Diva

by Carrie Duffy

  She was twenty-two years old and a top model, but she was still cementing her position – she wasn’t yet established like Heidi or Gisele. Dionne didn’t know if her career could cope with a year-long break. Besides, did she want to travel the world with a baby in tow? She hardly saw herself as an earth mother, popping out in the middle of a shoot to breast-feed before strutting her stuff in front of the camera. And she definitely wasn’t the Angelina type, traipsing around the globe with a rainbow troupe following behind.

  Shit, she didn’t even know what colour this baby was going to be. The father could be black or white – she just couldn’t remember …

  Dionne let her head drop into her hands, wondering how the hell she’d ended up in this situation. She was a party girl, not a mom. She spent her nights having fun, not changing diapers.

  But already there was a stirring of something deep inside, some deeply buried maternal instinct. Even now, Dionne felt fiercely protective of this baby. Poor little thing, only a few weeks old, its future entirely in Dionne’s hands. She instantly identified with it – it reminded her of the way she’d had to battle and been written off by everyone. She still had a few weeks to make a decision, but this baby was a fighter, she sensed it.

  Whatever happened, she was going to need support, Dionne realized, pulling her phone out of her Mulberry bag. Taking a deep breath, she called David.

  ‘What do you think?’

  CeCe excitedly threw the stack of glossy prints down on the table. The rest of the team gathered round to look. No one spoke.

  ‘Well?’ CeCe demanded.

  ‘This is the new autumn/winter ad campaign?’ Jacques Perrot asked carefully. Jacques was second in command and worked closely with CeCe. He looked like a geek but possessed an incredible talent. For this shoot, however, he’d been excluded; CeCe had insisted on doing it by herself, with the help of Mayumi.

  ‘Yes,’ CeCe confirmed, her eyes shining. ‘Aren’t they amazing?’

  There was a sceptical silence.

  ‘They’re … different,’ someone said tactfully.

  ‘Exactly! They’re stunning. No one has ever seen anything like this before,’ CeCe enthused. ‘Mayumi’s ideas are revolutionary. She’s just so creative.’

  ‘Aren’t they a little extreme?’ asked Gilles Boudin, Head of Marketing, doubtfully.

  ‘That’s exactly the point,’ CeCe turned on him. ‘Have a little vision, would you? These images are works of art in themselves. They’re pushing the boundaries, subverting the whole notion of what fashion really means.’

  ‘CeCe,’ Jacques began carefully. ‘There’s no doubt that they’re incredible images but …’ he paused, looking round at the rest of his team for support. ‘We’re in this business to sell clothes.’

  ‘Really?’ CeCe’s head snapped up. ‘I thought we were in this to be innovative and daring, to make something beautiful. If the whole point of Capucine is to churn out sales units, then we might as well shut up shop and I’ll go work for Pimkie.’

  CeCe was fuming. The tension in the studio was obvious, and Jacques decided to proceed with caution.

  ‘All I’m saying is that this collection has to appeal to women. It has to be covetable, aspirational. Women have to see these photos and be willing to kill to get their hands on the clothes. They have to believe that by wearing Capucine they’ll be magically transported to some other world where they’re richer, thinner, more beautiful, more glamorous. You have to build that world for them, CeCe.’ Jacques paused, letting his words sink in. ‘And we can’t do that if the clothes are being modelled by men.’

  There was a deathly silence in the studio. Everyone was looking at CeCe, waiting to see how she would react.

  CeCe stared at the photos laid out on the table. One showed a muscled hunk wearing a blush-coloured lace shirt, his bulging, tattooed bicep straining against the delicate material. Another showcased a tight, sexy pencil skirt in a herringbone print. But instead of sliding smoothly over the rounded hips and slim waist of a woman, the photo showed the solid bottom, chunky thighs and wide calves of a well-built man, his legs tapering down into heels that had surely been designed for a drag queen.

  All the pictures were taken in traditional advertising style, with men in the same sensual, submissive poses as the female models would usually be – draped over a four-poster bed, leaning seductively against a wrought-iron balcony. It blurred the boundaries, playing with the whole question of gender.

  ‘It’s ground-breaking,’ CeCe burst out in frustration. ‘The clothes will be investment items, collectors’ pieces. We’ll generate so much buzz that stock will fly off the shelves, simply so women can say they own something from this Capucine collection.’

  ‘And their bitchy girlfriends can say it looked much better on the male model than it does on them,’ Gilles quipped, to smothered laughter.

  ‘Mayumi adores it,’ CeCe said hotly. ‘And so do I.’

  ‘You can’t let your girlfriend dictate company policy,’ Jacques insisted.

  ‘She dictates it whether you like it or not,’ CeCe was shouting now. ‘Her influence is everywhere. How do you even think I came up with these designs? It’s because I have Mayumi and she inspires me.’

  ‘Sometimes you just have to take a step back,’ Jacques said gently.

  ‘You know, I kind of like them,’ said Valérie Lemoine, another member of the design team.

  CeCe turned to her gratefully. ‘Thank you! Finally, someone with vision. Mayumi’s tutor thought they were incredible, unlike anything he’d ever seen.’

  ‘Mayumi’s tutor has seen them?’ Jacques’ tone was suddenly harsh. ‘He’s seen our exclusive campaign that’s not even out to trade yet?’

  CeCe shrugged. ‘It was Mayumi’s coursework. He had to grade it. She got top marks, incidentally.’

  Jacques looked as if he wanted to kill someone. ‘Our new campaign is your girlfriend’s fucking school project?’ There was a stunned silence in the studio. ‘CeCe, can we have a private word?’

  ‘No,’ CeCe retorted defiantly, her eyes blazing. ‘Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it in front of the whole team.’

  ‘Fine,’ Jacques stated. She’d pushed him too far. ‘It may be your name out there, but the rest of us here are working our arses off too, and we’re not about to see Capucine made to look ridiculous because of your childish obsession with this girl. I realize she’s important to you—’

  ‘I love her,’ CeCe yelled.

  Jacques ignored the interruption. ‘But I’m worried about you, CeCe. You’re too into her, it’s like you’re blind to anything else, and you’re making Capucine into a joke. It’s not healthy, CeCe, and quite honestly …’ Jacques broke off, wondering if he had the nerve to say what he was thinking. ‘I don’t think it’s going to have a happy ending.’

  Dionne sat awkwardly in her apartment. David had arrived and was perched on the edge of an armchair looking decidedly uncomfortable. He hadn’t taken his coat off. It was as if he already knew, thought Dionne. Something had changed already between them, she could feel it. The distance between them was painfully obvious, their usual familiarity nothing but a memory.

  Dionne stifled a yawn. It was eight a.m. and she’d slept badly. David had insisted on coming over early, before he went into the office, telling her it was the only time he could spare.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Dionne said formally, settling herself on the sofa. She was wearing tight jeans and a flowing A-line top. Not that her bump was visible yet, but she didn’t want to give him any opportunity to guess what she was going to tell him. He knew how hard she worked to stay in shape and a pot-belly would look suspicious.

  David inclined his head. ‘That’s okay. You said it was important.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Dionne hesitated. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m good.’

  ‘Right.’ Dionne stared at him. He looked so handsome in his work suit, a classic trench slung over the top.
Could he really be the father of her baby? Instinctively she clasped her hands to her stomach. David would make a good father. He’d been there for her so many times over the years, never letting her down. She just hoped he’d stand by her now.

  ‘Dionne, I don’t have time to play games,’ David said irritably. ‘I have somewhere I need to be. I came because you said it was important.’ His muscles were tensed, as though he might get up and leave at any moment.

  Dionne panicked. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted out.

  David’s forehead creased in confusion. For a moment he just stared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  David’s dark skin seemed to pale. He nodded, trying to take it in. Then he looked her straight in the eye. ‘Is it mine?’

  ‘David …’ Dionne pleaded.

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Dionne,’ he snapped. ‘I know what you’re like. Let’s face it, we’ve never been exclusive.’ He sounded bitter. ‘Is it mine?’

  Dionne hung her head, feeling close to tears. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ David sighed. ‘And you invited me here today expecting … what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dionne said again in frustration. ‘I just felt you should know.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ David’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Me and how many others? Have you got appointments scheduled all morning, huh? Someone arriving straight after I leave?’

  ‘Don’t …’ Dionne whispered, shaking her head.

  ‘Why am I here?’ David sounded angry now.

  ‘I’m scared!’ Dionne cried, turning on him, her eyes wide and filled with tears. ‘I don’t know what to do. I just thought … you’ve always been there for me. You’ve been so good to me. I thought we could … try again?’

  David shook his head sadly. When he spoke, his voice was thick. ‘I can’t, Dionne.’

  Dionne tried to suppress a rising sense of panic. ‘David, I love you,’ she told him. ‘I know I haven’t always been the best person, but I’m trying to change. I have to change.’

  David was torn. He’d never seen Dionne like this – so scared, so vulnerable. He knew it wasn’t an act. This was real. But he had to stay strong. ‘Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to say that to me? To tell me that you love me, you need me. Once upon a time it was all I wanted to hear.’

  ‘Once?’

  ‘It’s too late,’ David said quietly. ‘I’ll always be there for you if you need me. You only have to call me and I’ll drop everything. But you and me – it’s over.’

  ‘Why?’ Dionne asked desperately. ‘What’s changed?’ Then the penny dropped, her eyes widening in alarm. ‘You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?’

  There was a pause. ‘Yes,’ David admitted finally. ‘I really like her, and I want to see if we can make a go of it.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Dionne demanded. ‘Do I know her?’

  ‘You left me no choice,’ David tried to explain. ‘You pushed me away. Time after time, I was there for you. I would have done anything for you, you know that, but you flung it back in my face, humiliated me. I kept on coming back – I really thought we’d make it work in the end … But then I gave up. I had enough.’

  Dionne stared at him. She knew every line on his face, every contour of his body, but she’d never seen him look at her like he was now – with coldness, with pity. ‘Who is it?’ she asked. ‘You owe me that much at least.’

  ‘Esther Levy,’ David said finally, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘She’s … a sweet girl.’

  Dionne closed her eyes, remembering the stunning model David had sat next to at the Sansôme dinner. The night she’d ignored him, too busy screwing André Renard – another one of the possible fathers – in the cleaning cupboard.

  ‘Sweet girl,’ she repeated. ‘Not like me, huh? Well, I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,’ she finished sarcastically, unable to resist.

  ‘Dionne—’

  ‘What?’ she shot back, eyes blazing.

  ‘Look, if the baby’s mine, I’ll be there for you okay? I promise. I just need to know … You can’t expect me to throw everything away when I don’t even know if it’s—’

  ‘Yes David, I get the picture. I’m a slut, right? I know what you’re saying …’ The tears began to fall before she could stop them. She brushed them away, angry with herself for the display of weakness. Fucking hormones, she berated herself. She’d be crying at TV commercials next.

  David stood up, resting a hand awkwardly on her shoulder. It was hard to believe they’d ever been lovers, as intimate as two people could get.

  ‘I should probably go,’ he offered. ‘But if I can help you in any way … Financially or … Do you need money? Is that why you invited me over?’

  Dionne lashed out, swiping his hand away. Memories of Philippe Rochefort returned unbidden – that night in the apartment where he’d utterly humiliated her, throwing euro bills in her face. Was that all anybody thought, even now? That she was just a gold-digging whore, out for what she could get. ‘I don’t want your money,’ she hissed. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  David looked at her. For a moment it seemed as though he was about to say something else, then thought better of it. ‘Call me if you need me, okay?’

  Dionne didn’t respond and he walked out of the apartment in silence, the door banging shut behind him. She listened to the sound of his steps retreating along the corridor, down the stairs and out of her life, before she lay down on the sofa and howled, letting the tears stream down her face until her eyes were swollen and her nose was bright red. It was cathartic, letting out all the emotions she’d kept bottled up since she’d found out she was pregnant.

  This was it then. She was on her own.

  The minutes ticked by as Dionne lay prostrate on the cushions, before she finally dragged herself upright and pulled a tissue from the box on the table, noisily blowing her nose. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to keep this baby, she realized, resting her hands on her belly. It might be the only thing she had left in this world, the two of them against everyone.

  Dionne didn’t need anyone else. She was going to have this baby, and she was going to do it on her own.

  32

  Alyson stepped out of Dubai International Airport. The automatic doors slid open, and a wave of heat washed over her. The shock almost took her breath away; she was totally unprepared for it.

  ‘Wow,’ she exclaimed, under her breath. She’d travelled all over the world during her modelling career, but never experienced anything like the wet, humid heat of Dubai. It was like walking into a steam room. Immediately all of Alyson’s clothes felt clammy, sticking damply to her skin even though she was wearing just the lightest linen trousers and tunic top which she’d changed into just before they landed.

  It was the middle of summer, and the mercury was touching 110°F. The Tarmac was shimmering, the locals looking laid-back in their white dishdashas and head-scarves, eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses.

  Beside her, Aidan grinned. ‘It’s a little different to London, huh?’

  ‘It’s insane,’ Alyson replied, feeling as though she might melt into a puddle on the floor at any second. She could feel her pale skin protesting at the very thought of exposure to the fierce desert sun.

  A uniformed driver put their bags into the trunk of the black stretch limo that was waiting for them.

  ‘Impressive,’ Alyson commented wryly.

  Aidan waved her away. ‘You’re lying. I know you’re not the sort of girl to have her head turned by all of this.’

  Alyson smiled at his teasing. ‘Maybe not. But it’s not a bad way to travel.’

  She climbed inside, the air-conditioning deliciously cool after the scorching heat outside. Alyson sighed in relief as she seated herself in the cavernous interior.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Aidan asked, indicating the well-stocked mini-bar.

  ‘Just a mineral water, thanks.’

 
‘Nothing stronger?’ he pressed, helping himself to a whiskey.

  ‘No.’ Alyson looked pointedly at his drink and grinned. ‘I’m working.’

  Aidan acknowledged the jibe with a tilt of his head, and gazed back at her admiringly. She was so focused, so professional, always cool and unflappable. Nothing seemed to faze her. She still looked elegant and serene, in spite of the searing heat they’d just come through.

  He sipped at his whiskey, adding a little water and feeling like a naughty child as they turned onto Sheikh Zayed Road, one of the main highways running through the heart of the emirate.

  ‘Wow,’ Alyson said again, staring in disbelief out of the window. She felt as if she’d entered wonderland, as though she’d shrunk and everything around her had grown. The vast, largely empty motorway was six lanes wide, flanked on either side by colossal skyscrapers. Alyson had spent enough time in cities like New York and Hong Kong to be used to enormous towers, but these were something else. They lined the road as far as the eye could see, awe-inspiring in their dominance of the skyline. Most impressive of all was the Burj Khalifa, thrusting half a mile into the sky like a glittering spear. It was so tall that even when Alyson pressed up against the window and craned her neck, she still couldn’t see the top as they passed by.

  And it looked as if work was still going on. Not content with the mass of buildings they’d already erected, the signs of construction were everywhere. Dotted amongst the skyscrapers was a sea of cranes in red and green, swinging out over vast areas that were still, essentially, building sites. It was unbelievable to see all this rising from what had once been little more than sand, a small fishing village on the edge of the Arabian Desert.

  ‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ Aidan seemed to voice what she was thinking. ‘Anything you can dream of, they can build it here.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Alyson marvelled. ‘It’s spectacular, but …’ She hesitated. ‘Isn’t it kind of … trashy?’

  Aidan burst out laughing. ‘I never had you down as a snob.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Alyson retorted, flustered. ‘It’s just—’