by Carrie Duffy
She hitched up one leg, bracing it against an industrial-sized container of bleach, as André grabbed her buttocks, tugging her towards him as he entered her. Dionne gasped, flailing with her arms and bringing half a dozen bottles of hand wash crashing from the shelves.
The sex was fast and urgent. Dionne clutched at André’s smooth, muscular back, trying to keep her balance in her skyscraper Gucci heels. She heard a tearing sound, and realized it was the hem of her ridiculously expensive Elie Saab dress. She didn’t care.
André thrust relentlessly, both of them hot and sweaty in the tiny cupboard. André groaned loudly as Dionne cried out, oblivious to who might hear her. She was close to climax, closing her eyes as she wrapped her legs around André’s waist and rode him for all he was worth.
Outside the door, a waitress from the Sansôme function passed by. She heard the commotion and smiled to herself. At least someone was having a good time. She wondered if she should tell her manager, but decided against it. The staff at the hotel were known for their discretion, and she didn’t want to cause a scene. No, she would leave them to it.
She quickened her step and moved on.
The cups of tea had gone cold.
Alyson and Lynn sat in silence, all talked out. Even the paps outside had gone quiet, with all but the hardy having left for the night. Alyson curled up on the sofa, a faux-fur throw draped over her body. She felt like a child again. She just wanted to go to sleep, and hope that when she woke up, life would be normal again.
Lynn stood up, collecting the mugs. ‘I’ll go and wash these, then I think it’s time for bed.’
As she headed to the kitchen, Alyson heard her phone ringing inside her bag and groaned. She’d meant to switch that off. She dragged herself up off the sofa, grabbing her travel bag which she’d dumped by the door, and pulling out her mobile.
‘Hello?’
‘Alyson?’ said a voice.
Alyson felt her stomach turn over, her heart rate suddenly tripling. She recognized the voice instantly. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Aidan. Aidan Kennedy.’
28
‘Aidan?’ Alyson let out a long, shaky breath. ‘What … I mean, how are you?’
‘I’m well, yeah …’ There was an awkward pause. It was almost two years since they’d last spoken. ‘Sorry for calling so late. I didn’t know if you’d be up. I thought maybe I could just leave a message …’
‘I’m still up,’ Alyson told him, feeling stupid as soon as she’d said it.
‘Right.’ Another silence. ‘I was just calling to see how you were, really. I mean, I saw the papers and …’
‘I’m fine,’ Alyson said instinctively.
She heard Aidan take a breath. It was incredible, how familiar his voice was after all this time. ‘No you’re not,’ he said gently.
The unexpected kindness knocked her for six. Her eyes welled up, a lump balling in her throat. She’d spent so long battling, showing a strong face to the world, that someone seeing through the mask really got to her. ‘You’re right,’ she admitted. ‘Oh God, it’s been a nightmare, Aidan. The things he said – that’s not me. I’m not like that …’ She broke off as her voice cracked, threatening to break.
‘I know you’re not,’ Aidan assured her. ‘I know. I remember what you told me – about your mum, and about your dad leaving … I just wanted to make sure you were okay …’
With a sudden flashback, Alyson remembered that night in Montmartre. How sweet and kind Aidan had been. He’d listened when she’d needed to talk, he’d been there for her. ‘Aidan, I’m so sorry,’ she began, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. ‘For everything …’
‘Alyson—’ Aidan began, but Alyson needed to speak.
‘I always meant to come and see you, I really did. But somehow it was never the right time. And then everything blew up and my life just got crazy.’
‘I noticed,’ Aidan said lightly.
‘We’re … we’re not together any more.’ There was no need to spell out who she was talking about.
Aidan stayed silent. He’d known, of course – there’d never been any mention of a boyfriend in the articles about her, and Philippe had been pictured with dozens of different women over the last couple of years – but he didn’t say anything.
‘You were right,’ Alyson admitted. ‘I made a huge mistake. Maybe I was looking for a father figure, I don’t know. But I was young, and naïve, and—’
‘I didn’t call to talk about Philippe Rochefort,’ Aidan interrupted. There was a harshness in his voice that he couldn’t hide, and Alyson realized how badly she’d hurt him.
‘No,’ she agreed.
‘I called because I was worried about you. Where are you now?’
‘I’m … I’m with my mum.’
‘Good,’ Aidan nodded. ‘That’s good. Are you staying there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Alyson admitted. ‘It’s crazy. There are so many photographers outside, and they won’t leave as long as I’m here, but I don’t know where else to go. They’re staking out my flat in Paris and—’
‘Come stay with me,’ Aidan said simply. ‘I’m in London right now. There’s no reason for them to look for you here.’
‘I can’t,’ she said automatically.
‘Why not?’
‘Because …’ Alyson thought about it. ‘I don’t want to impose,’ she finished lamely.
Aidan laughed, a rich, warm sound. ‘Trust me, you won’t be imposing. The offer’s there if you want it.’
Alyson sank down onto the sofa, clutching her phone tightly. From the kitchen, she could hear the sound of her mother washing up, the clash of crockery on crockery. She knew she couldn’t stay here much longer, but where else could she go? She didn’t have any close friends she could turn to, and she didn’t want to hole up in some anonymous hotel, playing cat and mouse games with the press as the staff inevitably sold her out and she had to move on to the next location.
Alyson took a deep breath. ‘That’s really nice of you, Aidan. That’d be great.’ She was telling the truth. She’d been on her own for so long that it would be nice to be looked after, to have someone take care of her for a while.
‘Fantastic,’ Aidan sounded relieved. ‘Rest for tonight, then catch a flight tomorrow. Don’t go to Heathrow – the paps are horrendous. Fly into London City and I’ll meet you at the airport.’
‘Thanks, Aidan.’ She wanted to say something more, but the moment seemed to have passed.
‘Hey, no problem.’
David Mouret was enjoying speaking to the young woman he’d been seated next to. She was certainly a lot more inviting than that old dragon on his other side.
Her name was Esther, she’d told him, in a voice that was low and sensual, her accent unusual. She was a model too, but that was where the similarity with Dionne ended. Where Dionne was rash and impulsive, this girl seemed considered, thoughtful. And where Dionne said whatever came into her head, with no time for deeper issues, Esther had her own opinions on religion, literature and art – all the topics that bored Dionne. Not that Dionne wasn’t intelligent – she was simply more instinctive, thought David. But talking to Esther was a refreshing change.
They were deep into a discussion about Middle Eastern politics when Dionne stumbled back into the dining room. Her dress was creased and her hair was a mess, her make-up streaked across her face. She took out her compact and slicked on some lipstick in an attempt to restore her dishevelled appearance. Then she slipped back into her seat, trying to keep the smirk off her face.
Across the table, David looked up at her, his face questioning and angry. Dionne simply smiled back at him, suddenly engrossed in the untouched dessert that sat on her plate. It was passion-fruit cheesecake with a mango coulis, and she had no intention of eating it.
Moments later, André sat down beside her. He was running his hands through his hair, and his shirt was uneven, as though it had been hastily tucked in. He and Dionne studiously ignored ea
ch other as he attacked his dessert with gusto, and Dionne sipped at her glass of champagne, tilting her body so her back was to him.
After André had finished eating, he leaned across to speak to her, his hand proprietorially slung round the back of her chair. Dionne turned round in delight, giggling as she spoke to him. She reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, her fingers sensually stroking his neck. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the guests around them; a few turned to look discreetly.
Dionne scooped up a spoonful of her untouched dessert and fed it to André, both of them laughing at her ineptitude. She was drunk, and her hand was unsteady. Some of the sauce dribbled down André’s chin. Dionne caught it with her thumb and fed it to him like that. André sucked at her fingers, his gaze never leaving her face.
Conversation around the table had dwindled to almost nothing as everyone was distracted by their very public display of affection. There was a loud screech of chairs as David stood up, excusing himself to Esther. Fury blazed in his eyes as he marched round and grabbed Dionne by the arm, practically dragging her to her feet.
‘Come on, we’re leaving.’
‘What are you doing?’
David didn’t speak. He pulled her out of the room, and she stumbled after him, unsteady on her heels. David had a damn good idea what was going on, and it was all he could do not to punch that prick André on the way out of the door. But he knew Dionne was just as much to blame, and that taking it out on that pretty boy wasn’t going to help.
‘Where are we going?’ Dionne demanded. She was wriggling like a kitten, trying to get away from him.
‘Upstairs.’ They’d taken a suite for the night.
‘Oh, okay.’ Dionne grinned wickedly, her manner instantly changing as she trotted after him obediently.
David didn’t speak until they were safely inside the room. As soon as the door slammed shut, Dionne threw her arms around him, trying to kiss him. He pulled sharply away, but Dionne wasn’t discouraged.
‘Oh come on, baby, I know how you like this.’ She dropped to her knees, fumbling with his fly as she tried to unzip his trousers.
‘Dionne, what the fuck are you doing?’
She looked up at him from her position on the floor. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
David shook his head in disgust. ‘Get up,’ he told her furiously.
Dionne struggled to her feet. She stood there, swaying, her eyes half closed.
‘What were you doing with him?’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t play the innocent, Dionne. Tonight you’ve made me look like an idiot in front of hundreds of people. You are supposed to be with me, Dionne, and yet you are all over some other man.’
‘Well what about you and that girl you were sitting with – Esther?’ Dionne pouted. ‘You looked pretty into her.’
‘I was seated beside her, and we had a pleasant conversation like civilized adults. I was not feeding her with my fork, practically fucking her in the dining room.’
Dionne bit her lip to stop herself from giggling. If only David knew what she’d really been up to …
‘David,’ she murmured, in a singsong voice that was meant to appease. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his as she began to kiss his neck. ‘Don’t be mad with me, baby …’
David groaned, relenting in spite of himself. She could always do this to him; she knew exactly which buttons to press. When that incredible body was wrapped round him, promising exquisite things to come, he was helpless. ‘Dionne …’ he moaned, leaning in towards her.
Suddenly he pulled away, shoving her roughly so that she fell back onto the bed. She smelt of sex – that sweaty, musty, unmistakeable scent. ‘I can smell him all over you,’ David spat. ‘Just get away from me.’
‘David, baby …’ Dionne pleaded, lying back against the pillows. She stared up at him seductively, running her fingertips lazily across the top of her cleavage.
‘Did you fuck him?’ David demanded. ‘Did you bring him up here?’
Dionne muttered something incomprehensible. The bed was so comfortable that she couldn’t muster the energy to move. Her eyes began to close, the endless champagne catching up with her.
‘You’re a mess, Dionne. Sort yourself out.’
Dionne didn’t respond. She’d passed out.
David stared at her. Her beautiful dress was torn and rucked up around her thighs, exposing her long legs. She’d borrowed diamonds from Sansôme for the night, worth over a million euros, but one earring was missing, and a link on the bracelet was broken. She was trouble, David realized sadly. Whenever Dionne was around she brought him nothing but heartache and humiliation. He loved her, he’d given her chance after chance, but he couldn’t do it any more. From now on, she was on her own.
David took one final look at her and walked out.
29
CeCe lay awake in her low-slung, king-size bed. Mayumi was sleeping beside her, her breathing slow and even. Both of them were naked, and CeCe let her gaze run over Mayumi’s tiny body and milky white skin, the intricate snake tattoo twisting its way across her right shoulder blade. Her thick black hair was splayed out over the pillows, her tiny breasts almost covered by her arms as she curled in the foetal position. She was so young, thought CeCe: only eighteen to her own twenty-three.
CeCe moved closer, spooning round her, delighting in the warmth of Mayumi’s body. She closed her eyes, letting herself relax. As long as Mayumi was here, in her arms, she felt safe. A remarkable sense of calm had descended on her ever since Mayumi had been in her life, and – most importantly – she was designing again. In fact, she’d hardly been able to stop. As soon as her pencil touched the paper, she would dash off a whole series of sketches, inspiration flooding through her. It was as if she was possessed by an unstoppable muse.
And the designs she was producing were good. They were inspired, original, ground-breaking. The whole team was relieved; she could see it in their faces. It meant their jobs were safe, for another season at least.
She knew they’d been worried about her. Hell, she’d been worried about herself. The nonstop partying, the desire to drink herself into oblivion. It wasn’t normal and it wasn’t healthy. She’d slid into a deep depression, the black demons chasing her down like they had done in the past, but she’d got through it. No drugs, no doctors, no counselling, CeCe thought proudly. She’d come through it by herself, and it was all because of Mayumi.
She wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. Perhaps a little too tightly. Mayumi stirred in her sleep, but CeCe was terrified to let her go, too afraid of what might happen if she left. She couldn’t bear to sink back into that zombie-like state, where the days passed in a blur and life didn’t seem worth living. Mayumi had literally brought her back to life.
Despite having lived in the city for years, CeCe had never visited the usual Parisian tourist haunts. Mayumi changed all that, opening her eyes to a wealth of new experiences. They took a boat trip on the Seine, wandered hand-in-hand round Notre-Dame and queued for hours to see the Mona Lisa. They ate at Les Deux Magots, checked out museums, pop-up galleries, temporary exhibitions. She found inspiration everywhere, and Mayumi was on hand to document it all.
She was studying photography at Spéos, and was permanently attached to her camera. She shot in black and white, producing glorious stills of the city and its inhabitants, but some of her best pictures were of CeCe. Mayumi loved to photograph her when she was working, uninhibited and unselfconscious. Sometimes she took pictures in their more intimate moments, a range of explicit yet artistic monochrome stills. There was a beautiful photo hanging in the living room that she’d taken of CeCe, naked and leaning out of the window as she smoked a cigarette, her elbows resting on the window sill. Her hair was a mess, her nipples protracted in the cool breeze as the smoke curled away from her. She looked thoughtful yet focused as she stared wistfully over the city, the shot perfectly capturing CeCe’s determination and vulnerability.
&n
bsp; Photos of the two of them were everywhere throughout the apartment, blown up to poster size on cheap paper. CeCe’s favourite was a picture Mayumi had taken by simply turning the camera round and snapping a close-up. Only their faces were visible, dominating the entire frame, but CeCe looked so happy and relaxed, Mayumi impossibly beautiful.
CeCe kissed her lightly on the shoulder, her lips gently brushing skin so pale it looked like marble. Mayumi stirred and woke, turning round to face CeCe. Her face was creased with sleep, her eyes heavy, but she smiled when she saw her, rolling across to kiss her good morning.
They held each other for a moment, kissing lazily, limbs entwined. CeCe let her hands slide over Mayumi’s shoulder, to her breasts, then down to her stomach, but Mayumi pulled away.
‘What time is it?’ she asked.
‘Almost ten.’
‘I should get up. I have a class at eleven.’
‘You don’t have to get up now, do you?’ CeCe tried hard to keep the frustration out of her voice. She didn’t want to sound like a nag.
Mayumi kissed her again and climbed out of bed, padding naked around the apartment. CeCe heard her turn on the espresso machine in the kitchen before she came back with her camera, snapping CeCe bundled up in the sheets. CeCe messed around for a while, pretending to look sultry or wide-eyed and innocent, but she quickly grew self-conscious.
‘Don’t take any more,’ she pleaded, holding her hand up to the lens to shield herself. She climbed out of bed and walked across to Mayumi, gently pushing the camera out of the way and reaching for her.
‘I have to take a shower,’ Mayumi told her.
‘Whatever.’ This time, CeCe didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. She pulled on her robe and wandered aimlessly around the apartment as the water began running in the bathroom. She drifted into the kitchen and made two cups of coffee, then sat down at her designs. She retraced the outline of a dress she’d drawn the previous night, before standing up again, unable to settle. Moving across to the window, she stared out at the city, watching the way the sun hit the rooftops and reflected dazzlingly off a hundred skylights.