Beautiful(4)

Cyril was at the second one, seated in the second row. He helped her leave afterward in the chauffeur-driven Bentley he had hired to attend the show and was keeping for the evening, to take them to the Dior party. It was being held in a private mansion Dior had rented for the occasion.

Véronique was exhausted when they got back to her apartment after the show. She’d been running all day, and for weeks. She’d gotten to bed at three a.m., after fittings at Chanel. The sewers had worked all through the night on final touches, and she’d been up at six for fittings somewhere else.

“If I lie down, I might die,” she said to Cyril, as he handed her a glass of champagne. “I don’t suppose you’d want to stay home tonight,” she said hopefully, and took a sip.

“Of course not. Don’t be silly. We can’t miss the Dior party.” She would have been happy to, but didn’t want to disappoint him.

She wore a fabulous red satin gown they had lent her, which molded her body, and brushed her long chestnut hair loose down her back. She felt like she was sleepwalking by the time they left her apartment, and she almost fell asleep in the Bentley. But she came alive again when they got to the party. She had to admit, it was fun. She saw lots of people she knew, and she and Cyril were photographed constantly while they were dancing and he was delighted. They left the party at midnight, and he wanted to go dancing at a club.

“I can’t,” she said, stretching her long legs in the back of the limousine. “I have to be up again at six tomorrow.” Fashion Weeks were always like that, a mad dash of shows in the daytime, and an endless round of parties at night, and Cyril didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

“You work too hard,” he said. “My father called today. He wanted to know when I’m coming back. I almost told him ‘never.’ He’s getting cantankerous about my being here. I’ve only been in Paris this week for heaven’s sake.” He hadn’t been to Milan with her, although he had come to New York for the shows she was in there. “A boy’s got to have a bit of fun,” he said, kissing her lightly on the lips. But he usually had quite a lot of fun, much to his parents’ dismay. It was difficult to pretend he even had a job. Since he worked for his father, he felt he could do whatever he wanted. “What are you doing after the madness is over?”

“I’ve got two weeks of shoots booked, and my mother just invited me to go away with her for a few days. I think I might do that.”

“Oh, fun! Can I come? I love your mother.” He was like a big kid, or a large unruly dog wagging his tail. It was hard to get angry at him. He was exuberant and lovable, although Véronique wasn’t in love with him, but she liked him a lot.

“No, you cannot come,” she said, laughing at him. “You’ll keep me out all night, wanting to go to parties and nightclubs. I want a couple of days of downtime with my mom. I work a hell of a lot harder than you do, and I need a break.” He looked mildly disappointed as they arrived at her apartment, and he poured them both another glass of champagne when they got upstairs. Véronique didn’t touch hers, and went to get ready for bed, while he enjoyed the view of the Eiffel Tower and finished his champagne.

She was already in bed by the time he walked into her bedroom and sat down on the bed next to her. He kissed her amorously, and tried to inspire her. She smiled sleepily at him.

“I had fun tonight,” she said. She enjoyed her time with him, and loved dancing with him. She just couldn’t party all the time the way he did, and didn’t want to. She worked too hard to be out every night, a concept he never understood. At twenty-seven, he wanted to have fun all the time. He came to Paris for that, not to sleep.

“We should have gone on somewhere to go dancing,” he said and kissed her again.

“You’re trying to kill me,” she said, and he laughed.

“Definitely not. You’re way too much fun. Why would I want to kill you? Back in a minute,” he said then, and headed for the bathroom. He had been drinking steadily all night, but he was never disagreeable, even when he was drunk, and he had an amazing tolerance for alcohol. He was always a gentleman, no matter how much he drank.

He was back two minutes later, had taken off his jacket and tie and was unbuttoning his shirt. She was in bed with her back to him, and he kissed her back and her neck, and was surprised when she didn’t respond. He bent over her, and kissed her with mounting passion, and then saw that she was sound asleep. It had been a very long day for her, and an endless four weeks.

“Oh well,” he said with a smile, and walked back out to the living room to finish the bottle of champagne. Véronique was dead to the world.





Chapter 2


Cyril spent the next two weeks in Paris with Véronique. He slept late, got massages, and had lunch with friends while Véronique went to her photo shoots and honored her commitments. They met at night to have dinner or go to parties she was invited to, or that he’d wangled invitations to on his own. Knowing she would be with him, people invited him to everything nowadays. She was his entrée to the most elite, closed jet-set circles, and even though she worked long hours at the shoots, it was much less demanding and stressful than the fashion shows were, and she was game to go out with him in the evening. His father was fuming in London, and Cyril didn’t care. He was a spoiled only son, who had not lived up to their expectations yet, and maybe never would. Véronique was used to men like him, who behaved more like boys. He wasn’t much older than she was, only five years. He loved to have a good time, and was addicted to beautiful women. It was a breed that was familiar to her, the men who chased supermodels. Cyril was a prime example.