by Diana Palmer
“You shouldn’t have told her you were taking that girl out,” his sister said worriedly. “She’s harped on it all night long. That’s why she called the apartment and told you she wanted you here.”
“Hoping to break up anything that was going on?” he suggested with a smile.
“It isn’t funny,” she said. “She’s convinced herself that your new girlfriend is a gold digger who’s using you to get to the top of the design list.”
“She belongs there,” he said, faintly defensive. “If you don’t believe me, you could look at some of the things she’s created for us.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” she said with a smile. “I’m not Mama. And you’re no fool.”
He chuckled. “Thank you.” He glanced toward the bedroom. “The doctors warned us that the painkillers might cause some problems,” he reminded her. “Her mind plays tricks on her.”
“At least the medicine is holding the pain at bay,” she replied, following his gaze. “I’m glad you came.”
“What else could I do?” He ran a hand restlessly through his thick, dark hair. “We owe her so much. Why can’t we do more for her?”
“It’s the way life is,” she said heavily. “I love her, too, Curry, you know I do. But she’s so possessive lately, and so full of orders! I’m to give up my job and get pregnant, Mama tells me. Ben would love that, just when we’re finally getting into the black with his own business! My job keeps us solvent while he builds his up. She doesn’t want us to wait until we can comfortably afford a family, she wants one right now.”
“You have to overlook her eagerness,” he said, pushing the reference to pregnancy right out of his mind. “Children can wait.”
She studied his lean, hard face curiously. “At my age, yes,” she began.
He held up a hand and his expression made him unapproachable. “I know my own age,” he replied in a deceptively soft voice. “I no longer have a terror of it. But I have no wish for children right now.”
“Considering the type of women you run around with, I’m not surprised,” she retorted. “Models don’t like to risk their figures.”
He ignored her failed attempt at humor and watched until the nurse motioned for them to come in.
Teresa Kells glared at him. “So you finally got here,” she said irritably. “Where were you, and with whom?”
“You know where I was, Mama, I told you,” he said as he kissed her gently on the forehead and sat down in the chair at her side. “I took Ivory out to dinner to celebrate the New Year.”
“Ivory,” she scoffed. “What a name. Does she look like an elephant’s tusk?”
He averted his gaze to his sister and tried not to let his temper get the upper hand. His mother was very ill. He had to humor her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to divert her.
“I feel terrible, and I’m going to die,” she said flatly. “And I won’t hold one grandchild in my arms before I go!”
He took a sharp breath. “That is in God’s hands,” he said.
“There are some good girls in our neighborhood,” she persisted. “You could marry a good girl and try again to have children.” She held up a hand when he started to protest. “I did have both of you, Curry, and I am still alive. Pregnancy is not always fatal,” she added gently, when she saw his jaw start to clench. “Besides, you are getting no younger. This Ivory whom you have been out with tonight, what does she do?”
“She’s a designer.”
“Is she a model, too?”
He shook his head.
“I talked to Belle. Belle says the girl is not from New York.”
He was surprised that she’d gone so far as to call Belle to find out about Ivory. It irritated him, but he didn’t let it show. He had to remember his mother’s condition, that her pain and the medications used to combat it reduced her inhibitions. “That’s right.”
“Where is she from?”
“Her family is from Louisiana. Her father is dead, and her mother spends a lot of time in Europe. They’re very wealthy, but Ivory wants to make it on her own. She took nothing with her when she came to work for me,” he added.
“Ahh.” Teresa relaxed back against the pillows with a wan smile. “Now I can relax. You have eased my mind. I had such thoughts, of a poor girl playing up to you to get you to give her things. A mother does worry. But is she Catholic?” she persisted.
He smiled. “I’ll ask her.”
“All right, but if you’re going to get involved with a woman, you need to know a lot more about her than how she is in bed.”
He glared at her and got up. “My private life is my own,” he said, striving to hold his temper. “You have never concerned yourself with it before.”
“I was never on the edge of death before,” she said, shifting painfully in the bed. She coughed, rested a minute and coughed again. Her eyes lifted to his. “Some women will do anything to get money, to get position. It worried me when Belle said that only months ago this woman was in a very minor position, and now she is a senior designer.”
“She earned her position,” he said flatly. “When I come back, I’ll bring some of her designs to show you.” He smiled. “Even the fashion writers will love her, when they see the creations she makes. The company will get back on its feet. She is brilliant.”
“You gave her Audrey’s coat.”
He glared at his sister, who grimaced. She hadn’t told their mother voluntarily, but that wouldn’t matter to Curry. “I borrowed it for her to wear tonight. I brought it back,” he added. “She has nothing to wear...”
“Yet she has a wealthy background?”
“Mama, for the love of God!” He stopped. “I told you, she wanted to make it on her own. She refused to let me buy her anything, so I had to lend her a coat!”
“She refused to let you buy her anything?” She pursed her lips. “Well, well. Now this is a good sign. Is she a proud woman, then?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Proud and fierce. And she loves me.”
“And you?”
“I love her as well,” he confessed.
“I want to meet her...!” She began to cough and couldn’t stop. The nurse came quickly back into the room to settle her patient, asking Curry and Audrey to leave while she did so.
Out in the living room, Curry paced while his sister sat rigidly on the sofa, her consternation plain on her face.
“Did you mean it? Do you love her?” she asked him out of the blue.
“Yes.”
She didn’t say another word, but she smiled to herself. She’d never expected her taciturn brother to lose his heart, after his tragic first marriage. It delighted her that he had.
When they were allowed back into Teresa’s room, the older woman was pale and very quiet. She looked at Curry with love and delight.
“If you have found a woman to love after all this time, I will say not one word more against her,” she promised, and managed a smile. “It is enough that you are happy.” She began to cough again, her face contorted with pain.
Curry held her hands while she coughed, wincing as if he felt every pain that showed in her lined face. It hurt him that he could do nothing for her.
* * *
THE JANUARY SHOWINGS of Kells-Meredith summer fashions took place in wintry weather. Ivory looked out at the dirty gray snow and chewed on a fingernail until she had gnawed it to the quick as she and Belle waited backstage for the model’s turn to go down the runway in the suit Ivory had designed. Gathered at the Plaza Hotel were the top buyers from exclusive stores around the country. There had been two near-disasters already, and everyone’s nerves were in pieces.
“It will be all right,” Belle said comfortingly. “Don’t be so nervous!”
“I’m trying, really I am,” Ivory said in a small voice. “There! You�
�re on!”
“I’ll knock ’em dead,” Belle promised, striking a pose that showed the suit off perfectly.
She walked down the runway, and for the first few seconds there was an ominous hush. The moderator’s voice continued, unruffled, providing descriptions of the fabric and design. Ivory held her breath. Then, all at once, there was an excited clamor of voices and applause.
“Feel better now?” Dee murmured as she rushed past with needle and thread to alter a hemline for one of the upcoming models. “I told you so.”
Curry came up beside her, quietly satisfied with the showing. He looked at Ivory and his body rippled with pleasure when she smiled up at him.
They had lunch together every day now, and they spent achingly sweet hours together on the weekends, but there were no more interludes in bed. This had puzzled her at first, until Curry explained that he thought it was important for them to really get to know each other, so that they didn’t base their relationship on nothing more than the physical. Touched, she’d gone right along with him, because it sounded as if he had a long relationship in mind.
However, she realized that her fabrications about her past were not holding up under Curry’s very close scrutiny. She spent some time writing down a believable life history one Sunday so that she could memorize it and answer any question he threw at her. He wasn’t openly suspicious about her past, but he did sometimes ask pointed questions that disturbed her, and often she hesitated before she could answer them.
He gestured toward the enthusiastic crowd. “See them comparing notes?” he teased. “I told you so, too,” he added. “You’re a hit.”
“We’re a hit,” she countered, thrilling to his nearness, even amid the excitement of her acceptance by the assembled buyers and press.
He nodded. “Yes. We’re a hit. The other designs are making nice impressions, too. It’s even more than I hoped for. How do you feel? Still standing on a precipice?”
She laughed, but she had a new worry. “Now more than ever. I’ll have to live up to that applause.”
“This is your hour. I’m going to take Belle out with me and let you glory in it.”
“But...!” she protested.
“Listen,” he said solemnly, “if we leave together there’s going to be talk. I don’t want it said that you rose to the top in my bed instead of behind a drafting table.”
“Everybody at the office knows we go out together,” she protested.
“Indeed they do. But these people can make or break you,” he added quietly. “Don’t give them a stick to beat you with. Stand by yourself right now. Let them see that you don’t need the crutch of my influence.”
So that was it. She smiled up at him with her heart in her eyes. “You take very good care of me.”
“Of course I do, my own,” he said softly. “You gave yourself to me, didn’t you?”
“Only once,” she pointed out.
His dark eye glittered down at her. “I want you, too,” he whispered. “But we’re going to take it slowly. I like what I’m learning about you.”
What would he think if he knew how false it was, she wondered frantically. If they’d had a more intimate relationship perhaps he wouldn’t look at her so closely or be so curious about her past.
“What’s this little frown for?” he teased.
“I have to meet some of the fashion writers after we’re through. I’m nervous.”
“You’ll do fine. Remember that you love what you do. That should make it easy to talk about your work.”
“I hope so.” What she really feared was pointed questions from people who were used to asking them. But she’d memorized her story by heart, and she thought she could field any embarrassing or potentially damaging inquiries.
“Yes. It should make it easy,” she agreed.
The end of the show came rapidly and Curry went out with his designers to take a bow. The applause was gratifying. Ivory saw flashbulbs going off all around her, and she smiled through a veil of happy tears. She was, after all, on her way.
But when Curry left, with Belle on his arm, everyone noticed. It was almost a public declaration of disinterest in his new designer, just as he’d expected that it would be. Curry Kells might adore his designer on the job, but he was making it apparent to everyone around him that his interest didn’t extend to their private lives.
His judgment was right. No rumors spread concerning Ivory’s meteoric rise in the company; but her success felt strangely flat without him to share it. She was on her way to the fame and fortune she’d coveted. It should have made her the happiest woman on earth. She was, she told herself. It was only that she felt so empty inside.
One of the barracudas of the fashion writing corps cornered her after the show and sat down with her near the runway. The brunette was chic, elegant, expensively dressed, and her dark glasses kept Ivory from seeing her eyes or any giveaway expressions.
“I understand that you’re from the South,” the woman said. “What part?”
“Louisiana,” Ivory replied. “Baton Rouge.”
“And your family? What do they do?”
“My father died when I was much younger, but our family came from France and England after the Civil War, and they owned a huge plantation on the river. Sadly, it was lost after the turn of the century. Then they invested in Texas oil and cattle and made another fortune.”
“So many people did, before income taxes,” the interviewer said blandly. “Did your mother influence your work?”
Ivory’s heart leaped. She had to be very careful. This woman would see any tiny sign of discomfort and pounce on it. She smiled. “Yes, indeed,” she returned. “She’s quite a clotheshorse herself. She’s in Europe this season,” she added.
“Where?”
Fortunately she’d just read the latest issue of Town and Country and she knew about the newest meeting places for the wealthy. She drew one out of her head and presented it.
The fashion interviewer was jotting down notes. “Where did the Tudor designs come from?” she asked, looking up. “Are you a history major?”
“I’m afraid I was too pleasure-oriented for college. After I graduated from high school, I went to a Swiss finishing school and then I traveled extensively in Europe for a while. I settled back into local society afterward, and then I won a competition for a design scholarship.”
The interviewer’s pen paused on the page. “Why would you enter one?”
Because I was poor and couldn’t afford the tuition, she thought, but she forced a grin. “For the hell of it,” she bluffed.
The pen moved on, and there was a sound like a laugh from the other woman. “How did you end up at Kells-Meredith?”
“They had a competition, too. All the students entered. I won. I was really very shocked. And then,” she added, carrying on the pretense, “I seized the chance to make my own fame and fortune, without having to rely on my mother’s. I left it all behind me and came up here with nothing except a little talent.” She sighed dramatically. “And the results are just more than I ever dreamed!”
“You don’t have an accent, do you?” the woman queried. “I suppose finishing school took care of that.”
“Yes, indeed.”
The pen lifted. “Well, your designs are quite unique. I like them. So do a number of other writers, and buyers. But you’re not what you’re telling me, Miss Keene.”
Ivory felt her face stiffen and her heartbeat race. “I beg your pardon?”
The dark glasses came off. Eyes as black as almonds stared right into Ivory’s and nothing escaped them. “I’ve been in this business for twenty years. I have a sixth sense about people. You’re no more high society than I was when I came up here from Alabama twenty-five years ago to make a name for myself.” She laughed without mirth. “Don’t worry. I won’t sell you out. But if you’re using this pose with
Curry Kells, you’ll regret it. I’m famous now. But I wasn’t always. I pretended to be an established business writer when I met Curry. He was already climbing to the top of the New York establishment, and he was good copy. I lied to get into his office, I lied to interview him.” She swallowed. “He found out.”
Ivory let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “What did he do?”
“I didn’t work for a year,” she replied. “He had contacts everywhere and he used them. I didn’t realize he’d be so vindictive, but apparently lies have that effect on him because of something in his past. I finally got work again, and I managed to get where I am despite his animosity. Just take it from me. Don’t ever lie to him. Tell him the truth, while you have time.”
“He’s my boss, not my...”
The other woman smiled. “My dear, the two of you together would light up a city block.” She settled her sunglasses back over her eyes. “You have great promise, and an extraordinary career ahead of you. I’ll be in to buy one of those Tudor creations myself, as soon as they’re available. Best of luck. You’re going to need it.”
Ivory watched her go with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. If she was that transparent, how would she cope with a really vicious reporter? She’d have to go over her story again and again until she plugged up all the holes, every single one. She’d been spared this time. Next time, she might lose everything.
But as for telling Curry, it was far too late now. She’d just have to bluff her way through and hope that he never learned the truth. In the meanwhile, perhaps it would be wise to spend a little less time with him. Once she made it to the top, then she could tell him what she’d come from. And maybe he wouldn’t hold it against her, especially if the company was making a lot of money from her designs. It gave her a little hope for the future.
The weeks that followed reinforced her popularity as a designer. Orders started coming in from some of the buyers of the best stores in the country, just as the fashion writer who’d interviewed her had predicted they would. She wasn’t Chanel, but the tentative orders were more than enough to reinforce her status with the company.