Spring Collection (12 page)

“Don’t let anyone do that to you again,” Jordan snapped. “That’s the first step on the road to perdition. It’s a well-known fact.”

“But it was New Year’s Eve,” Tinker explained.

“That’s not an excuse,” Jordan told her. “They’ll always find something—if it’s not New Year’s Eve it’s Saint Patrick’s Day or Presidents’ Day—just say no.”

“Well, this hasn’t been an entirely wasted session,” Maude announced. “At least I know that you girls are accomplished liars, a fact that doesn’t do me any good because it’s not as if I had proof.”

“The four of us are invited to dinner tonight at Monsieur Necker’s,” I told the girls. “So go decide what you’re going to wear. Come on, all of you, off the floor. And that better be the last club sandwich any of you eat before the collection.”

Maude looked at me in a way I didn’t like one little bit. I could hear her thinking that I was not in a position of strength to enforce dietary discipline. Somehow she knew about my six extra pounds. She had a point. Nightmares of the girls ordering room service at any hour danced in my head.

“After this dinner party,” I heard myself saying, “I’m going on a diet. I’m counting on the three of you to make me stick to it and inspire me by your example.”

“You’re starting a diet in Paris?” Maude asked incredulously, scribbling away in her notebook. “Is that on the record?”

“Maude, this story isn’t about me, it’s about them.”

“It’s about what Maxi Amberville wants, as usual,” Maude said. “And she didn’t put anybody off limits. Are Mike and I invited to this party?”

“Nope, this party is about what Necker wants and he doesn’t know anything about
Zing
. Sorry about that.”

“Frankly, I’m not. I need a good night’s sleep. I’ll catch up with Necker later,” Maude said, wriggling out of her dandy’s jacket, unbuttoning her vest and stretching widely as she took that off too.

She looked relaxed for the first time since she’d joined us on the trip over. In just her trousers and ruffled shirt I was interested to see that she looked no more oddly dressed than any of us and a thousand times more attractive than I would have imagined. Her costume, her carapace of strict tailoring from another century, certainly worked to give her a safe place from which to quiz the world. Amazing what the choice of a uniform can do. Now, with her short ash-blond hair messed up and her observant expression turned off, Maude was, and no other word will do, truly
pretty
. I looked at her closely and realized that she couldn’t be more than thirty-nine or forty. She had a surprisingly voluptuous and feminine body once she lost her jacket and vest, terrific breasts under that shirt, a slim waist and decidedly feminine hips. The half-boy, half-girl look disappeared with her clothes.

“I’m whipped,” she said. “Jet lag is bad enough without trying to talk to a bunch of kids. Want a sandwich?”

“No, thanks,” I said regretfully. She didn’t know it but my diet had just started. “Zaftig” has never been
one of my favorite words and when that eagle-eyed Aaron used it about me, I hate to admit it but I winced.

“Diet Coke?” she asked, waving me to a chair.

“Love one,” I answered, sitting down. It occurred to me that it would be smarter to be friendly with her than not.

“Maude, I know you have to ask a lot of questions for your story, but why don’t you wait a little, until you get to know the girls naturally? They’re basically good kids but they’re gun-shy. People are always prying and poking at models, as if they weren’t really human. Why, for instance, are you so interested in whether they’re virgins or not? After all, this is the nineties, what difference does it make?”

“Because of all the talk today about chastity and abstinence—two years ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of asking that question, but now it’s become interesting again, even important, because they’re role models to other girls. If one or two of them are virgins, that’s meaningful, even newsworthy. Three would be a banner headline.”

“I see your point, but I still think it’s too early to expect them to be honest with you. Remember, they’re used to being treated like freaks by everyone but each other and their agencies, and that makes them gun-shy.”

“But they
are
freaks,” she protested. “Not one woman in ten million looks like them. They’re aberrations of nature.”

“Yeah, but Maude, they
can’t help it
. You should get used to seeing them as superlative human animals, not freaks. And the statistically astonishing fact that not one of them smokes, thank God, is a better angle than their sexual habits, if you ask me.” I think I set her off on the right path. Somewhat. Anyway, we made friends. A little. No one in the agency business believes that a journalist can be a real friend. We’ve all been burned too often.

By the time I got back to my private perfumed palace both beds had been turned down, the lamps
were lit, and a fire glowed nicely in the sitting room. I walked into one of the dressing rooms and almost fell down in surprise at the sight of what the maid had unpacked.

Justine must really have felt guilty! There was a whole rack of stuff; dresses, pants, jackets, and two long coats, one in camel hair with a red shearling lining, the other a floor-length, black cashmere cape with a zip-in black satin quilted lining for evening. There were a half dozen pairs of shoes on the floor, yards of cashmere mufflers, handbags, gloves and piles of lingerie and pantyhose in the drawers. I ruffled through the clothes, discovering a paradise of more cashmere, silk and leather, all in the kind of good-taste colors from black to ivory with a few stops at red, pewter, moss green and subtle browns that makes it impossible to go wrong no matter what you throw on. Lots of the fabrics had that kind of reassuring stretchy feeling that promised a righteously helpful mixture of Lycra or spandex. I hope Justine got it all wholesale. On the other hand, as we taxpayers all know, there’s no free lunch, and there sure as hell is no free Donna Karan. What was I going to have to do for this?

I soon found out.

“What are you doing here?”
Gabrielle d’Angelle gasped. She was standing right behind the manservant who had opened the door to Necker’s house on the Avenue de Suffren, bordering the garden of the Champ de Mars.

“Didn’t Justine explain in her fax?” I was as surprised as she was.

“Fax! We received no fax!”

“That’s
impossible,”
I said flatly. “She sent you one the minute she was sure.” Instinctively I vamped for time. The dog had eaten my homework and my memory had stopped working from shock.

“ ‘Sure’ about
what?
Monsieur Necker expects Miss Loring!”

“Well, that’s tough, but when the doctors all say
you can’t fly, you can’t fly. You understand that as well as I do, Gabrielle, and thanks for all the magnificent flowers, they’re incredible, even if you sent them to the wrong person. I’ll tell Justine how beautiful they are when I phone her.” Right! A monster ear infection. It all came back to me in a glorious flash. All, that is, except why she hadn’t sent the fax.

“We’d better both pray that the antibiotics work,” I added, “and that she recovers quickly enough to come over here before the collection. Those ear infections are dangerous, don’t you agree, Gabrielle?” When I’ve got trouble I always try to make it the other guy’s problem too.

“Come on in girls, for heaven’s sake,” I babbled on. “Gabrielle doesn’t want you to stand there in the cold, do you, Gabrielle?” I shooed them inside before she could answer. “The important thing is that the girls are here, safe and sound, isn’t that right, Gabrielle?”

“Of course,” she answered, transforming herself back into the smoothie I remembered. “Welcome to Paris, all three of you. I’m enchanted that you’re here.”

As she shook their hands I observed her body language and decided that she didn’t have an idea of what Necker was up to. She still looked slightly miffed at the change of chaperone to one of a lower status, but not one tenth of one percent as upset as her boss was going to be. What I was burning to know was how Justine could have screwed me like this. She’d sworn that she was going to send the fax once our plane took off. What the bloody hell could possibly have stopped her?

“Monsieur Necker is waiting to greet you upstairs,” Gabrielle informed us. “We’ll take the elevator.” Only then did I look around and realize that we were standing in a room with a black and white marble floor and the dimensions of a ballroom that could only be the entrance hall to the largest and grandest private house I’d ever seen. Since there was a staircase curving up against one wall, the sort of majestic staircase you’ve seen in the White House, with a presidential couple descending to greet distinguished guests, I didn’t see
why we couldn’t walk up. Especially since it would take longer. Even one second longer was better.
Never
would be an ideal time for me to meet Necker, but the manservant was already taking our coats.

However, taking the elevator began to make sense as it continued to rise. Evidently “upstairs” was the top of the house, which had looked, from the street, as if it were at least five stories tall. As the elevator stopped, much too soon, I managed to squeeze between the girls like one of those characters in a Western who hunkers down inside a group of horses. There was a confusion as all five of us tried to be polite and let everyone else go first, which was exactly the effect I’d been hoping for.

We finally sorted ourselves out and, since there was no way I could postpone it any longer, I pulled myself together and prepared to meet Justine’s father. I looked up, rather bravely, if I say so myself, but I didn’t see anyone in the vast room that stretched dimly forward toward a wall of solid glass two stories high from floor to ceiling. Beyond the wall, perhaps a thousand feet away, was a section of the base of the Eiffel Tower, brilliantly illuminated by floodlights.

The girls and I were so stunned by this unexpected iron giant out of Jules Verne, so amazed by seeing it floating so close to us, that at first we stood there and gaped. It was like part of the most enormous Tinkertoy you could imagine. The sight was irresistibly wacky in its scale and drama, and the girls all rushed, magnetized, toward the wall of glass and craned their necks up, exclaiming to each other. I stayed close to Gabrielle. Time enough to look at the view after I’d delivered the medical bulletin.

“Jules,” Gabrielle said to a butler, “where is Monsieur?”

“I don’t know, Madame.”

“Go tell him his guests have arrived.” She was clearly surprised not to find him waiting. I had a flash. Necker was as nervous about this as I was. He was hiding out the way I had in the elevator. No, better! Necker was as nervous about this as
Justine
would be if
she were here. So I had nothing to be nervous about! I was just the messenger.

Well. That bit of logical thinking made me feel a little better. Then, Necker entered the room and I felt, suddenly, a whole lot worse. His expression was utterly composed but my curiosity made me glance quickly at his eyes. I saw a look so full of joyous expectation mixed with timidity and humility and hope, that it broke my heart. He stopped dead inside the doorway, instantly looking away from me toward the girls at the window and then back to me. He walked rapidly toward Gabrielle.

“Where is Miss Loring?” he asked her.

“Miss Severino will tell you,” she replied.

“Miss Severino?” He shook my hand automatically. “Is Miss Loring delayed?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Monsieur Necker, she’s delayed. That is, she’s delayed in New York, not in Paris. I don’t understand why she hasn’t let you know, there’s obviously been a communications failure, but Justine’s sick, really ill, with a middle ear infection. The doctors wouldn’t let her travel under any conditions, she’s on antibiotics up to the gills. She made me promise to tell you how sorry she was that this happened at the last minute. She intends to get over as soon as she can travel. In the meanwhile, she sent me instead—”

“She is
not
in Paris?” There was no question in his flat words although he’d framed the statement as if it were, as if he hadn’t quite understood me.

“No.”

He didn’t buy it. I knew that right away, although I’d put my best into the explanation and I’ve always been a gifted liar. Anyone but Necker would have believed me. That complicated look in his eyes had died although his expression would never have told anyone that he’d just had a body blow.

“She sent you ‘instead’?” He repeated my words in a monotone as if they were only about a minor question of delegation of authority.

“Why yes, of course, I’m Justine’s second in
command, so obviously it had to be me. It was such a rush, getting packed at the last minute, I hadn’t expected to leave New York, you can imagine.…” I ran out of gas because I couldn’t find anything at all to say that would give him hope. I looked helplessly at the utter desolation in his eyes.

“So. I see. That’s a shame, isn’t it? I sincerely hope she gets better soon. And, in any case, you’re here, looking charming, and you’re most welcome in my home. I trust they’ve made you comfortable at the hotel.” He took a deep breath and gave me a brief formal smile that hurt to look at. “Now, let me get you something to drink, Miss Severino, and then you can introduce me to the young ladies.”

Wow, I thought, as I followed him, I knew where Justine got that unearthly calm, that self-control. It was pure Necker. Man, if this guy had been my long-lost Dad, I’d jump into his arms, no questions asked, all the past forgiven and forgotten, and not just because he was rich but because he had so much class. To say nothing of being one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen at any age.

By this time the girls had noticed Necker and were coming down the length of the room. I suddenly remembered that this was, for each of them, a highly competitive moment. None of us knew what part Necker would play in choosing the Lombardi girl, but we had to assume that it would be a major one.

First came April, moving with an easy, unstudied grace. She’d picked her dress cleverly; a bare, but somehow demure, black silk slip dress with a graduated string of pearls that showcased her exquisitely well-bred look more emphatically than anything elaborate. Her sudden smile flashed, but not too broadly, her amazing hair was pulled straight back from her face and flowed simply down her back like Alice in Wonderland’s. I thought that if there were a young Grace Kelly today, this was how she would have been dressed for an important meeting with her future mother-in-law. Oh, proper, perfect April!