The Designer(33)

Suzy warmed. ‘Excellent. Come and meet Cocteau.’ She led Copper to the high chair where the famous film director was perched. ‘Jean, you must meet Copper. She’s a journalist.’

‘A journalist?’ Cocteau repeated. ‘I thought you were the wife of that handsome young American.’

‘I’m covering the exhibition for Harper’s Bazaar,’ Copper said boldly.

Cocteau’s thin, haunted-looking face lit up. ‘Vraiment?’ He hopped off the chair to shake her hand. ‘Harper’s Bazaar is interested in our exhibition?’

‘Very,’ Copper said, barefaced. ‘Would you consent to a photograph, Monsieur Cocteau?’

‘I think I can spare the time,’ he replied smoothly. He pulled his woolly hair away from his face. The name of the great fashion magazine had exerted a magical effect already. She hoped devoutly that there was going to be some response from that quarter. Cocteau staggered a bit when the Czechoslovakian flashgun went off. It was really very powerful.

Copper gave a cry of happiness when she spotted Christian arriving, dapper and rosy in a smart overcoat. ‘Monsieur Dior!’

‘I think,’ he said solemnly, accepting her kiss, ‘that it’s time you started using my first name. My friends call me Tian. What on earth is that dreadful apparatus you keep discharging?’

‘It’s bright, I’m afraid,’ she said apologetically.

‘I suspect your subjects are all going to look rather startled,’ he said. ‘But perhaps there is a way of harnessing your lightning to good effect. Come.’

He led her up the stairs to the gantry that overlooked the hall. As he had predicted, the flashbulbs were capable of illuminating almost the whole gallery, enabling her to take some crowd shots of the busy scene below.

‘These will give a much better idea of the scale,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Tian. You’re so clever.’

‘How are your new quarters?’ he enquired. ‘Have you settled in?’

‘Well, I’ve somehow got a tenant.’ She told him about the arrival of Pearl and her suitcase covered with hotel stickers.

Dior raised his eyebrows. ‘You took her in? After what happened? My dear Copper, was that wise?’

‘Probably not,’ Copper admitted.

‘I’ve never heard of a wronged wife offering shelter to her husband’s lover.’

‘Nor have I,’ Copper admitted. ‘I’m still not exactly sure how she got around me. Do you know anything about her? She said her boyfriend was a publisher.’

‘Did she? Well he is a publisher, I suppose. He publishes those collections of photographs that are sold in sealed yellow envelopes on street corners by young men who take to their heels when the gendarmes approach.’

‘You’re kidding. Don’t tell me Pearl features in those photos.’

‘I have never examined any of them,’ Dior said delicately. ‘But I think that may well be the case.’

‘Oh, for the love of Mike.’

‘Who is Mike?’ Dior asked, interested.

‘He’s Pete’s friend.’

‘Comment?’

‘At the convent school I went to in Brooklyn, profanity would get you expelled. So we learned to curse in other ways. “For Pete’s sake” and “for the love of Mike”. They expelled me anyway. Never mind all that – you’re telling me I’m living with a woman who stars in obscene postcards?’

‘Everybody has to earn their living somehow. And it could be an education.’

‘I’ve been married. I don’t need to be educated about sex.’

‘Perhaps not. But you do need the money.’

‘I don’t need the money that badly,’ Copper said with a resolute expression.

She returned to the apartment determined to have it out with Pearl. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Pearl had been the final straw that broke the back of her marriage. The last thing she needed was to be entangled with someone with a reputation of that sort. And if Pearl posed for dirty photographs, who knew what else she did? And what sort of people she would bring to the apartment?



She found Pearl huddled under a pile of blankets with her eyes and nose streaming. ‘What’s up with you?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Just getting a bit of a cold,’ Pearl said thickly. ‘I’ll be better by tomorrow.’

‘I want to talk to you,’ Copper said grimly.

‘I could do with a good natter,’ Pearl said, struggling to come up with a bright smile.

Copper went to the bathroom and found that it had been turned into what her brothers would have called a whore’s laundry. The brilliantly coloured underwear had been washed and was hanging on improvised lines everywhere. A pair of green stockings dripped over the basin, and she had to duck under wet, frilly unmentionables to get to the toilet.

When she emerged, Pearl had sunk even deeper into her nest of blankets. She was shivering violently. Copper suspected strongly that this was a piece of cunning theatre to deflect a confrontation.

‘I want to know exactly what it is you do for a living,’ Copper said.

Pearl’s teeth were chattering. ‘What does it matter?’ she asked wearily.

‘Of course it matters. I have to know that you’re going to be able to pay your way.’