by Carrie Duffy
A shocked silence descended on the room. Danièle didn’t even acknowledge Dionne. She kept her gaze directed at CeCe, only the tightness of her expression betraying the fact that she’d taken in every word Dionne said. ‘It’s very sweet of your friend to defend you like this, but I’m afraid it only serves to make you seem even more … unprofessional,’ she finished in ice-cold tones. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me …’
She didn’t need to say any more. The meeting was over. CeCe was mortified. She felt as if she’d blown her chance before she’d even started, her dreams burned to ashes. She’d be a laughing stock within the industry.
She picked up her lookbook from Danièle’s desk. Her cheeks were flaming, and she was desperate to simply scuttle away. But she was determined to retain some dignity. She stood up and extended her hand. ‘Thank you for taking the time to see me.’
For a moment, she thought Danièle was going to ignore her. Finally, she looked up and threw CeCe a tight smile before turning back to her PC, seemingly engrossed in whatever was on her screen.
CeCe let her hand drop, gathering up her bag and bolting out of the door. She and Dionne clattered along the corridor, racing out of the store as fast as they could. CeCe just wanted to be away, and Dionne was struggling to keep up in her towering five-inch heels.
Neither of them spoke until they hit the safety of a café a few streets away, sinking down at a table and ordering two coffees.
‘What a bitch!’ Dionne burst out. She was in full evening dress and people were staring at her. ‘CeCe, honey, I’m so sorry I opened my big mouth, but I just couldn’t let her speak to you like that. Man, she was so uptight it was like she had a stick up her ass.’
In spite of herself, CeCe smiled. ‘It’s okay. It was pretty clear the answer was no – I don’t think you could have made it any worse. I just feel so embarrassed. What was I thinking?’ she moaned, burying her head in her hands to hide her face as the memory of what had just happened came rushing back.
‘Don’t be stupid, you were amazing in there. That pitch was so confident, and so brave. Life’s all about taking risks, right?’
‘I made such a fool of myself. She’s right – I’m just not at that level yet. I felt like a ten-year-old, going in there with the pictures I drew for homework.’
‘CeCe, you are fabulous. It’s just one “no” out of the many hundreds of “yes’s” you’re going to get. Trust me.’
The waiter brought over their coffees, and CeCe sipped hers thoughtfully.
‘I got a letter this morning – I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to think about it myself. I wanted to push it out of my mind until this meeting was over …’
‘Yeah?’ Dionne was looking at her in concern.
‘My application to show at Fashion Week was turned down.’
‘Aw, shit,’ Dionne swore. She slumped back in her chair looking pissed off. ‘Shit,’ she repeated with feeling.
CeCe shrugged. ‘Same story, I suppose. No one knows me, I’m not established enough, I haven’t come out of an accredited school. I’m a risk, Dionne, and they can’t afford to take that chance.’
‘God, this business is so frustrating!’ Dionne burst out.
But CeCe looked utterly beaten. ‘I don’t know what to do. My head is everywhere right now. Maybe I should give up. You know, if everyone says no, they’re saying it for a reason.’
‘CeCe, you can’t—’
‘I mean, it’s good to be ambitious,’ CeCe carried on as though Dionne hadn’t spoken. ‘But there comes a point when you have to be realistic. Understand what is ambition, and what is self-delusion. Accept that if everybody says no, then perhaps they are right.’
‘No!’ Dionne’s tone was fierce. She hated seeing her friend like this, so cowed and dejected. ‘I am saying yes, and I say you have to believe in yourself. Look at this dress,’ she demanded, grabbing handfuls of the material she was wearing. ‘It’s stunning. Absolutely incredible. Everyone in here is staring at it. You created it, CeCe. Only you could have done it.’
CeCe smiled weakly. She appreciated Dionne’s efforts, but it was going to take more than a pep talk to get her enthusiasm burning again. She could feel herself sinking into depression, a debilitating lethargy descending on her like a dark cloud that she remembered so well from her teenage years. It seemed easier to simply surrender to it. The meeting with Danièle had been her last chance and all CeCe could do now was give in to the horrible, soul-destroying sensations of hopelessness and helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. It was like hurtling at full speed into a dark tunnel, the light rapidly growing further and further away until it was almost impossible to find your way back.
‘Look at me,’ Dionne continued anxiously, seeing the defeated expression on CeCe’s face. ‘I’ve been schlepping around Paris for two years now, fighting like crazy to get my modelling career off the ground. I’ve had more doors slammed in my face than you’ve had glasses of champagne – and we both know that’s a lot,’ she grinned, trying to lighten the mood. ‘And suddenly – bang – it starts happening. The work’s piling in. Did I tell you I’ve been booked for a shoot in Argentina next week? They’re flying me out there, putting me up in an amazing hotel, paying for everything. I’m planning to bag an upgrade,’ she smirked.
‘That’s great. Congratulations.’ CeCe’s voice was flat.
‘Aw, shit, I wasn’t showing off, hon.’ Dionne suddenly realized how she must have sounded. ‘I was just trying to say, these things turn around, y’know?’
CeCe drained her coffee. ‘Maybe we should get going.’
‘Look,’ Dionne began desperately, racking her brains as she sensed CeCe withdrawing from the conversation. ‘You want your designs to be seen, right? By everyone in the industry, the whole fucking world media, and to get maximum publicity?’
‘Yes, of course. That would be incredible. But it’s not that easy …’
Dionne simply grinned, a wolfish smile that implied she knew something CeCe didn’t. ‘Trust me. I have an idea.’
Aidan had just opened up at Chez Paddy when Alyson walked through the door. As soon as he saw her, he knew; knew that arrogant French arsehole had had his slimy hands all over her. She was positively glowing, her skin radiant, her eyes alive and vital. There was a self-confidence there that hadn’t existed previously, as though she’d grown up over the course of the weekend. She looked ten times more beautiful, and ten times more unobtainable. Aidan knew immediately that he’d lost her.
‘Hi,’ she said nervously, looking up at him with those luminous blue eyes.
They stood in awkward silence.
‘Aidan,’ Alyson began, as she stepped towards him. ‘I’m so sorry about this weekend. I really am.’ She wondered what had happened to her; she felt as if she’d lost her mind. She would never normally be so unreliable, but being away from Paris and with Philippe had made her lose all sense of responsibility.
Aidan shrugged, feeling like a petulant child. ‘Where were you?’ he demanded.
Alyson wondered what Philippe had told him. She hadn’t even asked. ‘I—’
‘You know I could fire you for this?’ Aidan cut her off.
Alyson flinched at his harshness. She’d never seen this side to him, hurt and lashing out. ‘Aidan,’ she began gently, ‘there’s something I need to talk to you about.’
‘Go ahead.’ His hands were on the bar, gripping it tightly. It was like a physical barrier between them.
This wasn’t how Alyson had imagined the conversation. She’d pictured them sitting down together, sharing a drink as they had done so many times at the end of a long shift. But it was too late to stop now.
‘I’ve been offered a job,’ she began. ‘Working for a big company. It’s exactly what I wanted—’
‘Is that why you’ve been sneaking off? To go for interviews? Alyson, I’d have given you the time off if you’d asked. I know this place isn’t permanent for you, and I want to see you do well—’
&
nbsp; ‘I haven’t been going for interviews,’ Alyson interrupted him. ‘I didn’t … It’s for Rochefort Champagne.’
She let the words sink in, watching Aidan’s face as he put two and two together. Philippe Rochefort. Rochefort Champagne. She didn’t think she’d ever felt more ashamed, knowing exactly how it must look.
‘Oh, right. It was that kind of interview.’ Aidan’s features took on a hardness as Alyson bowed her head, cheeks flaming. ‘Well, I guess you passed with flying colours.’
‘Aidan—’
‘You know, I always thought you were the kind of girl who wanted to get by on your own merit – not on your own back.’
Alyson gasped in shock. The words were like a slap in the face.
‘I thought you had more self-respect,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘But look at you. You’ve turned into some walking cliché – your dad walked out so you’re throwing yourself at the first man who comes along, looking for a father figure to replace him.’
Alyson winced in pain, stunned by how cruel Aidan was being. She had expected him to be mad, but not like this. She’d trusted him, confided in him about her family, and he’d thrown it back in her face. ‘I thought you were my friend,’ she burst out. ‘I thought you’d be happy for me.’
‘I can’t be happy about this. I think you’re making the worst decision of your life.’
‘Do you?’ Alyson said uncertainly, wondering why Aidan was so against it. Was she really making such a terrible choice? Everything had happened so fast, she’d had no time to think it through. And now that she was back in Chez Paddy, away from Philippe’s arms and the heady glamour of Château de Marne, maybe her decision had been a little hasty …
She mustered her dignity, determined to put the doubts out of her mind. This was everything she wanted, her opportunity to make a better life for herself, and she wasn’t about to let Aidan’s bitterness put her off. ‘How long’s my notice period?’ she asked coldly.
Aidan looked back at her, his blue eyes steely. ‘You know what? Just forget it. You can leave now. You’ve already let me down twice this week. Brianna covered for you and she’s looking for extra shifts – I’ll give her yours.’
‘Okay …’ Alyson suddenly felt close to tears. He’d called her bluff, but she didn’t want to leave it like this. ‘Aidan, please … Look, thanks for everything.’ She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. ‘I’d really love it if we could stay friends …’
Aidan laughed harshly. Friends. That’s all they’d ever been. He’d been kidding himself if he thought there was anything more. ‘Enjoy your new life, Alyson. I hope it brings you everything you want.’
Alyson stood helplessly, looking at the stranger in front of her. She simply didn’t recognize the look on Aidan’s face.
She opened her mouth to speak, but realized there was nothing more to be said. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the door without looking back.
PART TWO
17
Paris, France
Three months later
CeCe’s life had done a complete one-eighty in a matter of weeks. Gone were the late-night parties and the debilitating hangovers. In their place were crack-of-dawn alarm calls and nothing stronger than freshly ground espresso. She was up with the sunrise, working until her fingers bled, putting together her new designs. Inspiration was coming so thick and fast that she barely had enough time to note down one idea before her brain moved furiously onto the next. Her days were one crazy, exhausting whirl of sketching, designing and creating.
She was throwing everything she had – physically, mentally and financially – into this reckless idea of Dionne’s. But it would work. It had to work. CeCe was through with wasting time sucking up to people in the hope that they would take an interest in her clothes, dragging herself from one independent boutique to the next, practically begging the owners to take her stuff on a sale or return basis. She wanted something bigger, and this time she was going all out. If Dionne’s plan worked, it would put Capucine on the fashion map instantly – bang, explosion, overnight sensation. If it didn’t … well, that didn’t bear thinking about.
She would be broke, certainly. Did she even have any other options? She would rather get kicked out onto the streets than go crawling back to her parents and admit they were right. She could always try and get a job as a fashion reporter, or start her own blog, but really, that would break her heart. The idea of spending her days commenting on other people’s successes, writing about other designers’ collections, when she knew instinctively that she could do so much better … The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.
CeCe had left Rivoli Couture a few weeks ago. She and Dionne had resigned on the same day, leaving Khalid apoplectic with rage and demanding to know where he was going to find two more staff members at such short notice. CeCe didn’t care. He’d be fine, and he wasn’t her concern.
Since then it had been difficult financially. No, more than difficult. CeCe had sacrificed everything. The meagre savings she had in her account had gone towards the rent, and she was living on boiled rice and tinned chickpeas, whatever was cheap, to try and eke out the little money she had left. From time to time, when things were getting desperate, she helped out her old friends in the clubs – hostessing, or working the door. She’d had her half-head of hair chopped into a chin-length bob, and some of the people she used to hang out with didn’t even recognize her. As the girl checking their coat, she didn’t merit a second glance. It hurt, but CeCe was too wrapped up in her designs to care. She was about to take the biggest gamble of her life, and if it paid off it would all be worth it.
Dionne had been amazing, CeCe reflected. Her career had suddenly taken off and she was being flown all over the world, booked for shoots and winning contracts right, left and centre. Currently, she was plastered over the buses and billboards of Paris as the face of skin-care brand Diadermine. It made CeCe smile every time she saw it, proud of how well Dionne was doing. She looked more beautiful than ever, and if anyone deserved it, Dionne did.
She’d helped CeCe out as much as she could, covering the rent one time and stocking up the cupboards when she was home. CeCe had told her not to, insisting that this was something she needed to do on her own.
‘Uh uh, we’re a team, boo.’ Dionne was adamant. ‘I’m doing this because I believe in you. When Fashion Week’s over, you’re gonna be the hottest name on everybody’s lips, and that’s when you can pay me back with a nice, fat contract …’
CeCe heard a noise in the kitchen and looked up, startled, from where she was stitching beads onto a red tulle dress. There were hundreds of them, and she was planning to hand-sew every single one. She glanced up at the clock. Seven-thirty a.m. Alyson would be leaving for work. She was another one who was always busy these days; she had a new job, and a boyfriend, if you could believe that. She’d never brought him back to the flat, and he’d been the subject of much speculation amongst CeCe and Dionne. He was bound to be a geek, they decided: shy and awkward.
‘Alyson, is that you?’ CeCe shouted.
Alyson wandered through, spooning honey-drizzled porridge into her mouth. ‘Yeah. Are you okay, CeCe? You look shattered.’
CeCe paused, wondering when she’d last looked in a mirror. She rubbed a hand tiredly across her eyes, and noticed that her face felt greasy. ‘Yeah … I haven’t been to bed yet. I didn’t realize the time. I will do just a little more, then have a short nap.’
Alyson frowned. ‘Make sure you take care of yourself, okay? Can I get you anything before I go? Toast? Coffee?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. Have a good day, Alyson.’
‘I will.’
The door banged shut, and CeCe was alone once more. She took a deep, revitalizing breath, blinking rapidly to try and keep herself awake. Alyson was a sweet girl, CeCe had decided. She was simply more reserved than her and Dionne; she had different interests, different priorities to the two of them. But she was changing. She had this brand-new j
ob she was so excited about, and she left the apartment every day in a suit and heels. She was actually taking time over her appearance, getting up early to blow-dry her hair and apply a little make-up.
CeCe let out a yawn, and stretched her arms to the ceiling, feeling the temporary relief in her shoulder blades as her muscles relaxed. What with Alyson’s new job and Dionne’s whirlwind career, it felt as though everyone’s lives were changing.
CeCe just hoped hers was too.
Walking through the gleaming wood and brass doors into the foyer of Rochefort Champagne, Alyson still felt that same rush of excitement she’d experienced every day since she started. She could hardly believe that she, Alyson Wakefield from a small town in Lancashire, was actually working for this prestigious multinational company. She practically had to pinch herself every time she stepped into the magnificent old building near Montparnasse.
‘Bonjour, Franck,’ she greeted the security man on the door.
‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Alyson,’ he replied, with a deferential nod.
Alyson headed for the stairs – she worked on the second floor so there was no need to take the lift, and besides, she loved walking up the old-fashioned sweeping staircase and hearing her kitten heels clack on the marble floor.
It was eight a.m., and only a handful of people were in the office already. Alyson didn’t officially start until nine, but she loved to be in early to gear up for the day ahead. There was always something to learn, always something new to discover.
‘Bonjour, Matthieu,’ she called to one of her colleagues as she switched on her PC. He gave a little wave in reply.
Alyson was well liked amongst the other staff. She worked hard and did everything that was asked of her, taking the initiative to troubleshoot problems before they got out of control. The advantage of being the office dogsbody was that it gave you the opportunity to help out everyone – you could soon ingratiate yourself by doing the tedious, boring jobs that no one else wanted to do, whether it was mountains of filing or the afternoon coffee run.