by Carrie Duffy
But for Aidan, this was personal, Alyson realized that now. It was about proving a point to himself, and to the rest of the world – but particularly to Philippe. He’d arrived, and no one was ever going to make him feel small and insignificant again.
Aidan leaned forward, scribbling his name three, four times, in all the places that the lawyer indicated. And then it was done.
‘Congratulations, Mr Kennedy,’ Monsieur Le Clerc smiled. ‘The sites are now yours.’
‘Thank you.’ Aidan replied, looking visibly relieved. ‘Now, if everything’s concluded …’
‘Of course,’ Monsieur Le Clerc said pleasantly. ‘You are free to leave.’ He held out his hand. Aidan rose to his feet and shook it, then he and Alyson left the office.
Outside on the pavement, Aidan pulled Alyson to him, kissing her deeply as the brilliant sunshine beamed down on them. They were giggling with excitement, their faces radiant with happiness.
‘So,’ Aidan began, as they came up for air. ‘How would Dante Consulting feel about working on another couple of Kennedy properties? I mean, it would involve working very closely with the owner for the next few months at least …’
‘Oh, Aidan, that would be perfect,’ Alyson cried, throwing her arms around him. They kissed once again; this time it was long and lingering. As they broke apart, something caught Alyson’s attention. A car, a black Mercedes, pulling up outside the offices they’d just left. There was something horribly familiar about the whole scenario, Alyson realized instinctively, her skin beginning to prickle before her brain even worked out what it was. A chauffeur stepped out of the car, moving round to open the passenger side door as a man stepped out. Time seemed to stop. Alyson’s breath caught in her throat.
It was Philippe Rochefort.
He looked older than Alyson remembered – his hair was thinner and increasingly grey around the temples. There were large bags under his eyes; his skin had an unhealthy pallor and his face was bloated, as though he’d been consoling himself with a little too much of his beloved whiskey and soda. His recent financial troubles had obviously taken their toll, his natural arrogance and vigour were now visibly dimmed. Alyson couldn’t help but compare him with Aidan, and with how young, handsome and vital he looked. He was in the prime of life, at the top of his game. In contrast, Philippe looked haggard, a broken man.
He emerged from the car and straightened up, glancing warily around him. Then his gaze fell on Alyson, their eyes locking. She let out a little cry, stumbling in shock, and clung onto Aidan to steady herself. He put his arms around her, holding her upright, and Alyson sank into his embrace. His body was warm and solid, his strong arms making her feel safe.
Philippe took in the two of them, his gaze sliding from Alyson to Aidan. His eyes narrowed in dislike, hatred even, but there was something else there – it was defeat. A look of recognition, of understanding, flitted across Philippe’s face, and in that moment he knew – knew that he’d been beaten by this younger, hungrier man.
Aidan smiled, savouring his moment of triumph. He squeezed Alyson’s hand tighter, holding her close, and together they moved on.
‘Where the fuck is Alyson?’ Jacques Perrot yelled. He dragged his hands through his hair, his eyes bulging in fury behind his black-rimmed glasses. Backstage at the Capucine show, the crowd around him turned to stare.
‘She’s just called,’ an assistant informed him urgently. ‘She’ll be here any second.’
‘Thank Christ for that,’ retorted Jacques Perrot.
Alyson was as good as her word, flying through the door minutes later.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologized breathlessly. ‘This morning overran – it was something I couldn’t get out of.’
‘That’s okay. You’re here now,’ Jacques told her, trying to stay calm but failing completely. It was a look Alyson remembered well from countless designers. Any show was a trip, a complete adrenaline rush. You were flying by the seat of your limited-edition pants, and there were a million and one things that could go wrong.
‘We’ll get you into hair and make-up in a moment. Would you mind doing some interviews right now? Everyone’s dying to speak to you.’
‘No, not at all,’ Alyson lied. She hated the press with a vengeance, but she owed it to Jacques. Her stomach lurched as he led her over to the gaggle of reporters. Christ, she’d forgotten how terrifying this whole thing was, how badly she used to suffer from nerves. She tried to remind herself to breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.
This was absolutely the last time she was ever doing this, she promised herself. She knew the rush afterwards would be unbelievable, but she didn’t care. There was no way in hell she was ever setting foot near a runway again. Not even as a guest. After tonight she was done with the fashion world – the Capucine show would be her swansong.
‘Alyson, this is Jean-Paul and Sophie from Elle Online,’ Jacques explained, introducing the cameraman and the extremely young, immaculately groomed reporter.
Alyson said hi briefly, then they were ready to go, the camera rolling almost instantly.
‘Ally, this will be the first runway you’ve walked in almost a year. What was it about this show in particular that made you want to get involved?’
Alyson took a deep breath, trying to stay clear and concise, to give Sophie the answers she wanted. ‘I’m a huge admirer of Jacques’ work – his eye for detail is simply exquisite. And, of course, it’s the perfect tribute to CeCe. She was one of my good friends, as you know, so it’s just the perfect way to honour her memory.’
‘Great.’ Sophie flashed the camera a dazzling smile. ‘And, Jacques, are you pleased to have Ally out there for you today?’
‘Absolument, I couldn’t be happier. She’s always been something very special – it was a great loss to fashion when she retired, so the fact that she’s been persuaded to come back for this show means a lot.’
Sophie turned to Alyson. ‘So, does this herald a permanent return to the catwalk for you?’
Alyson smiled, shaking her head. ‘No, this is just a one-off show that I’m doing for CeCe.’
‘And what do you think she’d have made of today?’
The microphone was shoved roughly under Alyson’s nose, uncomfortably close. She took a small step back. ‘I think she’d be very proud. She originated these designs, and I think she’d be thrilled to know how much everyone here today has fallen in love with them.’
‘Absolutely. Moving onto happier subjects – what is that enormous sparkler on your finger?’
Alyson felt her cheeks grow hot, holding her hand up to the camera at Sophie’s bidding.
‘Oh my God, is that an engagement ring?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Alyson admitted, her face growing even redder.
‘So who’s the lucky man?’ Sophie demanded.
Alyson hesitated. ‘I’d really rather not say. As I’m sure you know, I like to keep my private life private …’
‘Thanks, guys,’ Jacques smiled, much to Alyson’s relief. ‘We’ll speak with you later.’ He kissed Sophie on both cheeks and she wrapped up the interview as Jacques steered Alyson away from the cameras and towards the backstage area.
Dionne and Alyson stood in the wings, just yards away from the catwalk. Beyond that sat the great and good of the fashion world, everyone who was anyone packed into the incredible space – Rihanna, Olivia Palermo, Vanessa Paradis, and even Anna Wintour – had all turned out. Celebrities and editors dominated the front row, the hierarchy stretching all the way back, with a few lucky students and interns given standing room at the rear of the venue.
Dionne took a deep breath, smiling reassuringly at Alyson. They’d both walked several times already during the show, but now they were gearing up for the finale. Both of them wore white – the traditional wedding dress – but the two women couldn’t have looked more different. Jacques had worked with their natural body shapes, celebrating the differences between them.
Alyson was ethereal,
fragile as a thread of gossamer. Her waist was tiny, her wrists narrow, her whole frame slender like a bird’s. The dress Jacques had created was straight up and down, like a sheath, held loosely in place by thin spaghetti straps. The neck sank in a deep V shape, a soft neckline skirting the edge of her small breasts, then falling straight to the floor. It was simple, elegant and beautiful.
By contrast, Dionne’s was enormous, overblown – and gorgeous. The full skirt jutted out from the hips, layered and billowing, with enormous puff sleeves and a square neckline that displayed her overflowing breasts. It looked like something Marie Antoinette might have worn. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them that she was wearing virginal white while eight and a half months’ pregnant.
It was crazy to think that, almost three years ago to the day, both of them had been involved in Capucine’s first ever show, just metres away from here, in the Tuileries gardens. And now Dionne was hoping that this would be her big comeback. Alyson had been great about it: she’d picked up enough PR tips while setting up Kennedy’s Dubai and the pair of them had plotted how to get Dionne maximum exposure. They’d met again under the unhappiest of circumstances but, in spite of everything, a real friendship had blossomed.
Yeah, she’d definitely mellowed over the past few months, Dionne realized. She’d learned that life ran more smoothly when you weren’t a bitch – that people responded positively, and life just become pleasanter. Before, where she’d instinctively lashed out at people, she’d learned to take things calmly and chill. Backstage, the hair and make-up people barely recognized her. They could hardly believe it was the same demanding diva that they used to work with. Okay, so she’d blown it with Elite, but Alyson had recommended Dionne to her old agency, IMG, and they’d scheduled a date to meet very soon. It was all looking promising. Besides, the scandal had done wonders for her profile – it was through the roof.
Dionne turned to Alyson. ‘Ready to give them the money shot?’
Alyson nodded and held out her hand. Dionne took it, and together the pair of them stepped out onto the catwalk. The flashes were blinding, the music pounding, the snappers going crazy as they sashayed side by side down the runway, stepping together in perfect time. The audience cheered, rising to their feet in a standing ovation, as a picture of CeCe was beamed onto the backdrop behind them. It was a stunning black-and-white shot; she looked beautiful and serene, her gaze fixed on the camera.
Dionne broke into a huge smile, her white teeth dazzling as she blew kisses at the crowd. It was the cheeky, sassy side of Dionne that the audience loved. Alyson waved shyly, her diamond catching the flash-lights and dazzling the onlookers. She’d refused to take it off for the show. Dionne followed Alyson’s gaze and caught sight of Aidan on the front row – the guy she’d helped Alyson get ready for a date with all that time ago. He was on his feet, smiling broadly and looking so proud he might burst.
She stared deeper into the crowd, trying to see if David was there, but there were too many faces, the flashbulbs too bright to make out anyone clearly. She’d sent him an invite. She hadn’t heard anything back, but she hoped he had come. They’d been seeing each other recently – meeting up occasionally, just as friends. Things were cooling with Esther, it seemed, and although Dionne knew she had a long way to go to rebuild his trust, she was hopeful they might have a future together. She had the overwhelming feeling that this baby was his.
But then, it almost didn’t matter, Dionne realized. She was a strong woman, successful and ambitious, and she was going to look after this baby – her little girl. She would work and she would provide for her – with or without David. Her daughter was the most precious thing in the world to her, and no man was going to distract her from that.
They reached the end of the runway and the pair stopped, striking a pose. The applause grew louder, mingled with whoops and cheers, as the camera flashes popped incessantly, like firecrackers in the auditorium.
As Dionne looked out over the cheering crowd, she felt a surge of pure happiness pulsing through her. It was as though nothing else mattered – as long as she was up here, the world couldn’t touch her. She stood tall, her head held high as she drank in the adoration.
This was what she had been destined for; what she had been born to do.
Dionne Summers was back where she belonged.
Read on for an exclusive Q & A with Carrie Duffy…
Diva is set in the cut-throat world of fashion, how much knowledge of this comes from real life?
I’ve never worked in the fashion industry but it’s something I’m very interested in. I love reading fashion magazines and watch any TV shows or documentaries on the subject. I started watching America’s Next Top Model as ‘research’ for Diva; I’m not sure how representative it is of the industry, but it was a great excuse!
What do you find most appealing about the fashion industry?
I think that because I’ve never been in it as such, I haven’t really seen the dark and sordid side – I just see the glamorous exterior. It’s a very seductive world when all you see are the glossy magazine ads and the beautiful people at Fashion Week. And I love the eccentricities and extremes – it’s all very theatrical, which appeals to me.
In Diva the girls all fall in love with Paris, does this come from your own experience of the city?
Yes. I spent a year in Paris when I was eighteen – a gap year before university – and had an amazing time.
While I was there, I had a group of friends who lived the Dionne and CeCe lifestyle of going out every night to the most fashionable clubs and restaurants, with a wealthy international crowd. They very kindly invited me to tag along sometimes and those experiences definitely contributed towards the events in Diva.
As shown in Diva models have a very jet set lifestyle, where would your favourite place to visit be?
There’s not one particular place that I’m dying to visit – I want to go everywhere! I’m quite fascinated by the USA; I recently road-tripped from Las Vegas to LA, and I’d love to see more of the country. I’ve never been to South America, so that’s high on the list, and I’d like to see more of the Far East and Africa ... everywhere!
Although Dionne, CeCe and Alyson become successful in the fashion industry they all started off in jobs they dislike, what is the worst job you have ever had?
I’ve had tons of rubbish jobs, especially when I was a student. I’ve picked mushrooms, worked in a salad factory and spent a summer in a cattery cleaning out litter trays and wiping up cat vomit. I’ve worked as a cleaner, and done the usual bar work and office temping. So a lot of very unglamorous jobs, but I like to think of it as character building and great life experience! Probably the worst job I’ve ever had was the one I was in when I got my publishing contract. I was working in the finance department of a university, and it was absolutely soul-destroying. I couldn’t wait to leave as soon as I got my book deal!
Dionne, CeCe and Alyson are very passionate about what they want in life at a young age; did you also have that drive when you were their age?
I think I had a lot of drive but it wasn’t very focused – I went more for the scattergun approach of pursuing lots of different avenues and sending off endless applications but not really getting anywhere. I definitely had the drive, but it took me a long time to get a break. And it didn’t help that the industries I wanted to get into – writing and acting – are some of the most competitive.
If you could, what advice would you give to your younger self?
Don’t worry, it’ll happen eventually!
When did you decide you would like to be an author?
I remember being very young – primary school age – and writing ‘children’s author’ when we had to fill out those ‘What I want to do when I grow up’ questionnaires. I first started seriously trying to get published when I was at university, and it took around ten years to finally get into print.
When you are not busy writing such great books like Idol and Diva what do you do with yo
ur spare time?
I read a lot, especially in the genre I write in. I love bonkbusters! I also like more literary novels, the classics, historical fiction and I’m trying to get into thrillers as it’s a really popular genre at the moment and I want to know what all the fuss is about.
I go to the theatre quite a lot – I trained as an actress, so like to go and see shows whenever I can, and I also perform with an improvisation group in various fringe theatres around London. It’s slightly terrifying, but great for working out the brain muscles. And I watch a lot of rubbish television – I’m addicted to the E! Entertainment channel!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my fantastic agent, Maddy Buston, for her superb guidance, incredible skill, and for giving me the opportunity to pursue the career that I’ve always dreamed of.
To my amazing editor, Kate Bradley, for editorial brilliance and unwavering positivity, and the equally wonderful Hana, for her never-ending stream of brilliant ideas. Thanks to Sarah, Elinor, and the whole team at HC for all their hard work behind the scenes.
Huge thanks to my fabulous friends who’ve been so supportive and forced everyone they know to buy copies of Idol – especially Amy, Cleo and Christina. Vicky, for all your input over the years and all of the boozes. The hilarious folk of Improvisers Anonymous – Kat, Jodyanne, Dave and Mike. Also Lesley, Beverley, Lucinda, Callan and Rudy Barrass. Caroline at Somer Design for my website. Ross’s friends (and their mums!) who bought copies, and Sally, Brian and Alison, for taking Idol worldwide!
Thanks so much to everyone who bought a copy of Idol, the lovely readers who wrote to me to say how much they enjoyed it, and all the bloggers and tweeters who’ve been fantastic – your support is greatly appreciated!
To Ross, for coping with Carrie when deadlines are looming, and getting Caroline back afterwards (hope it’s worth the wait!) Oh, and I promise I’ll sign this one …