Act of Will (46 page)

Christina harboured the belief that she and her mother would be reconciled one day soon. She knew Audra loved her far too much to remain angry with her for very long. She also hoped that her father was already exerting some influence.

In the meantime, she was going to do her damnedest to make them proud of her.

Christina stood in the hallway that linked the two reception rooms, looked first to her right and then to her left.

Each room was a replica of the other: pearl grey walls and matching carpet, white-painted fireplaces, French crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, and antique Venetian mirrors.

The two rooms flowed into each other beautifully, just the way she had planned. She nodded in approval, appreciating the cool, calm feeling produced by the pearl grey and the hint of white. This essentially monochromatic scheme was unrelieved by any other colour—and purposely so. Christina did not want anything to distract from her clothes, or compete with them. Even flowers were barred from these two rooms, appeared only in hallways of the Bruton Street house.

Turning, Christina glanced at the floral arrangement on the Louis XVI console in the hall. It was composed entirely of white flowers, and once again she nodded, knowing it was exactly right, perfect in this particular spot.

Moving forward she hurried into the larger of the two rooms and looked around for the umpteenth time on this cold January day, checking every detail.

A runway now divided the room in half, and on either side of it stood rows of little gilt chairs. Christina experienced
a tingle of excitement, feeling the thrill of it all. In less than an hour her first
couture
collection was going to be unveiled, presented to the world. She took a deep breath and clasped her hands together, sudden apprehension tugging at her as she thought of the clothes she had designed, worrying about them…

‘Mademoiselle—’

She swung around to see her head
vendeuse
hovering in the doorway that led out to the dressing rooms in the back, where the models were getting ready for the show which was due to start at three.

‘Giselle!’ she exclaimed and glided down the room.

‘I came to wish you
bonne chance
, Mademoiselle,’ the Frenchwoman said, smiling at her warmly.

‘Thank you, Giselle,’ Christina replied, also smiling, then her face changed. ‘The collection
is
all right, isn’t it?’

The head
vendeuse
brought her fingertips to her lips and kissed them, then blew the kiss into the air. ‘Not all right, Mademoiselle, superb, simply
superb
. When I was at the House of Balmain I always told Monsieur that when there was the great excitement in the workrooms there would be the thunder in the chairs—’ She paused, waved her hand at the golden rows, and added confidently, ‘And at the House of Christina we have the excitement in the workrooms—so be assured there
will
be the great applause out here.’

A young assistant dresser poked her head around the door at the far end of the room. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Miss Christina, but Madame Roux is needed.’

‘Excuse me, Mademoiselle,’ the head
vendeuse
said and hurried out.

Christina walked over to the fireplace and stood with her back to it. She looked down the entire room, through
the hallway and into the adjoining room, her eyes following the first runway and then the second. And in her imagination she visualized the models walking, turning, swirling, halting, posing, showing off her clothes to their best advantage. She loved each garment she had designed and she could only pray that everyone else would. She asked herself how she had done it, how she had finished this collection in so short a time, and she had absolutely no idea whatsoever. Blood, toil, tears and sweat, she said under her breath, thinking of Winston Churchill’s memorable line from the war years when she had been a child.

Turning around, she stared at herself in the Venetian mirror above the fireplace. She had thought she looked tired and pinched earlier, and she had put on more rouge than she normally wore. But it seemed to have been absorbed into her skin. She was pale again. Perhaps it was the black suit that was pulling the colour from her face. She always needed more makeup when she wore black.

Christina stepped back, regarded herself, holding her head slightly on one side, studying the suit. Beautifully cut and tailored, it was a masterpiece of engineering. Its only adornment was a white gardenia pinned on one shoulder—the white gardenia that she had chosen to become her own special motif, her trademark.

Lifting her hand, Christina smoothed her hair.

It was then that she saw them reflected in the mirror, standing in the doorway, looking uncertain, hesitant.

For a split second she thought it was her imagination playing tricks. But of course it was not. She turned slowly, opened her mouth to say something. No words came out. She simply stood there, staring, unable to move.

Her mother took a few steps forward and then stopped
abruptly. Audra said, ‘We had to come… we couldn’t stay away. Not today.’

‘Oh Mummy—’

‘Christie darling—’

Both women moved at the same time. They met in the middle of the floor.

Audra looked up at Christina and her bright blue eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ve missed you so much…’

Christina reached out, put her arms around Audra, hugged her mother to her as if never to let her go. ‘Oh Mam, I’ve missed you too, you’ll never know how much.’

Suddenly Vincent joined them, and he put his arms around them both, and they all three cried a little, then laughed. And finally Christina stepped away and looked at her parents, and her happiness was reflected in her shining eyes, her joyous smile.

‘I’m so glad you came, so very,
very
glad. It means so much to have you here. Thank you, thank you—’ She broke off, then looked deeply into Audra’s face and asked, very softly, almost in a whisper, ‘Have you forgiven me, Mother?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive, Christie,’ Audra answered, her voice gentle, loving. ‘I was angry and upset with you, and dreadfully, dreadfully hurt. But I realize now that I was wrong to cut you off in the way that I did. As your Uncle Mike said to your Daddy and me quite recently, you had to do what you had to do.’ A lovely smile touched Audra’s mouth. ‘I may have given you the chance to have a better life, but I cannot live that life for you. I came to realize this, and I knew that I had to make my peace with you, darling.’

Christina bent forward and kissed Audra’s cheek. ‘Today is going to be the best day for me, now that you and Daddy are here.’

Turning to Vincent, she took his arm, squeezed it affectionately, reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for bringing her, Daddy, and for being here yourself. I love you both very much.’

Vincent put his arm around Christina’s shoulders. He said, ‘We love you too, Christie, and when your invitation came with your little note, I told your mother we couldn’t miss this very special and important day in your life.’

Christina Crowther became a superstar in the international fashion firmament overnight.

Success was so instantaneous, orders so overwhelming, she knew within the first twenty-four hours that additional space had to be found, extra help hired, more fabric ordered—and at once. There was no time to waste.

Elise, Germaine and Lucie handled all of these details, with speed and efficiency, whilst Giselle Roux and her small showroom staff coped with clients who came flooding in through the doors of the Bruton Street house.

Christina’s private clientele bought extensively from the collection, as did innumerable new customers, but there were some gigantic orders from stores which not only staggered Christina but also the more experienced Giselle.

The buyer from Bergdorf Goodman in New York was so dazzled by the clothes she took practically the entire collection, as did the buyer from the
Haute Couture
Salon at Harte’s in Knightsbridge. It was she who announced to everyone that Christina was the fashion discovery of the decade, and pointed out that there hadn’t been such a sensational success and a stampede like this since Christian Dior opened his own salon in 1947 and introduced his now-famous New Look. Giselle concurred, said: ‘It
is
the same
vraiment
, Mademoiselle, truly, it is.’ Christina believed her.

These orders represented hundreds and hundreds of thousands of pounds. Christina had become very big business in one leap from the former greengrocer’s shop in the King’s Road to the elegant town house in Mayfair. It was a gigantic leap.

The cause of all the excitement and furore was the collection Christina had called The Flower Line. And indeed it was exactly that, with the theme of the flower running throughout.

The evening clothes were exquisite and extraordinary, featuring all manner of flowers from the exotic orchid to the simplest kind of blooms. When her first big collection had been conceived months before, Christina had realized she could not paint every evening garment personally. It was far too time-consuming. And so she had hired several clever artists to copy her paintings, insisting on perfect duplication.

But she had also had some of her own flower paintings handscreened onto fabrics, and these prints on romantic, floating chiffons and georgettes were as much of a sensation as the hand-painted garments. Evening and cocktail dresses made from these prints would become huge sellers and remain popular forever, earning her millions of pounds and millions of dollars over the years.

Other evening gowns of heavier-weight silk had a single but dominant flower motif. This might be on the skirt at the back and front; on the bodice and the one shoulder; sometimes it was repeated on the skirt and the bodice. But this single flower was always heavily encrusted with jewelled embroidery and was like an enormous piece of jewellery. These evening gowns were also snapped up instantly, with no questions asked about the price.

All of Christina’s evening clothes in The Flower Line were lavish and very feminine, and they caused most
people to gasp in delight when they first set eyes on them. Colours ranged from white and delicate pastels to vivid red, yellow, sapphire and summer black, which Christina had always advocated.

The flower theme was preserved all the way and reappeared in the day wear, this time in the actual contour of the clothes.

Suits, coats and dresses boasted a slender skirt, but from the waist up the tops were slightly over-sized, as were the shoulders, but these were softly rounded not squared-off. The shape of all these garments suggested a flower on a delicate stem.

The day wear was austere in some instances, immaculately cut and tailored, often with an architectural feeling, and it was undeniably chic.

Fabrics were light and feminine, included silks, cottons, linens and light wool crêpes. Colours were clear, often sharp, with many pinks and mauves and lovely English blues, and greens that ran from bright emerald to the softer lime. And each garment, whether for day or evening, was perfectly accessorized for the total look Christina insisted on presenting.

Apart from her acceptance by the public, Christina had become the darling of the press. They loved her, showered accolades on her personally and in print.

The fashion editors from
Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar
and
Queen
were all smart, sophisticated women who had seen it all. None of them was readily fooled and they could as easily spot a phoney as they could recognize and applaud genuine talent. They knew at once that Christina was no flash in the pan, that she would go from strength to strength.

As for the popular newspapers, they adored her too.

She was wonderful copy for them, after all: a new
discovery who was all the rage, young, immensely talented, good looking—and from an ordinary background, a girl from the provinces. The latter made her specially attractive to them, since their readers could identify with her, and certainly with Vincent and Audra, who had been much photographed with her at the unveiling of her collection in January.

Christina enjoyed her success, basked in it a bit. But her feet continued to be firmly planted on the ground, and she understood deep in her heart that the best part of it all was the pride her parents had in her. She would never forget the expressions on their faces as
she
had watched
them
watching the gorgeous models parading down the runway, to the sound of the thunderous applause, under the glittering lights.

And as Jane said later that evening, after the three Crowthers had been to dinner with the three Sedgewicks, ‘They were beside themselves with happiness and pride, Christie. I thought they were going to burst at the seams during the show, and I do believe your father had tears in his eyes at one moment.’ Christina had smiled and nodded, and then she had repeated her mother’s lovely words to Jane.

The words continued to echo in Christina’s head weeks later. Audra had come up to her at the champagne reception after the show, had given her a knowing, half-apologetic smile, and had murmured, ‘This is a lot more than dressmaking, Christie.
This is art
.’

Those had been words of praise indeed, coming from her mother. And slowly Christina had come to realize that they had also been words of exoneration.

***

Although Christina had promised to go with Jane to the French Alps for a winter vacation in February, in the end
she was only able to have a long weekend with her at the ski resort. There was too much activity at the fashion house and she could not neglect her flourishing business.

But the four days she did spend in Alpes d’Huez with Jane were relaxing and the two girls had great fun. There were plenty of attractive and charming admirers around to take them for cocktails in the evening or fondue suppers and sometimes dancing afterwards at one of the rustic Alpine bars.

Christina did not ski and she had no intention of even trying, but she enjoyed watching the athletic Jane whiz down the slopes. Her friend was a crack skier and an expert skater. And on the Sunday afternoon, as Christina sat at the open-air rink, her eyes were glued to Jane in admiration as she floated and pirouetted across the ice.