by Hyland, Tara
Unfortunately, before he could say anything, Caitlin hurried over to them, her date for the evening in tow. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said to William. Her face was flushed, and her eyes glittered with excitement. “But there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Cole looked with undisguised interest at the striking young man standing by her side. With his long, flowing black hair and ghostly skin, there was something almost ethereal about him. He was definitely another arty type. After all, not many lawyers or accountants could get away with dressing like that—in black suede trousers and an open-necked black shirt, with a maroon scarf wrapped around his neck. It was all rather too effeminate for Cole’s tastes.
Cole could only imagine what William was going to make of him. From the little he knew about Caitlin, he guessed she wasn’t going to introduce someone to her father unless the relationship was already pretty serious. And from what he knew about William, he wasn’t about to give his approval lightly.
He wished he could stay around to see what was going to happen, but he’d left Elizabeth alone long enough. “I’ll leave you guys to it,” Cole said. And good luck, he added silently, as he walked away. You’re going to need it.
* * *
William assessed Lucien with the wariness of any father meeting his daughter’s boyfriend for the first time. Cole was right—the Frenchman was somewhat more alternative than he might have liked. But Lucien had stood up under rigorous questioning, answering some rather probing queries about his work and background with an ease and frankness that suggested he had nothing to hide.
“Lucien has an exhibition on at the moment,” Caitlin chimed in, looking anxiously between her father and boyfriend. She couldn’t judge how this was going. “It’s at a wonderful gallery in Hoxton.”
“Oh?” William looked unimpressed. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of all this photography nonsense.
But if Lucien noticed William’s lukewarm attitude, he didn’t let on. It was that Gallic confidence; nothing seemed to get to him. “Of course you would be most welcome to come anytime you like,” he said graciously.
William happened to glance up then and saw Isabelle trying to catch his eye. They’d agreed to leave by one, and it was nearly half-past. He put his drink down on the table. “Caitlin, we’re going to push off now,” he said. “Are you coming, too?”
She glanced around the room. Guests were beginning to drift out, but the party was still in full swing. She wanted to enjoy tonight for as long as possible. “I think I’d rather stay for a bit longer, if you don’t mind.”
“Shall I send the car back for you, then?” William asked.
Before Caitlin could answer, Lucien put a protective arm around her shoulders. “You have no need to worry. I’ll make sure she gets home safely, sir.”
William stared at him for a moment, and then he broke into a slow smile. “Well, thank you, Lucien,” he said. “And do call me William from now on.”
By four in the morning, the party was almost over. Caitlin sat curled up on one of the plump leather couches, watching the last of the guests. A lone woman moved unsteadily on the dance floor, lip-syncing to an old Madonna track; a few of the design team were gathered around a tequila bottle at the bar, noisily doing shots. They beckoned Caitlin over, but laughingly she shook her head. She was enjoying the natural high of success.
Lucien came up to her. “The car’s waiting out front.”
Caitlin took one last look around the room. “I guess this is it, then,” she said regretfully.
Lucien held out his hand to her. “Come on, chérie.”
He helped her to her feet, and they walked outside, arm in arm.
Since that night in his apartment, when she’d opened up to him, everything had finally been going right between them. She’d told him everything: about her mother dying and finding out about William. Leaving Ireland and going to live with the Melvilles. Feeling she didn’t fit in at Aldringham. Then Greycourt and everything that had happened to her there. Escaping to Paris and wanting to start over, to forget the past and her family. But not quite managing to.
“I wish you’d told me,” Lucien had said once she’d finished. “I would have been more understanding.”
“Maybe, but that wasn’t really the point. I suppose . . . well, I didn’t want you to pity me.”
He’d lifted her hand to his lips. “I don’t think anyone ever would.”
They were taking the relationship slowly this time. And it felt right. For the first time ever, she was able to enjoy their being together as a couple.
They reached the car that would take her back to Eaton Square, where she was still living. The driver stayed discreetly inside, as they lingered by the door. Lucien reached up and touched her cheek.
“Dors bien, ma petite.” He bent his head, his lips gently brushing hers, and opened the car door.
She hesitated before getting in. It struck her then, as it had all those years ago when they were at the Paris Opera House—Lucien was the one for her. She didn’t want to leave him—not now, not ever.
“Lucien?” she said suddenly.
“Oui, mon amour?”
“You know, I don’t think I’m ready to go home quite yet.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.” Then she said, almost shyly, “I think I’d like to come back with you, to your place, instead.”
A look of understanding passed between them. He stared at her for a long moment before saying, “I’d like that, too.”
The streetlamp cast a pale glow across the room. They stood together in the shadowy darkness, close but not quite touching. Sensing Lucien’s hesitation, Caitlin turned her back to him and said, “Help me with this?”
Slowly, he unlaced her corset, his fingers brushing her bare shoulders and sending the first flickers of desire through her. Then he loosened the ties of her skirt, and the gown fell away.
Outside, a car went by, its headlights illuminating the room. Caitlin caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the one that hung on the back of the door: pearl-white skin accentuated by the deep russet color of her underwear. For the first time ever, she felt no shame. In the reflection, her gaze met Lucien’s. He had moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving her alone in the middle of the room. The old her would have felt exposed and vulnerable. But now she felt something else—sexual and bold.
She turned to face him, enjoying the way his eyes moved over her body—her heavy breasts and rounded hips—drinking her in. It would have been easy enough to move over to him, but this time she was in no rush. Instead, she reached up and began to remove the combs that held her elaborate hairstyle in place, the ink-black curls tumbling down around her shoulders. When she’d finished, she posed, hands on hips. “So what do you think?”
“Very nice.” He grinned. “But you’re still wearing too many clothes for my liking, chérie.”
A second later, her bra and panties joined the dress on the ground. She walked over and stood in front of him, completely naked now.
“Is this better?” she asked, her voice low and throaty.
A slow smile spread over Lucien’s face. “Much.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Then Caitlin reached down and started to touch herself. She began with her breasts, massaging the soft creamy flesh in slow circles, licking her thumb and forefinger to better play with her pale pink nipples, tweaking them erect.
“O, c’est bien—j’aime beaucoup ça . . .” Lucien was entranced, shocked, and delighted by the change in her. His eyes followed her hands as they trailed down across her stomach, lower, then lower . . . until she was touching between her legs, stroking herself wet and ready for him.
After a while, she took his hand and placed it there, too. Lucien obliged, mesmerized by her, marveling at the change in her, happy to take pleasure in her pleasure. Only when he could stand it no longer did he reach up and pull her down on top of him.
By the time he
entered her, they were both close to climax. And when, moments later, it finally came upon them in great, shuddering waves, Lucien held onto her tight, knowing that after this he would never let her go.
PART 4
MAY–DECEMBER 2004
47
_________
FINANCIAL TIMES—COMPANY WATCH
LONDON, MAY 2
MELVILLE BACK IN FASHION
English fashion house Melville published another record set of results yesterday. Like-for-like sales doubled over the prior year, showing how popular the once maligned brand has become with consumers.
The turnaround is particularly impressive considering that less than three years ago analysts had written the company off. At the time, the stock market expected Melville to be the subject of a hostile takeover by French luxury goods tycoon Armand Bouchard. He was only prevented from mounting an outright bid by the company’s ownership structure, as the majority of shares remain in the hands of the Melville family. At the time, Bouchard predicted the company’s fortunes would worsen until family patriarch and Chief Executive, William Melville, would eventually be forced to sell to him for a much lower price.
He couldn’t have been more wrong. After a decade of lackluster performance, Melville’s share price has doubled over the past six months. Yesterday, in the company’s analyst meeting, William Melville said that he believed there was still more value to be had from the business.
However, the turnaround has less to do with him than with the younger generation who now hold key positions in the business. In particular, his daughter Caitlin, Melville’s Creative Director, is said to have played a vital role in reviving the company’s ailing fortunes. It is her visionary designs that have wowed catwalk pundits and lured customers back into stores.
With William Melville turning sixty-five next year, many expect him to name his successor from within the family fold. An input of fresh blood could very well drive the share price up even further.
Stock Rating: BUY
Caitlin finished reading the article and filed it away in her press-clippings folder. The leather-bound file was nearly an inch thick now, and she felt the weight of it in her hands. Two other folders, of a similar width, sat on the shelf in the corner of her office. The PR Department made sure to send a copy of any articles on Melville to all the directors. It was gratifying to read such enthusiastic coverage. When she’d first started working at the company, it had been a very different story. She remembered the disillusionment and despondency that had permeated every employee. Now, there was a buzz around the place.
The night of the first fashion show, more than two years ago now, it had been obvious to Caitlin that her designs had gone down well. The audience’s reception had told her that much. But even she hadn’t realized quite how successful the collection had been until she turned up at Melville’s showroom the next morning and found the phones ringing off the hook.
She grabbed the nearest handset, and found herself speaking to a buyer for Liberty, one of the many who had ignored Melville for years and were now crawling out of the woodwork.
“I missed the show last night,” he confessed. “I’m kicking myself now, because I heard it was fabulous.”
“Oh?” Caitlin couldn’t keep the delight out of her voice.
He wasn’t the only buyer to call; like him, a lot of them hadn’t even seen the show. But they had all heard the same rumor: Melville’s Fall collection was white-hot.
As the morning wore on, more and more people phoned, trying to place orders. Then around midday, Elizabeth appeared. Caitlin had never been so pleased to see anyone.
“Can you believe this?” she asked, somewhere between wonderment and despair.
Elizabeth cast a cool gaze around the busy room. “Very impressive,” she said shortly. “But you’ve got other priorities. Every major fashion magazine and newspaper in the world has been on the phone trying to get an interview with you. I’m handling the PR myself.” She handed Caitlin a sheet of paper. “Here’s a preliminary schedule for the next ten days. You’ll fly out tonight.”
“Fly out?” Caitlin repeated. “Fly where?”
Elizabeth frowned. “To New York, of course.” She consulted her notebook. “Harper’s Bazaar and Women’s Wear Daily are the first names on the list.” She looked over sharply at Caitlin. “You’ve created a blockbuster collection here. This is your chance to promote it—and, more importantly, to promote Melville.”
With that, she turned and stalked off.
And that was the closest Caitlin got to a “Congratulations!” from Elizabeth.
The next ten days were crazy. Caitlin jetted between capital cities—from New York to Tokyo, then Paris, Milan, and Madrid, answering the same questions over and over again.
“Tell us about the inspiration behind your collection.”
“What’s your vision for Melville?”
“Why did you decide to go to work for the family company after all this time?”
She tried to avoid that last question, and anything personal, sticking instead to talking about the clothes.
By the time she got back to London, she was ready to sleep for a week. But there was no time to rest. Melville was suddenly the brand to be seen in.
The first sign came one Monday morning, a few weeks later, when Caitlin got into the office to find Chantal, from the PR Department, waiting for her. “Have you seen Paris Match?” she asked excitedly.
“No.”
Chantal handed her a copy of the magazine. The cover showed Hollywood darling Kristina Gates in a black mille-feuille skirt and checkered bustier. They were from Melville’s recent collection.
She wasn’t the only star sporting Melville apparel. Pop princess Cindy Simon accepted her Grammy for Best New Artist in a slashed-to-the-navel red satin dress; Brazilian supermodel Alessandra was photographed clubbing in gold hot pants and matching wedges. And then came the call from the agent of R & B singer, Sapphire.
“She’d love it if you could find time to make the outfits for her upcoming tour . . .”
That was when Caitlin knew she’d reached her target. That cool and glamour were back in the brand.
Since then, Caitlin had put out four more collections, each greeted with the same rave reviews as the first. The design department had grown. As soon as her budget allowed, she had hired six new assistants. And this time, there was no shortage of applicants—and they were high-quality candidates, too. Last year, William had acknowledged her success by appointing her Melville’s creative director, which gave her a position on the board.
But, even though the operation was bigger and her responsibilities had increased, Caitlin still kept a firm hand over the design process. Every piece that went out had her stamp on it. Because, when it came down to it, she loved her job—she had a passion for designing that she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t work, it was a joy.
The only blight on her otherwise perfect world was Elizabeth. Over the past two years, their relationship had deteriorated. From being the member of the family to whom Caitlin was closest, Elizabeth was now the one she felt most distant from. Right now, relations were almost as cool as they had been when she’d first arrived at Aldringham. Everything she suggested seemed to irritate her older sister these days.
That afternoon had seen the latest clash. At the monthly board meeting, Caitlin had been proposing to introduce a Melville perfume.
“A lot of other couture and ready-to-wear houses have branched out in this direction,” she’d concluded her presentation. “With the lower pricing compared to our clothing line, we can tap into mass-market sales and generate significant additional profits by capitalizing on the brand.”
Elizabeth had been tutting and clicking her pen throughout the whole presentation. As soon as Caitlin had finished speaking, she’d jumped in.
“There’s no way I’m agreeing to this,” she’d said bluntly. “I’ve spent the past two years working to rid Melville of its down-market image! How can you
suggest going back to producing lower-priced products?”
Caitlin had tried to reason with her. “This wouldn’t be anything like what happened with Melville Essentials. Perfume might be lower priced, but that doesn’t mean it has to be lower quality. I’m talking about an expensive scent,” she’d said, addressing her comments to the other directors. “Used in the right way, this could even enhance the brand.”
“How?” Elizabeth had scoffed.
“A well-placed advertising campaign would complement our clothing line and help reinforce the sophisticated image we’ve been striving for.”
But even when Caitlin had explained that they could avoid making the same mistakes as before, by keeping a limited number of products and selling them only through luxury outlets, Elizabeth had refused to back down. In the end, the proposal had gone to a vote. Only Piers had supported Elizabeth. Caitlin had seen the resentful look on Elizabeth’s face when William had backed her. It had chilled her to see how upset her half sister was.
Caitlin had planned to stop by Elizabeth’s office before she left tonight, try to smooth her ruffled feathers. But now, as she glanced at the time, she hesitated. It was nearly eight and she wanted to get home to Lucien. Talking to Elizabeth could wait. In fact, weren’t they due to attend Cole’s restaurant opening next month? Although Caitlin suspected the invitation she’d received that morning was her brother-in-law’s idea rather than Elizabeth’s, she couldn’t help feeling that the more informal social situation might be a better place to tackle her. The decision made, Caitlin grabbed her bag and headed home.
Caitlin had officially moved into Lucien’s flat six months after that first fashion show, although she’d rarely spent a night away from there in all that time. She had loved the apartment almost as much as he had—it had been frighteningly similar to her own place back in TriBeCa. In fact, when a year later Lucien had suggested they should look around for somewhere larger, it was Caitlin who’d been reluctant to move.
“But this is perfect,” she’d said. “And we’re happy here.”