her moment of truth. Her stomach tightened and she felt a little ripple of nerves.

  She was glad Kate had insisted on the rehearsal yesterday. She had walked the walk here on the catwalk at the Grand Palais, with Kate and Jean-Louis in attendance, and she had benefited from their advice. They had pointed out various pitfalls, a number of things to avoid, and she had paid attention to every word they said. Now it was D-Day, as Larry called it, and the action was about to begin.

  Glancing into the distance, M spotted Kate Morrell talking to Peter Addison, the head of public relations for the collection. She had met him last night with Kate, and had liked him at once. He reminded her a little bit of an absent-minded professor, and he had kind eyes, a gentle manner, but she knew that behind this likeable facade was a tough PR man, one more exacting than most, according to Kate. And brilliant at what he did.

  Suddenly, Kate was heading her way, looking purposeful, and M sat up straighter in the chair and took a few deep breaths.

  ‘We’re okay, aren’t we, M?’ Kate asked as she drew to a standstill. ‘No last-minute nerves?’

  M forced a laugh. ‘A few, I’m afraid, something I didn’t really expect.’

  Kate nodded. ‘It would be inhuman if you weren’t a bit nervous, sweetie. But you have great self-confidence, and that is the key to everything. Your own self-confidence. Forget the clothes, your own beauty, just remember that one thing: the confidence. Tell yourself this: I can do it. I’m the best. I’m going to strut my stuff. Many a beautiful girl, a potential top girl, has failed because the confidence suddenly fled once she was out there. Got it, sweetie?’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ M answered, sitting up even straighter, lifting her head higher, remembering who she was.

  ‘And one other thing. Larry is sitting out there, and Caresse and your other friends from New York,’ Kate said. ‘They’re right up front, I made sure of that. Take this advice from an old hand like me. Don’t look for them, or at them, if you spot them. Ignore their presence. You’re not out on that catwalk for them. You’re out there for the audience, and the press, and to show Jean-Louis Tremont’s clothes brilliantly. YOU ARE THE NEW FACE OF JEAN-LOUIS TREMONT. Don’t ever forget that. I decreed it. And you must not let me down. Understand?’

  ‘I do, yes, Kate. And I want to thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve been very good to me, and I will be okay.’

  ‘Better than okay. You’re going to be the best. Right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Now, let me give you the once over.’ Kate stepped away, leaned in towards M, and studied her hair and makeup for a few moments. ‘They’ve done a great job. A hint of Audrey, well, more than a hint, but not too much to overshadow you.’ Kate nodded, then looked around as Luke stepped up to join them, carrying a camera.

  ‘What do you think, Luke?’ Kate asked, glancing at hi
m. ‘Makeup is great, and so is the hair.’

  ‘She’s perfect,’ Luke said, ‘and Jean-Louis prefers a neat head, as you well know. I’m glad we kept it to a simple chignon.’ Luke drew back, levelled his camera at her. ‘Okay, smile, kiddo! I want a nice casual shot of you sitting here in your little cotton wrapper before you wriggle into those gorgeous clothes made just for you.’

  M laughed, and gave him a little wave, and he caught that shot, then said, ‘Come on, stand up here next to your clothes rack.’ He took some shots, and then motioned to Kate. ‘Join the fun, Kate! Come and stand near the rack, and do me a favour, please…point a finger at her name, point to the M.’ He grinned. ‘Some name. So short.’

  Kate did as he asked, remarked, ‘I understand from Peter that the press turnout is staggering.’

  Luke threw her an odd look. ‘And why does that surprise you? If anybody’s ever stage-managed anything, it’s you, Kate.’

  Before she could think of an appropriate answer, Kate spotted Jean-Louis out of the corner of her eye, and turned around to face him, smiling broadly. ‘There you are, J.-L. I was just wondering what had happened to you.’

  He inclined his head graciously, smiled at her, murmured, ‘Kate,’ and turned to look at M. Taking her hand, he kissed it. ‘Mademoiselle. You are looking…superb. I know you will be the grand success. I have no doubt at all. And I will be applauding you the loudest.’

  ‘Thank you, monsieur, I won’t let you down.’

  He smiled at her, his admiration showing in his eyes, then shook Luke’s hand, and said, ‘Bonne chance with the photography, Luke. I owe Mademoiselle to you. Merci beaucoup.’ He nodded, strolled off, went to speak to the other girls, as always the most courteous of men. Unexpectedly, he swung around and beckoned to Kate.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, and followed him.

  Luke said, ‘You’re not frightened, are you, M?’