Breaking the Rules (2009)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Chaos. People screaming. People shouting. The male and female models falling off the disintegrating runway. Falling on each other, on the audience, on the floor. Ballroom chairs being turned over. People pushing. People running down the salon. Blood everywhere. People hurt. People dead.

  Stunned and appalled, Geo was paralysed, frozen to the spot.

  She felt someone suddenly grab her arm, heard a voice urging her to move. It was Rebecca Byam, the American. Her friend Ann Molloy had picked up Geo’s handbag and was shoving it into her hands. They were pulling her away from the scene.

  Geo saw Luke, blood all over his face, coming towards them, beckoning. Luke, Geo, Ann and Rebecca made it to the exit door where the runway became a T-shape and ended.

  Someone had grabbed the mike, was asking for calm. Security men from the hotel were everywhere. Outside, police sirens were screaming. Ambulance signals were blaring.

  Luke opened the emergency exit door and hurried the three women out of the salon. They found themselves in a corridor, and stood together, took a moment to catch their breath.

  ‘What happened?’ Ann Molloy asked. ‘How could the runway collapse like that?’ She was pale, distressed.

  Luke said, ‘God only knows! But it’s the biggest disaster I’ve ever seen. Unbelievable. The underpinning just crumpled away as if it was made of cardboard.’

  ‘I saw it ripple earlier,’ Geo said at last, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘Then I decided I’d imagined it. Obviously I hadn’t. I should have said something, told somebody. I could have prevented this.’ Tears came into her eyes.

  Luke took hold of her arm consolingly. ‘Who would you have told? And who would have listened? Or believed you? Tell me that.’

  Geo said, ‘You must be hurt, Luke. You’ve got blood all over your face.’ She opened her bag, took out some loose tissues. ‘Here,’ she said, handing them to him. ‘They’re clean.’

  He wiped his face, and reassured her. ‘I’m not hurt. But someone near me was injured, badly cut by a piece of metal…that’s how I got blood on myself.’

  ‘We have a car and driver outside,’ Rebecca said. ‘Can we take you somewhere?’

  ‘Thanks, that’s so nice of you, Rebecca, but I have a car,’ Geo murmured, and hugged her and Ann. ‘Thank you so much for helping me. I’m so grateful. I was sort of…frozen. For a few minutes.’

  They chatted for a moment longer and then the two women walked down the corridor. Geo said, ‘They were terrific.’ She looked at Luke. ‘Do you think we should go back inside, try to help?’

  He shook his head vehemently. ‘There’s nothing we can do, kiddo. A lot of the hotel security men were rushing in as we were getting out, and we heard the sirens. Proper help is in there right now. We’d only be in the way.’

  Geo said slowly, her voice shaking, ‘Thank God M wasn’t on the runway. She could easily have been killed.’

  ‘She’s just had a narrow escape,’ Luke muttered, and shuddered. Taking hold of Geo’s arm, he led her swiftly down the corridor, explaining, ‘I’m going to sit you down in the hotel lobby and then I’ll go and investigate, see what’s happening, look for M.’

  ‘But everything must have been all right backstage, don’t you think?’ Geo said, staring at him, her face filled with anxiety.

  Luke nodded. ‘I think so. I hope so. Which one of her security men was with her backstage?’

  ‘It was Stuart. Craig stayed with the car. He’s parked nearby. I have his cell number. I’m to call when we need him.’

  Nodding, Luke opened another emergency exit door, and they found themselves walking into the lobby. There were many people milling around, but Geo saw Stuart almost immediately. He was taller than most. She hurried over to him, dragging Luke with her.

  Relief spread across Stuart’s face when he became aware of Geo approaching. ‘M sent me to look for you,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t get into the salon. They wouldn’t let me in. Security’s very tight. Police are in there already.’

  ‘M’s all right, isn’t she?’ Geo asked, peering at him.

  ‘Yes. She’s already in the car. Waiting for us. She sprained her ankle earlier, that’s why she wasn’t on the stage or the catwalk when it collapsed.’

  ‘I’m glad she sprained it,’ Luke exclaimed. ‘That’s why she’s still alive.’

  Shocked and stunned by the disaster that had just occurred in the grand salon of the hotel, Jean-Louis Tremont was somehow managing to hang on to his self-control. Despite the sense of rising hysteria he felt inside, he spoke in a steady voice to Inspector Raymond Letort. The inspector had been one of the first policemen to arrive on the scene from the nearest gendarmerie.

  ‘C’est une catastrophe,’ Jean-Louis said, his expression dour. ‘Never in my entire career have I known anything to happen like this. C’est incroyable.’

  Inspector Letort nodded, escorted the fashion designer to a quieter corner backstage. He said sympathetically, ‘It is indeed horrendous, Monsieur Tremont, an overwhelming tragedy. Now, monsieur, tell me exactly what occurred, as seen from your point of view. S’il vous plaît.’

  ‘It happened in an instant.’ Jean-Louis shook his head; he was still disbelieving. ‘I came out onto the stage. It was the end of the fashion show. I was going to give the thanks, say a word. I did not open my mouth. The runway…’ Jean-Louis paused as his voice began to shake, then he continued more steadily after a moment. ‘I saw the runway collapsing. I became paralysed. My girls, the models, were falling off. And the male models. Panic. Screaming. It became chaos—wailing, shouting, moaning. I saw people hurt, blood everywhere. I rushed off the stage, went down into the grand salon to help. I did my best. It was horrific.’

  ‘I understand, monsieur. And your brother?’

  ‘Philippe had been standing in the wings. He heard the commotion, came to investigate. I saw him immediately rush away. I understood he was coming here, to the dressing and makeup area. Our model M was awaiting her car, and Philippe wished to be sure she was all right.’

  ‘She was not on the catwalk?’ the inspector asked, a brow lifting in surprise.

  ‘Ah, non. M had had a small accident backstage. Earlier. She sprained her ankle.’

  ‘She was lucky, n’est-ce pas?’

  ‘That is true,’ Jean-Louis agreed.

  ‘Monsieur Tremont, I have sent for our top counterterrorist unit,’ the inspector now announced, his voice lowered. ‘There is something peculiar about this most tragic accident. It is unprecedented. Runways do not collapse on their own. Not in France. Fashion is big business. I am suspicious.’

  Jean-Louis was silent for a second before asking, ‘Do you think it was contrived?’ He sounded astonished. There was a puzzled frown on his brow. ‘Why would someone wish to sabotage my fashion show? Surely not terrorists?’

  ‘Why not, monsieur? Why not hit a big show like yours? Extraordinary publicity ensues. A few hundred people are killed or injured. Success for the terrorists. Every public event is vulnerable these days, I am afraid.’ Inspector Letort’s eyes were sorrowful. ‘We live in bad times.’

  Before Jean-Louis could respond, Philippe came hurrying over to them accompanied by two men. Inspector Letort greeted one of them. ‘Ah, there you are, Arnould,’ he said and, looking at Jean-Louis, he explained, ‘This is my colleague, Inspector Henri Arnould.’

  Jean-Louis nodded. The two men shook hands and the designer greeted the other man next. He was the hotel manager, Thierry Marchand, and Jean-Louis now introduced him to Inspector Letort. Then he brought Philippe forward, explaining, ‘This is my brother, Inspector, Philippe Tremont.’

  Once all of the introductions were over, Inspector Letort gathered the group in a far corner where it was totally quiet. They discussed the situation in detail. One thing was made clear. Inspector Arnould explained that the police had discovered that the metal underpinning of the wooden scaffold, the actual runway itself, had been tampered with. Extensively.

  Inspector Arnould continued: �
��The bolts and nuts securing the metal parts that held the wooden platform up had been loosened, and many had been removed in certain strategic places. The weight of the models walking on it for over an hour and then the additional weight of the six men eventually brought the structure down.’

  Letort turned to the hotel manager, Thierry Marchand, and asked, ‘When was the runway built, monsieur?’

  ‘Last night, Inspector, and I must point out that security is excellent in the hotel. When the construction company hired to do the job finished, they immediately left. The grand salon was locked. It was secure, Inspector Letort.’

  ‘But somebody entered that room,’ Arnould announced, sounding positive. ‘In my opinion it was a terrorist. Or a terrorist group.’

  ‘I agree,’ Inspector Letort said. ‘That seems the most likely explanation.’

  At this moment Jean-Louis noticed Kate Morrell and Peter Addison walking towards him. Excusing himself, he hurried forward to meet them. At once he was appalled by Kate’s appearance. She had blood all over her clothes and face, and looked as distressed as he himself felt. Peter was also in a dishevelled state, and grim looking, his suit covered in dust and blood.

  ‘Kate, Peter. Thank you. It was good of you to go into the salon. You are not hurt in any way?’

  ‘We’re both fine,’ Kate answered, her voice slightly hoarse. ‘Which is more than I can say for a lot of other people. There have been many casualties, Jean-Louis.’

  ‘How many have been killed?’ the fashion designer asked in a worried and concerned voice. ‘I can’t bear to think about it.’

  Kate was silent, shook her head.

  ‘How many people have been injured, Peter? How many are dead?’ he asked again, staring at the PR man.

  ‘We don’t know yet, J.-L. The ambulances took part of the audience away. And all of the models. Sophie has been injured, but she’s not been killed. It’s a catastrophic situation, a horrific day.’

  Jean-Louis Tremont remained totally silent. He suddenly appeared beaten down, at the end of his strength.

  Philippe came to join them, looking grey under his tan.

  Kate filled him in, but he already knew most of it since he had been helping out at the other end of the salon. ‘It beggars belief, I don’t know how such a thing could happen in Paris,’ he said. ‘The fashion industry employs thousands and is a big money-maker. Also, the construction companies that specialize in building the runways are skilled and responsible. How could such an accident happen here?‘

  ‘You know the police don’t think it’s an accident,’ Jean-Louis finally said wearily. He looked at Kate, and told her, ‘The construction was tampered with; the metal underpinnings were weakened because nuts and bolts were removed.’

  ‘The police believe it’s an act of terrorism,’ Philippe interjected. ‘And perhaps it is.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Kate exclaimed, her face turning white.

  THIRTY-THREE

  James Cardigan stared at Larry when he opened the door of the suite, then exclaimed, ‘Good God, you’re as white as a sheet, you look terrible. Are you all right?’ ‘Just about, now,’ Larry replied, ushering James into the sitting room, closing the door. ‘But I wasn’t earlier. Come on in and sit down, and I’ll explain.’

  The two men sat opposite each other, and Larry continued, ‘I got frightfully sick on location this afternoon, started to vomit. Immediately after lunch. I obviously ate something that was contaminated. The nurse attached to the production unit is convinced of that anyway. She thinks I have food poisoning. I couldn’t stop vomiting for ages, but when I was a bit more stable and able to leave the set, the assistant director brought me back to the hotel.’

  ‘What did you eat?’ James asked, still regarding him intently. ‘Shellfish can do it, you know, or eggs, which are frequently tainted. They can give you salmonella.’

  Larry shook his head, grimaced and then laughed hollowly. ‘I had both, I’m afraid. I had Parisian eggs—you know what they are, you like them too. Hard-boiled eggs with mayonnaise and anchovies. After that I had a shrimp salad. Bad combination, no?’

  ‘I concur with that!’ James answered. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘Yes, the doctor for the production company, who’s on call, came over about two hours ago, when I first got back, and confirmed what the nurse had said earlier. He gave me a prescription, which the concierge had filled, mainly because he was worried I might get another attack of diarrhoea. As all the vomiting has stopped, he says the best thing for me is to do nothing. Because everything bad is out of my stomach. He prescribed hot black tea, no milk or lemon. Or water and dry biscuits or dry toast if I get hungry.’

  ‘How are you feeling now, old chap?’ James peered at him, his eyes narrowing as he said, ‘You look a bit done in, I’m sorry to say.’

  ‘I am. But listen, funnily enough, I’m beginning to feel better. Empty inside, but better.’

  James threw him an odd look, opened his mouth to say something and then stopped abruptly. He sat back in the chair, let out a long sigh, crossed his legs.

  ‘What is it?’ Larry asked. ‘You’ve got a funny look on your face.’

  ‘I just hope M doesn’t think you took something earlier, such as prescription pills.’

  ‘Oh, come on, James, she won’t think that! I was at work, for God’s sake, and she is well aware that I am the most serious and professional of actors. In any case, I promised I’d never take any kind of pill ever again, and I don’t break my promises.’

  ‘Sorry, Larry, I didn’t mean to suggest you’d fallen off the wagon. Look, I must digress. Just before you called me, I was about to ring you on your mobile. I didn’t know whether you were back from the set or not. I wanted to let you know that M had sprained her ankle earlier, and wasn’t able to finish the charity fashion show. So she—’

  ‘Is she all right?’ Larry immediately cut in swiftly, leaning forward, fixing those staggering blue eyes on James. ‘Oh, God, she must have been attempting to reach me on my mobile. I’ve had it turned off since just after lunch, all afternoon. I wasn’t able to cope with answering it.’

  ‘She did try to reach you several times, and in the end she rang me, asked me to get in touch. About fifteen minutes ago. She also wanted me to tell you she was okay, and to explain about the catastrophe at the hotel.’

  ‘Catastrophe?‘

  James realized Larry had not heard anything about the terrible event at the hotel, and he explained, ‘Something horrifying happened in the grand salon at the end of the fashion show. Around six o’clock.’ In his usual precise way, James Cardigan went on to relay to Larry as much as he knew about the incident at the Hôtel Cygne Noir.

  A shudder passed through Larry, and he said, ‘What a terrible tragedy. How many people have been hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I got my information in bits and pieces—first from Stuart, then Craig, and a short while ago from Geo, who was there when it happened. Sophie, the top model, did get hurt, but she’s alive. Thankfully Geo and Luke are okay. They managed to get out through an emergency exit. They are in the car with M and your security chaps, en route here to the hotel as we speak.’

  Larry sat back, closed his eyes for a moment, and then, sitting up straighter, staring at James, he asked in a puzzled voice, ‘How could something like that happen? In Paris, of all places, the home of the catwalk and the centre of the world’s fashion.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ James replied. ‘But the police seem to suspect a terrorist act, according to Craig, who was talking to some of them outside the hotel.’

  Larry simply gaped at him in astonishment.

  The two security men helped M into the suite, one on each side of her, their hands under her armpits. She hopped forward, smiling broadly at her husband, and then her smile slipped when she saw Larry in his dressing gown and pyjamas, and realized he was pale as a ghost.

  ‘Darling, what’s wrong?’ she asked as he came towards her looking anxious.

 
He took hold of her, kissed her cheek, said, ‘I managed to get food poisoning on location. At lunch time. The assistant director brought me home this afternoon and the doctor attached to the production has been over to see me. I’m fine, sweetheart, it’s nothing serious, but what about your ankle?’

  ‘I’ll have to get it X-rayed tomorrow morning. I’m certain it’s only a sprain, though. What did you eat that made you so ill?’ She stared at him intently and lifted a brow, her expression quizzical.

  ‘Eggs first, and then I had a shrimp salad.’

  ‘You only need to eat one tiny piece of contaminated food to get sick as a dog, at least that’s what Daddy has always told me,’ M remarked, and sat down in the chair. Looking up at Stuart and Craig, who were hovering over her, she said, ‘Thanks so much for looking after me and Geo, and Luke. Let’s order a drink, shall we? We all need one.’ Glancing at Larry, she then said, ‘Oh, sorry, darling, perhaps we shouldn’t be crowding in on you like this. You should be resting.’

  ‘I’m glad of the company, and I can always go and lie down in the bedroom if I feel suddenly bad again. Right now, well, I’m glad to say I’m not too bad. Luke. Geo. You two were really lucky, from what James has just told me.’

  Luke said, ‘Damn right we were lucky, and thankfully we were both near the end of the catwalk and, more importantly, close to an exit door. But the person who is truly lucky is M, Larry. If she hadn’t had the accident backstage, hadn’t done her ankle in, she would have been on the runway. She would have been thrown off when it collapsed, like all the others were.’

  ‘I can’t bear to think of what might have happened,’ Larry said, a rush of apprehension turning him cold. Swallowing hard, squeezing M’s shoulder, he thanked God she was safe.

  Geo, who was standing with her arm tucked through her husband’s, looked from Larry to M, and said quietly, ‘You must have a guardian angel sitting on your shoulder, M.’