“Yes, I will, Larry,” she answered and began to turn the pages of her engagement book. “I just have one thing outstanding, and that’s the charity fashion show I promised Jean-Louis I would do. It’s on the twenty-second of March, and then I’m free as a bird.”
“I’m glad, darling. I couldn’t bear it if I had to leave you here and go alone to London.”
“Neither could I, and listen, after that I’m actually free until July. That’s when Jean-Louis will be showing the fall-winter collection, both haute couture and pret-à-porter, and incidentally, Luke told me the other day that Kate Morrell wants him to photograph the shows. He’s thrilled, so you can imagine how Caresse feels. Except that she misses him, I think.”
Larry’s dark brow lifted, and he asked, “Is there something developing between those two?”
“I’m not sure,” M answered with a laugh. “Maybe it’s too soon after Frankie’s death, but then again, maybe it isn’t. And I would think she’s a bit lonely in New York, although the studio is booked solid, Luke says, and there’s Alex to look after.”
Larry burst out laughing. “He’s turned eighteen, for heaven’s sake!”
“I thought he was younger,” M muttered, and closed her engagement book. Changing the subject, she said, “Will you mind living in a very girlie-girlie flat in London?”
“No, as long as it’s your girlie-girlie flat.” He threw her a skeptical look and asked, “Is it really like that? All frilly and full of pink? I don’t think I believe you, M. You’re not the type.”
“What type am I?”
“The delicious type,” he answered, flirting. He put the script down, stood up, walked over to her, and put both hands on her shoulders. Bending down, he kissed her on the cheek and said, “How about a little siesta, pretty one?”
“When you say ‘siesta,’ are you using it as a euphemism for a little of the hot stuff?”
“Absolutely and most definitely.”
“Then I’d love to have a siesta, mister.”
“I wish we could have a siesta every afternoon,” M murmured a short while later, snuggling up to Larry, putting her arm over his body. “I always feel wonderful afterward, so relaxed and happy. Do you think that’s how the Spanish feel after their siestas?”
Larry chuckled, held her close to him, loving her so much. She could be so quaint at times. He said, against her hair, “I think the famous Spanish siesta is a little different than ours, my love. But I can’t be certain, of course.”
“Neither can I. Well, never mind. Listen, Larry, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. How long will Stuart and Craig be with us?”
“Funny you should ask, I was discussing that with James yesterday afternoon. He agreed with me that we should keep them on for the next few months, until everything normalizes. If it ever does. James has the feeling there’s always going to be enormous press interest in us, paparazzi chasing us, that sort of thing. But the excitement will probably taper off by the end of the year. The chaps don’t bother you, do they?”
“No, not at all, and they’re ever so discreet, unobtrusive actually. I was just curious, that’s all.”
“I can only say I’m glad we’ve had them around this past month, M; it got chaotic at times with the press turnouts wherever we went.” Putting his hand under her chin, tilting her head, he looked into her face and asked, “So, how does it feel?”
M stared back at him, looking puzzled, and asked, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Being you. The famous, mysterious M. The supermodel, born literally overnight. Some are even calling you the new Gisele Bündchen. Tall, thin, gorgeous. The rage of the paparazzi. The most photographable woman in the world. The favorite face on magazine covers.” He grinned at her a little cheekily. “I’m glad to see it hasn’t gone to your head, missus. Yet.”
“Gone to my head? It’s actually gone to my feet! Which I’m standing on for twelve to fourteen hours a day at the moment.”
“You must be tired, sweetheart, it’s been pretty tough,” he said sympathetically, even though he knew she had tremendous energy and stamina.
“Yes, it has. And yet it hasn’t, because I’ve . . . enjoyed it. Enormously. Anyway, what about you? You’ve had quite a month yourself, Larry. But I suppose it’s a bit different for you, because you’re used to fame. You come from this famous family, theatrical royalty they call you, all of you great Vaughans. And have you forgotten that you became a star overnight? When you played Hamlet on the stage, when I was ten and you were twenty-two. Younger than I am now, actually.”
He burst out laughing. “By a year, that’s all.”
“And your first movie was a huge, fantastic hit, and you became a film star overnight. And you’ve never looked back. So how did you feel then?”
“I guess I felt sort of surprised, M,” he answered honestly. “I was a bit taken aback after the success of Hamlet. I thought, Bloody hell, what’s happened to me? And then I thought, This is bloody amazing. Because, you see, I hadn’t put fame into the mix when I became an actor. Because you don’t do it for the fame, do you?”
She remained silent.
He gave her a long, questioning look, a brow lifting. “Or did you do it for that?”
“Don’t be silly! I did it to prove something.”
“Exactly. That’s why I did what I did. What I still do. And for the joy of doing the work. It’s never fame or money, although the latter’s useful. I’ve often pondered on my work. I act because I love it, and I want to meet the challenge of it every day. I have to sort of . . . grab it by the scruff of the neck and shake it, and say, I can do this job. And I will succeed. And so I do.” He paused, released her gently, pushed himself up on the pillows, and continued, “Anyway, you come from a famous family, too; you’re accustomed to attention.”
“It’s a different kind of fame, though, and it was never mine. It was, and is, theirs.”
“That’s right, but it’s still fame.”
“You began this conversation by asking me how I felt, and you know what, I feel great, Larry. I wanted to prove to my family that I could make it without them, and I did. And without the use of their name. I feel a lovely sense of gratification because I did it all by myself. Well, look, I know I had help from Luke and Kate, and Frankie before them. But I’ve done the actual work, and I didn’t rely on the family name.”
“Correct. But did you really think it would be so big and so fast?” he now asked, marveling that she had been so normal, so cool about everything.
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. And thank you for being there, and for watching my back.”
“I’ll always watch your back, my darling. And thank you for watching mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I had lunch with James yesterday, he told me that you’d insisted on hiring him and paying him. I was so touched you wanted to protect me, made such an effort.”
“I love you, and I certainly understood that if you turned up drugged in a New York hospital, everything would be misinterpreted. That there would be a scandal. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
“He still has the cash in the envelope. He wants to return it.”
Taken aback, she exclaimed, “Tell him to put it in the bank. It was his fee. I was happy to pay it. Anyway, I’m sure he gets more than that for his services.”
“Probably. I said we’d take them to dinner tomorrow night.”
M looked at him in surprise, her face filling with excitement. “Them? Is Geo coming to Paris?”
“Yes, she is, tomorrow afternoon. She’s been staying with James’s parents in London.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see her.”
“They’re only staying for a couple of days, and then they’re going to Berlin on business. After that it’s apparently back to London. He’s doing some revamping of his company and expects to be around until the middle of April. That should please you.”
“Oh, it does! B
ut what did he say about Geo’s show? The exhibition of her paintings at the gallery in Chelsea?”
“She’s having everything framed at the moment. All of the new paintings are finally finished, and he told me the show will now be in September.”
“It’ll be a big success,” M asserted. “Whenever it is. But why the delay, do you know?” A dark brow lifted.
“Because Geo started a series of brilliantly colored, offbeat portraits of women, and the gallery owner wanted to include them,” Larry explained. “And also, from what James told me, Geo wanted to be with him in Europe.”
“I think I’ve seen two of those portraits,” M murmured, looking suddenly reflective. “They’re half finished, at least they were last November. And one of them looked a bit like me . . . in an Art Deco way. She’s very gifted.”
Thirty-two
Geo glanced around the grand salon of the Hôtel Cygne Noir, not far from the Louvre and newly opened, thinking how beautiful the room was. Traditional in style, it smacked of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI; the latter’s name was given to a decorative style she happened to like, even though it was sometimes a bit rococo.
The runway opened from the stage, ran straight down the middle of the salon, and stopped almost at the end, where it branched out to make a T shape. She couldn’t wait to see M gliding down it, “strutting her stuff,” as M called it, and she was thrilled to be here. She and James had flown to Paris last night, after two weeks in London, so that she could come to the fashion show and spend a few days with M.
Hearing her name, Geo turned around and immediately jumped up when she saw Luke heading her way, camera in hand as always.
The two of them embraced, and Luke said, “You look fantastic, Geo. Marriage definitely agrees with you. And how’s James?”
“He’s great. Somewhat busy with all this reorganization of his company. But anyway, you’ll see him tonight; on the way over here M told me we’re all having dinner together.”
“I know, and hey, that’s great, kiddo. By the way, I’ll be shooting M from around about here once the show starts; it’s a great vantage point for me. And after the show is finished, I want to get some casual shots of the two of you together. Okay?”
“That’s fine, Luke, just as long as I can have copies of the pictures.”
“It’s a done deal,” he said, his puckish face lighting up. “I’m going backstage to get some candid shots of M. See ya later, honey.”
Geo sat down on the gold ballroom chair marked with her name, then turned to her right as the woman sitting next to her spoke.
“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I couldn’t help overhearing the photographer when he was speaking to you. He was standing so close to us. Let me introduce myself. I’m Rebecca Byam.”
Geo smiled at the tall, blond, rather attractive woman who had walked into the salon a few minutes before Luke arrived. She stuck out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Georgiana Carlson.”
“I’m happy to meet you, too, and this is my friend Ann Molloy,” Rebecca answered.
Ann Molloy stood up, went to shake Geo’s hand. “Hello. Lovely to meet you, Ms. Carlson.”
Geo nodded. She was another tall, good-looking woman, with thick chestnut hair and unusual greenish blue eyes. Both women were wearing smart clothes, and Geo realized they were American. She now ventured, “You said something about the photographer. Did you have a question about him?”
“Not exactly,” Rebecca replied. “But he did start talking about M, and we couldn’t help overhearing. We weren’t eavesdropping, you know, it’s just that he was so close. And we wondered if you knew her. We’re such big fans of hers.”
“Actually, I do, yes,” Geo answered but volunteered nothing more. She was fiercely protective of M and her business, as were Larry and James, and also Luke Hendricks. There was far too much curiosity about M these days, and they all knew to keep their mouths shut.
“We read that she’s totally unspoiled by all this sudden fame and success. Is that true?” Ann asked quietly.
Geo thought there was no harm in answering this perfectly innocent question, and she nodded. “She’s the same as she’s always been. Fame hasn’t even made a dent.”
“Isn’t that nice to know! Success often goes to people’s heads,” Ann remarked.
Wanting to change the subject, Geo now asked, “Do you go to many fashion shows?”
Rebecca was the one to reply. “Yes, we enjoy them. And when we had the opportunity to come here today, we thought it would be wonderful. Especially since it was advertised that M was going to be showing the clothes.”
“You’ll really enjoy it,” Geo said and opened her program. The two women followed suit, and they were all three soon engrossed. At one moment, Geo glanced around and saw how fast the salon was filling up. Looking at her watch, she realized the show would be starting soon. She settled back in the chair, excited about seeing M on the runway again. She was tremendously proud of her friend.
M settled her body down, making herself comfortable in the pastel chiffon evening gown, her “sweet-pea dress” she called it, and turned to thank her dresser, Claude. As she did so she spotted Philippe Tremont heading her way.
She had met Jean-Louis’s brother earlier in March, when he had returned after almost three months of traveling. Philippe ran the export division of the House of Tremont, except for the States, which was Kate Morrell’s domain, and he had been on a worldwide trip.
There was a smile on his tan, handsome face as he came to a standstill next to her. Philippe was a younger, slightly more dashing version of his brother, with a great sense of humor and a much more relaxed demeanor than Jean-Louis. He said, “This was my first chance to see you on the runway, M, and you are fabulous. It belongs to you. Some models, even top girls, can’t always do that . . . take it for themselves. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Philippe, it’s nice of you to say so. I guess it’s just a knack I have. My elder sister taught me certain things about modeling, and she used to instruct me to do what you just said . . . take the runway for myself. She likened it to a path in our mother’s garden, and constantly reminded me to make it a familiar place. In other words, she told me not to be afraid of it.”
“She was a good teacher, I believe, this sister. Well, I am so glad you are with us . . . as the New Face of Jean-Louis Tremont. Kate is brilliant, the way she launched you.”
“She is, and so is Peter Addison. I think they have done a fantastic job.” She suddenly giggled and added, “They made me a supermodel overnight. Can you believe that? I still can’t.”
Philippe laughed with her, thinking what a lovely, unspoiled young woman she was; according to Kate she was not at all temperamental. He had a good feeling about her, and he believed she would always remain just as she was today.
Claude waved to her, and M excused herself, hurried over to her dresser, who said, “You will go on next, M, in only a moment.”
“Thanks, Claude,” M answered and got ready to move forward as the other two models were coming off at the opposite side.
She glided onto the wide stage, paused dramatically, spun around, walked forward, paused again, and then pranced out onto the runway, moving down it with ease and grace and total self-confidence.
M and the gorgeous summer evening gown inspired instant applause; she turned and swirled in the middle of the runway, then strutted on, walking up and down on the T at the very end. A moment later she was coming back up, moving gracefully, showing the lovely chiffon frock to advantage, loving every moment of what she was doing.
M was extremely lighthearted this afternoon. Everything was good. She and Larry were so much in love, and they had a perfect marriage, compatible in mind as well as body. Thanks to a lot of luck, and Kate and Luke, she now had the career she had long wanted. And her dear friends Geo and James were in Paris . . . Paris in the spring. Well, almost, she thought, and what could be better than having them here now with me and Larry
? My life is so great . . .
Walking on at her normal fast pace, M covered the catwalk once more before stepping onto the stage. She swirled again and headed into the wings, knowing she would be going out again in a few minutes. She had just enough time to change into the next gown.
But as she rushed toward the dressing area, she fell flat on her face. M went down heavily, tried to break the fall with her hands, and managed to keep her face from hitting the floor. Thank God, she thought. She knew at once what had caused her fall. Her left high heel had caught on something.
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” Claude cried when she saw M fall, and she rushed forward to help her. Philippe, who had been talking to Claude, swiftly followed the dresser.
“Are you injured?” Claude asked urgently. “What happened?”
“It’s the heel of my shoe, it’s caught on something,” M said and tried to move her foot with no success.
“Please, M, remain still,” Philippe said. “I must release the heel. It is stuck in a . . . crack on the wood floor. Is it possible for you to slide out the foot?”
She said, “I can’t. My foot is trapped, and the shoe is at a funny angle. Claude, you’ll have to get somebody else to go on in my place. I think I’ve done my ankle in; it’s either broken or very badly sprained.”
“Oui, oui, bien sûr,” Claude replied and hurried away.
Kate arrived with Jean-Louis. They were horrified when they saw M on the floor, with one foot trapped at such an awkward angle.
Jean-Louis knelt next to his brother and took hold of M’s hand. “Is anything broken? Are you in pain, mademoiselle?”
M smiled at him faintly and shook her head. “I think I’ve sprained my ankle, but there’s nothing we can do at the moment.”
Kate, practical as always, also knelt down, looked at the shoe, a satin pump, and said, “I need a sharp knife, a box cutter if possible. I have to cut the shoe off M’s foot. Her foot is very swollen, and I’m afraid to even attempt to get the shoe off any other way.”
“Oui, oui, Kate, cut it off!” Jean-Louis exclaimed, and after squeezing M’s hand and smiling at her encouragingly, he stood up, as did Philippe.