The Designer(36)

‘Scared?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

Suzy Solidor now arrived at their table, along with a fresh tray of champagne bottles and glasses. Also on the tray was a package wrapped in tissue paper with a satin ribbon. Suzy handed it to Copper. ‘A gift for you, chérie.’

Surprised by the gift, she unwrapped it. It turned out to be an ornately bound copy of Verlaine’s poetry. ‘Thank you, Suzy,’ Copper said, admiring the sumptuous, gilded leather cover.

Hemingway let out a belly laugh. ‘Is that the way things are? I wondered what went wrong between you and Amory. You’ll be better off in my room at the Ritz, honey,’ he said to Copper. ‘Just knock three times. I’ll corrupt you, but not in the way this dyke intends.’

‘I don’t want to be corrupted by anybody,’ Copper said angrily.

‘She’ll have you cutting that flaming red hair short and wearing boys’ clothes. What a damned shame that would be.’

‘There are worse fates,’ Suzy said.

‘Tell you what, Suzy,’ Hemingway said. ‘I’ll take her first tonight. You can have her tomorrow night. And on Monday morning, we’ll ask her to judge between us.’

Copper could bear no more of this. She got to her feet. ‘I’m going home.’

‘Don’t go,’ Suzy said, but she was already hurrying away.

‘The Ritz, room 117,’ Hemingway boomed after her. ‘Don’t forget.’



Copper got back home feeling miserable. Between them, Suzy and Hemingway had ruined her evening. She had separated from her husband, but that didn’t mean she was fair game for anybody to insult. Being fought over by those two giant egos had been intolerable. Paradoxically, it made her long for the respectable state of being married.

‘You’re home early,’ Pearl commented. She was sitting huddled in her dressing gown with a teach-yourself-bookkeeping manual. She was still shivering and pale, but she’d made an attempt to clean herself up. Her hair was in curlers (which explained where those bouncy ringlets came from). ‘Had fun?’

‘Not exactly.’ Pearl was not someone she wanted to let into her confidence, but there was nobody else. She gave Pearl a brief account of the evening. Pearl had got hold of the Verlaine poems and was reading them, bleary-eyed.

‘Here,’ she exclaimed. ‘You think I’m a bad lot? This stuff is just nasty.’

‘I haven’t read any of it.’

‘Well, if you think a couple of naughty photos are wicked, you’d best stay away from this. It’s corrupting.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk about corruption.’

‘Whatever I’ve done,’ Pearl said with dignity, ‘was at least normal. Sex between two women isn’t normal. It’s unnatural.’

‘You’re the expert on sex, I guess,’ Copper said dryly.

‘In a way.’ She mopped her streaming nose and eyes. ‘Besides, I know Suzy Solidor. She’s dangerous.’

Copper snorted. ‘In what way is Suzy dangerous?’

‘Once she gets her hooks into you, she won’t let go. If you fall into her clutches, no man will ever look at you again. It’ll follow you for the rest of your life.’

‘Isn’t that a bit rich, coming from you?’

‘I’m talking to you from experience,’ Pearl replied. ‘I know what it’s like to have done things you regret.’

‘Well, before you give me any more lectures, let me assure you that I am not in Suzy’s clutches, as you put it. I’m not in anybody’s clutches. I’m still getting over Amory.’

She took herself – and Verlaine – to bed. Reading through the poems, she was startled by their explicit descriptions of lesbian sex. She’d thought herself quite worldly-wise, but she must have been a lot more innocent than she supposed.

She laid the book aside and switched off the light. In her mind, the golden image of Suzy Solidor floated seductively, neither fully male nor fully female. Despite the coldness of the evening, she grew so hot that she had to kick off her blankets. She tried to compose herself for sleep, despite the distraction of Pearl coughing wretchedly in her room next door.



She was awoken with a start. Someone was pounding on the door of the apartment. Thinking that the apartment block must be burning down, Copper leaped out of bed, belting on her dressing gown.

She ran to the door, but before she could open it, Pearl appeared beside her and grabbed her arm.

‘It’s Petrus. Don’t open it.’

‘Petrus?’

‘My boyfriend.’ Pearl’s face was white. ‘I don’t know how he found out where I am.’

Copper stared at the door, which was shaking under the hammering fists of the furious Petrus. ‘I’ll call the police.’

‘No! They’ll arrest me.’

‘Well, what are we going to do?’

The hammering paused for a moment. They heard a hoarse voice shout, in bad French, ‘Eh, I hear you. I hear you in there. Open!’

Pearl laid a finger on her lips, her eyes so wide that Copper could see the whites all around the blue. ‘Don’t say anything,’ she breathed.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Copper retorted. ‘He knows we’re in here.’