by Carrie Duffy
Alyson had had enough of the industry’s bullshit and two-facedness to last her a lifetime. It was only her ties to CeCe that had brought her back here today. After all, CeCe had been instrumental in the launch of her career – without her, Alyson would never have taken her initial steps in the modelling world, or had her first big break with Capucine. Whatever Alyson’s feelings about the industry as a whole, she couldn’t deny how good CeCe had been to her.
There had been press outside the church when she arrived, shouting her name and trying to take photos. Alyson’s heart had been pounding already, without having to run the gauntlet of the media. She’d hurried inside and slipped into the nearest pew, trying to calm herself. She glanced around quickly, but couldn’t see Dionne. She was probably going to turn up late to get attention, as if it was a bloody movie premiere or awards ceremony, Alyson thought, feeling uncharacteristically vicious.
This whole situation was unsettling her. It was so strange, returning to Paris. She hadn’t been back since before her ill-fated trip to Japan months ago, and it felt as though everything had moved on without her. Her apartment had an air of abandonment, like the Marie Celeste, a fine layer of dust settling over everything. The food in her kitchen had rotted, the clothes in her wardrobe belonging to another life. Just as soon as she was finished with Kennedy’s Dubai, she would make arrangements to sell the apartment. Paris was no longer her home. She didn’t know where home was now – she’d spent so long with Aidan, first in London, then Dubai – but it was time to move on. She guessed she’d just go wherever the wind blew her, chase up more commissions for Dante Consulting and travel with work. She was thinking of investing in an office space in London, of making a more permanent base there. That way she wouldn’t be too far from her mother, and hopefully they could continue to build bridges.
This trip was like the end of an era, as though she was closing the final chapter of a book that had lain open for far too long. There were so many people here today that she recognized, the familiar faces of stylists, make-up artists, photographers. And right at the front of the church was the team from Capucine, to whom she owed so much. They’d backed her from the beginning, accepting her inexperience and pushing for her appointment – the decision that had provoked so much bile and fury from Dionne.
Today was, first and foremost, about CeCe, obviously, but Alyson couldn’t help but feel it was the perfect opportunity to say goodbye to her old life. The girl she’d been when she’d first moved to Paris was a distant memory; now it was time to move on and discover who Alyson Wakefield could become.
A sudden ripple ran around the church, conversations tapering off as heads swivelled towards the entrance. Alyson turned to see what was happening. It was Dionne. She swanned in wearing enormous black sunglasses and swept straight to the front of the church, walking past Alyson without even seeing her. Everyone was watching. It was a long time since Dionne had been seen out in public, and Alyson couldn’t help but stare – man, she was huge! But she looked stunning, Alyson had to give her that. She was positively glowing, and her body had filled out beautifully. She’d always had curves, but now her breasts were enormous, her booty ridiculous.
Alyson stood up very straight, her face neutral, fighting to keep her composure at the sight of Dionne just a few metres away from her. This was the woman who’d tried to ruin her career – her life, even. But Alyson had moved on – she had a new business, a new sense of purpose. She almost felt sorry for Dionne. The story was that she’d been kicked out of her agency, that she didn’t know the identity of her baby’s father. And of course, there had been those pictures that had gone viral on the Net.
Dionne had always been overly ambitious, living her life at breakneck pace, and now it was catching up with her. In the past, Alyson had felt inferior around her, boring and unexciting. Well, now she was the one in control, and Dionne was losing it. The thought calmed Alyson, helped her not to feel intimidated. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the distinctive figure at the front of the church, her gaze boring into Dionne’s back.
There was a flurry of movement as the priest emerged from the sacristy and everyone stood up. Then the church fell silent, and he began to speak.
The ceremony was beautiful and touching. Alyson had expected it to be full of fake sincerity, with fashion types spouting platitudes from the lectern, but it was surprisingly moving. In spite of the criticism, CeCe had obviously had some firm admirers within the industry, and the tributes were heartfelt.
Alyson came out of the church, caught up in the crowds that were milling around in the sunshine outside. A lot of people stared discreetly, but no one approached her. She felt lost and out of place, wanting to make a quick getaway, but she couldn’t see her car in the mass of black vehicles lined up on the Place de la Madeleine. Never mind, she would rather walk – clear her head and get some perspective.
As she made her way through the throng, a hand tapped her on the arm. It was Jacques Perrot, CeCe’s second in command at Capucine, who’d now moved up to head designer. Alyson had got to know him well during her time working for the label, and he’d given a moving speech calling CeCe an inspiration, a true original. He seemed genuinely devastated that she’d gone.
‘Are you coming?’ he asked. ‘To the reception?’
‘I …’ Alyson hesitated. She just wanted to get away.
‘CeCe always spoke very highly of you,’ Jacques said. His eyes were ringed with red, his face pale. ‘I know she was thrilled with the work you did for us. When you retired, she said we’d lost a special talent.’
Alyson nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His words were sincere, and they’d touched a nerve.
‘Will you come?’ Jacques pressed.
Alyson nodded once more.
‘Come with me, share my car,’ Jacques offered, holding out his arm to escort her to the black Mercedes that was waiting.
The reception was being held just round the corner, at the Ritz. It was a short journey, and they spoke briefly.
‘What’s going to happen to Capucine?’ Alyson asked, voicing the question that had been the subject of much press speculation.
Jacques sighed. ‘I’m going to finish this collection and show it as planned. It’s what CeCe would have wanted, and it just feels … right.’
Alyson nodded in agreement.
‘After that, I don’t know. Perhaps the label will be wound up. I’ve had offers from other places, but my heart’s with Capucine. It all depends on the reaction I suppose …’
He trailed off, staring out of the window. Alyson didn’t press him. It wasn’t really the right setting for small talk.
They pulled up at the Ritz shortly afterwards, running the gauntlet of press before they were swept through to the sumptuous Salon Louis XV.
‘I thought CeCe would like it here,’ Jacques murmured to Alyson as they entered. ‘Coco Chanel lived here, you know, and CeCe was always a huge admirer of hers. Oh, the clothes were a little sedate, a little monochrome for her. But the way she changed fashion – she was a revolutionary. Who knows what CeCe could have achieved if she’d had more time …’
He smiled sadly as the crowd closed in on him, everyone wanting to speak to him and offer their condolences. Alyson glanced around uncertainly, wishing she hadn’t come at all, that she’d just gone straight back to her apartment after the service. There were few people that she recognized and even fewer she wanted to speak to. In desperation she fled to the rest room. She would kill a few minutes in there, make herself presentable, then do the rounds and leave after a suitable juncture.
The bathroom was incredible, more sumptuous than most people’s houses, complete with pale-pink marble and an enormous vase of coordinating orchids and roses. She was repairing her eye make-up in the ornate mirror – it had been an emotional ceremony – when the toilet door behind her swung open. She watched in the reflection as a woman emerged, her face half hidden by a mane of glossy black hair.
Dionne.
&nbs
p; For a moment, neither of them moved. Their eyes were locked on each other, bodies frozen.
Then Dionne stepped forward deliberately, standing right beside Alyson as she slowly washed her hands. Their bodies were almost touching, but still neither of them turned to look at the other, their only view coming from the mirrored reflection. Alyson’s hand was shaking as she applied her lipstick. She clicked on the cap and put it back in her bag, smoothing down her hair and turning to go. She was about to walk out when she hesitated.
There was something about today – the emotion, the reflection it invoked. It had made Alyson realize that life was too short. She’d spent much of the memorial remembering the early days, when all three girls had shared a flat together. Dionne and CeCe had been so close, but they’d always been good to her, inviting her out no matter how many times she declined. Hell, Dionne had even helped Alyson prepare for her first – and only – date with Aidan. Seeing her now, so physically changed, her body blooming and gloriously pregnant, Alyson couldn’t help but think of new life and new beginnings.
‘Dionne.’ Alyson’s voice was clear and steady.
Slowly, Dionne turned to look at her. ‘Alyson,’ she said neutrally.
Alyson swallowed. ‘Congratulations,’ she began. ‘About the baby.’
‘Thank you.’ Dionne’s tone was cool.
‘I hope …’ Alyson broke off, unsure of what she was trying to say. ‘I hope everything works out for you.’
Dionne didn’t respond. Alyson felt foolish, quickly picking up her bag and walking to the door.
‘Alyson.’
The sound of Dionne’s voice stopped her.
‘I think … I mean, I know CeCe would have been really happy you’re here today.’
Alyson turned around, her face softening. ‘Thanks, Dionne.’
‘Yeah. She was always a huge fan of yours – probably saw your potential before anyone else. I just … I guess I was jealous,’ she admitted.
Alyson nodded. She knew how much it had cost her to say that. ‘Yeah, well. Past history,’ she said, with a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘I’m happy with my life now. I hope you are too.’
Dionne didn’t reply. ‘I miss her, Alyson,’ she whispered eventually. ‘I treated her really badly, but I wanted to make it right. I went to see her, the day she … She was in a terrible state, but I left her. I never imagined she would …’
‘She loved you,’ Alyson told her, matter-of-factly. ‘Anyone could see it.’
‘Not at the end,’ Dionne shook her head. ‘She hated me. Everyone hated me.’
‘You didn’t make it easy for yourself,’ Alyson said wryly. She had no intention of soft-soaping her.
‘No,’ Dionne agreed slowly. ‘You’re right. I just wish … I wish there was something I could do to make it better. I’d give anything to go back to how it used to be – when it was the three of us, living in that tiny apartment. I had a blast.’
‘You can’t go back, Dionne. Too much has happened.’
‘I know. I just … forget it.’ Dionne wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. She didn’t think it was possible to cry any more than she had these past few weeks.
In spite of everything, Alyson couldn’t help but feel an empathy with Dionne. So much had changed since Alyson’s rapid rise to fame, and they’d both been through the mill.
‘I hear you’ve been having a tough time of it,’ she said sympathetically.
Dionne turned on her. ‘Yeah? Been enjoying it, have you? Well, don’t worry about me, Alyson, I’m doing just fine.’
‘No, I didn’t mean …’ Alyson trailed off.
Then the anger vanished as quickly as it had arrived, and Dionne seemed to crumple before her eyes. Alyson had never seen this side to her – vulnerable, and afraid. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she confided. ‘My career is over. I’m not like you – I don’t have brains. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and now it’s finished.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Alyson insisted. She knew how much modelling meant to Dionne, even though she would never understand it. ‘Look at what you’ve achieved already,’ she told Dionne, remembering the pep talk Aidan had given her. ‘You can do anything you want.’
‘Uh uh,’ Dionne shook her head. ‘I had my chance, and I blew it.’
‘Why don’t you model for Capucine?’ The idea came out of Alyson’s mouth before she’d even had time to think about it. ‘I spoke to Jacques earlier, and they’re still going ahead. They’ll show at Fashion Week in September. Why not?’
Dionne looked at Alyson as if she was an idiot. ‘Because all I’ve ever done is slate their company, and by Fashion Week I’ll be eight months’ pregnant?’
‘Right, and you never did anything controversial before?’
A look of understanding flickered across Dionne’s face. There was a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, and Alyson knew she’d got her interested.
‘But … would they even have me?’
Alyson shrugged. ‘No harm in asking. Jacques is a good guy – you know that. And can you imagine the publicity for Capucine? His first show at the helm, and he’s got the world’s most notorious model on the catwalk.’
‘The world’s most notorious model,’ Dionne repeated the phrase, liking the way it sounded. ‘Yeah, maybe it could work,’ she wondered, her tone betraying her growing excitement. ‘And if everyone sees me turn it around, it could get me back in the game …’
‘Maybe,’ Alyson agreed. ‘But don’t do it for that. Just get out there, do it for CeCe and show the world that you don’t give a damn what they think.’
‘Why don’t you join me?’ Dionne said casually.
‘Huh?’
‘Think about it – the perfect tribute to CeCe. The first time both of us will have been seen on a runway together. It would be huge.’
‘No thanks.’ Alyson shook her head. ‘Been there, done that. My modelling days are over. Besides, I don’t think I’m the draw I once was. The fashion world forgets about you pretty quickly if you let it.’
‘Aw, come on, Alyson,’ Dionne insisted. ‘It would be awesome – what better tribute to CeCe? The two of us on the runway, an event that will never be repeated. Like you said, who gives a damn what anyone else thinks? Just do it for CeCe.’
Alyson stared at Dionne for a long time. She wondered if she might be right.
37
Fireworks exploded, shimmering dots of white light exploding high above the Madinat Souk like shooting stars. Guests crowded onto the terrace to watch the display taking place on the opposite bank. It was a spectacular evening, an undoubted triumph, and as far as Aidan was concerned, it was all down to Alyson.
He badly wished that she could be there beside him, that they could face the world as a couple and revel in their achievement together. But he knew that attending her friend’s memorial was important to her, and he respected her for that. She’d put so much work into Kennedy’s Dubai that only something major could have convinced her to miss its opening night.
Aidan stared round at the scene, enjoying the heady thrill of success. It was a glamorous, fashionable affair, exactly what he’d envisioned, with some of the emirate’s biggest players present, taking full advantage of his hospitality. Waiters mingled amongst the invited guests, offering canapé-sized portions of their most popular dishes – shot glasses filled with minted pea soup and topped with crème fraîche; perfect miniature Yorkshire puddings containing roast beef and horseradish mousse; quail eggs rolled in celery salt and cracked black pepper.
‘Aidan Kennedy!’
Aidan heard a voice behind him, then a heavy hand clapped him on the back.
‘Congratulations, my friend, you’ve done an amazing job.’ It was Eddie van Niekerk, a South African multimillionaire who’d made his fortune with a chain of gyms and health clubs. He was in his fifties, tanned and healthy as befitted a gym owner, with pale-blond hair and freckled skin.
‘Thanks,’ Aidan smiled, happy to accept the compliment.
‘I mean it. This place looks unreal.’
‘Well, I had a lot of help,’ he confessed.
‘Ah, you’re too modest, Aidan.’
‘No, really.’ Aidan shook his head. ‘I worked with a company called Dante Consulting, and they really pulled this whole thing together.’
Eddie frowned. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard of them.’
‘No?’ Aidan feigned surprise. ‘They’re relatively new, but they specialize in international relocation. The MD, Alyson Wakefield, is fantastic.’
‘Alyson Wakefield …’ Eddie mulled over the name. ‘Sounds familiar. Didn’t she used to be an actress or something?’
‘A model. And it was a long time ago,’ Aidan said meaningfully. ‘She’s running her own business now, and it’s very successful. Young, dynamic – totally on the ball.’
‘Interesting.’ Eddie nodded thoughtfully.
‘Yeah. They specialize in companies expanding overseas, helping out with the red tape and offering local knowledge, that kind of thing.’
‘You know, Aidan, I’m considering moving into the European market myself. Things are going well back home, and I think it’s time to export some of that van Niekerk magic overseas,’ he grinned. ‘Do you think that’s something they could advise me on?’
‘I’m sure it would be.’
‘Great. Listen, do you have her number? What was the company called again?’
‘Dante Consulting.’ Aidan scribbled it down on the back of his own business card. He was more than willing to spread the word for Alyson. He was so proud of everything she’d achieved and knew how desperately she wanted her business to succeed. More than anything, Aidan wanted her to be happy.
He was missing her like crazy, devastated that she couldn’t be here to take the credit for tonight. Even worse was the fact that she’d gone before he’d had a chance to tell her how he felt. She’d caught a flight to Paris shortly after she’d got the phone call about CeCe, and there hadn’t been a right time before she left. Understandably, she’d been too cut up about her friend.