The Designer(100)

Things got better for a while, as the obdurate thing seemed to settle down for a rest; and then they got far worse again when it woke up refreshed. At last, by dint of screaming the worst words she knew at her husband, she succeeded in getting the gas-and-air machine. It was wheeled in and set up beside her. She grabbed the mask in both hands and sucked the mixture into her lungs. A woozy, floaty feeling flooded her. The contractions were still there, but she found she didn’t care about them so much. The more she breathed the mixture, the further away she floated. But the mask was taken away from her, and awful reality came rushing back. She raged at them, but nobody seemed to understand.

She lost track of the passing of time. The afternoon seemed to be getting on. How long had she been in this condition? An hour? Six hours? She registered that Pearl was now in the room.

‘Pearl,’ she begged. ‘Tell them – to give me – back – the gas.’

‘They say they will in a minute, Copper Pot.’

‘I haven’t got – a minute. I need it – now!’

‘You’re nearly there. They say they can see the baby’s head.’

It was the moment of truth. All her work and suffering had led up to this. With a last huge effort, she pushed the baby into life. Then she heard the unmistakable cry. Her eyes flew open. She pushed herself up on her elbows to see. Henry was holding out a little creature wrapped in a shawl. Its face had a troubled, crumpled look, as though it had found the past hours as wearisome as Copper herself had done. But those weary hours were as nothing now. A huge surge of joy filled her. The weight of labour rolled away like a stone. She reached out for her baby, tears of happiness sliding down her cheeks.

‘It’s a boy,’ Henry said, sitting beside her and stroking her sweaty hair. ‘All fingers and toes accounted for. Perfect in every respect.’

Copper stared down at the furrowed little face. The bleary eyes blinked up at her. The small mouth opened as if to cry again, but ended up giving an outsize yawn, showing pink gums. ‘Henry, he’s so beautiful,’ she whispered to her husband, unable to take her eyes off her baby.

‘Yes, he is. Well done, my beloved.’ He was wiping his own eyes surreptitiously.

Pearl sat on the other side of her, inspecting the baby. ‘Nice going, kid. All over now. They say the first one is always the worst.’

The room was bustling with staff, wheeling away machines and clearing up. There was even a young nurse starting to change the wet sheets from beneath her. None of it mattered. None of it touched her. Nothing could come through the walls of the golden Fabergé egg into which she was locked with her baby and her husband.



Copper drifted out of sleep and into a great happiness and a great peace. She opened her eyes. Christian Dior was at her bedside.

‘Tian! Have you seen the baby?’

He stooped to kiss her brow. ‘Yes, ma petite. He’s exquisite.’

She passed him the tiny baby to hold. He was sleeping. Dior kissed the child tenderly. ‘He’s a masterpiece. They told me it was a difficult birth.’

‘I don’t remember much about it. Thank you for coming, Tian. I know how busy you are.’

‘I’ve brought you something.’ He handed her a parcel done up in gold paper with a satin bow. Inside was a delicate lace christening shawl. ‘I was baptised in that. It’s for your little boy.’

‘Oh, Tian. It’s so beautiful.’ She held it up to the light. The delicate Chantilly lace was embroidered with rosebuds. ‘I can’t take this – it’s a family heirloom.’

‘I will never have a child of my own to pass it on to. It makes me happy to think that it’s yours now.’

‘I’m so touched.’

‘My dear,’ he said, stroking her brow. ‘The nurses can hardly get down the corridor for the bouquets. Shall we distribute them to some of the other mothers?’



The next time she woke, it was late at night. The room was dark except for a pool of light where Pearl was sitting in a corner, reading a book.

‘Pearl?’

‘You’re awake at last.’ Pearl came to her bedside. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Tired but happy.’

Pearl took a silver hip flask out of her purse. ‘Have some cognac.’

‘No, thank you. I’m so happy you’re here. Where’s the baby?’

Pearl swigged from the flask. ‘They’ll bring him shortly. He’s been asleep, just like you. He’s gorgeous. What are you going to call him?’

‘We’re thinking of Pierre Henri.’

‘Couldn’t be better.’

The door opened and a young nurse in a starched white uniform appeared, wheeling in a cot. It contained a very wide-awake baby who was already starting to lose his crumpled look. There was nothing like this flooding, warm joy that filled Copper when she saw him. It was the purest emotion she had ever felt. The nurse put the baby in her arms. ‘I think he’s hungry.’

Copper opened her gown to reveal one of her swollen breasts, which had started to respond at the first sight of her baby. She put her large, brown nipple in his mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, he latched on eagerly and began to suck. She winced.

Pearl was watching with a curious expression on her painted face. ‘What does it feel like?’