The Designer(40)

‘I find it a fascinating topic.’ She couldn’t restrain the question any longer. ‘Are you on the staff of Harper’s?’

‘I’m afraid my occupation is far less clearly defined than that. I keep myself busy moving small sums of money around.’

She was disappointed. ‘You don’t sell oil wells in Brazil, do you? Or valuable rings you just happened to have found in the street?’

He was amused. ‘No, I’m not a con artist.’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘Carmel Snow and her husband George are friends of mine. I’ve made some investments with them in New York real estate. Mrs Snow was intrigued by the article you sent her and she asked me to meet you.’

‘She liked it?’ Copper asked, bright-eyed.

‘Very much. She’s going to print it in next month’s edition. In fact, one reason for our meeting here tonight is so that I can pass you payment for your work. Not a fortune, I’m afraid, but it is in US dollars. My dear, what on earth is the matter?’

Copper hadn’t been able to hold back her tears. ‘Sorry,’ she gulped. ‘This means so much to me.’

A snowy handkerchief, proffered by Henry Velikovsky, swam into her blurry vision. ‘Please, my dear. Dry your eyes. People will think I’m being cruel to you. My reputation for benevolence will be quite destroyed.’

Copper blew her nose on the handkerchief, which was monogrammed and probably very expensive. ‘Thank you. That’s the best news I’ve had in weeks!’

He leaned back. ‘Well, you’re good news for Carmel. Harper’s won’t be sending any journalists to France until the war is over. That puts you in an interesting position. You’re the only American woman journalist in Paris right now. Carmel has asked me to find out whether you have any other material.’

‘Yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘I do. I’m covering the most fascinating story right now.’ She started to tell him about the Théatre de la Mode, the words almost stumbling over each other in her eagerness to get them out. She told him that she’d already interviewed Jean Cocteau and others, and had a portfolio of photographs. ‘I told them I was working for Harper’s,’ she confessed. ‘I guess I got a little ahead of myself there.’

‘Just a little.’ His exotically slanted eyes were watching her face and hands carefully, but with a hint of amusement. He made her feel somewhat gauche, and very American.

‘You’re laughing at me,’ she accused him.

‘Not at all. It’s just such a pleasure to see somebody so full of enthusiasm. After so many years of war, you know, the world is tired. It needs freshness, youth, joie de vivre. And you have these qualities in abundance.’

‘I do?’

‘You do.’

Their cocktails arrived – a mixture of vodka and grapefruit that she found intriguing. ‘I guess these are called greyhounds because they’re supposed to keep you lean and mean?’

‘Exactly. I gave the idea to Harry Craddock at the Savoy in London before the war. My chief contribution to Western civilisation.’

‘These sums of money you move around must be pretty hefty if they enable you to hang out at the Savoy and the Ritz,’ she commented.

‘I prefer pleasant surroundings. I assure you, I have been poor – very poor indeed – and I never take life’s little luxuries for granted.’

‘You don’t have Ernest Hemingway as a neighbour, do you?’

His face lit up with amusement. ‘As a matter of fact, he has the room above mine. I hear him target-shooting with his pistol occasionally. He says there are mice, but I suspect pink toads. You are a married woman?’ he asked casually.

‘I’ve just divorced from my husband.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Don’t be. It’s turning into the best decision I ever made.’ Perhaps it was the greyhound, or perhaps it was those wise, warm eyes; either way, she found herself telling Velikovsky all about the trials of her marriage, her divorce from Amory, and her ambitions for the future. He listened carefully, putting down the menu to give her his full attention.

‘Your future is certainly a bright one,’ he said. ‘They thought highly of your article at Harper’s. You’re seen as a promising new talent.’

‘Really?’

‘Carmel was particularly impressed with the photograph. She’s seen plenty of photos of women having their heads shaved, but yours was special. The mother and child, like a tragic nativity. She said it was hard-hitting and poignant.’

‘Let me write that down,’ Copper said, basking.

‘And your proposed piece about the Théatre de la Mode is just the sort of thing Carmel is looking for.’ He paused. ‘How would you feel about being assigned as a staff reporter for Harper’s, based in Paris for the next year?’

Copper’s heart jumped into her throat. She felt her cheeks and throat flushing. She tried to control her excitement. ‘That’s a wonderful offer.’

‘I feel there’s a “but” coming.’

‘But I don’t think I should accept for the time being.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t want be a journalist?’

‘Oh, I do. You have no idea how much I want to be a journalist. I’ve thought about nothing else. But I’d rather be a stringer for the time being.’