The Designer(43)

‘I’m interested in you, too,’ Copper replied. ‘You’re a very interesting man. But I’m not in the market.’

‘What market would that be?’

‘Any kind of market. I don’t want any more complications in my life. I don’t want any more contracts of any kind. So if you’re making a pass at me—’

‘I’m offering my friendship.’

She paused for a moment, then reached her slim hand across the table and gave him a brisk, American handshake. ‘Your friendship is most acceptable. So long as it stays just friendship.’

‘Excellent. So we’ll see each other again next Saturday night, at the same time?’

‘I look forward to it greatly.’

And in fact, by the time they parted, with her stomach full of good things, Copper felt that she had made a friend in Henry Velikovsky. He was just old enough to be regarded as protective, and just attractive enough to make her sit up with interest. There was, moreover, that aura of the dangerous and the exotic about him, which would infallibly intrigue any woman.

Before they left the table, he passed her a plump white envelope. The flap was monogrammed with his initials, and it turned out to be filled with crisp dollar bills. Copper was delighted. ‘I can’t believe this is real.’

‘Absolutely real. I printed them myself.’

‘Don’t tease me. This is the first money I’ve earned from my writing.’

‘But not the last.’ He walked her to the street outside and called a cab for her. ‘You can always reach me at the Champs-élysées number if there is any emergency. And if I’m not in Paris, my secretary will pass on any messages.’

‘Thank you so much, Henry. And thank you for listening to me all night. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone intelligent to talk to.’

‘I hope you’ll regard me as a confidant, my dear Copper. I can be useful.’

They shook hands and she got into her cab. She headed for place Victor Hugo, happier than she had been in weeks.



Pearl was awake when she got back. However, when Copper, still starry-eyed, had told her tale, Pearl exclaimed in disgust.

‘You’ve turned down a job with Harper’s Bazaar and a handsome millionaire – all in the same night – and you’re pleased with yourself?’

Copper laughed gaily. ‘I haven’t turned either one down. I’m just giving myself some room for manoeuvre.’

‘Room for manoeuvre? What are you, the Queen Mary?’

‘No. But I can sell my work and have steak at the Ritz every week on their tab. And I’m free.’ She threw her arms in the air and danced around Pearl. ‘I’m free!’

But Pearl was morose. ‘You’re so lucky,’ she said. ‘I’ll never have a man like that interested in me. Not as long as I live.’

Something in Pearl’s voice struck Copper. She stopped dancing to examine her flatmate more carefully. Pearl’s skin was sallow, her eyes dull with pinpoint pupils. ‘Pearl!’ she exclaimed in dismay. ‘What have you done?’

‘I haven’t done anything,’ Pearl said defensively.

Copper snatched up the book that had been lying at Pearl’s side. Out of the pages fell a glass syringe with a little cloudy liquid still in the barrel. Copper took a step back, appalled. ‘Oh, Pearl.’

‘It’s not so easy,’ Pearl said in a dull voice, picking up the syringe and replacing it carefully between the pages of her book.

‘You promised!’

‘Promises were made to be broken.’

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Where do you think?’ Pearl retorted bitterly.

Copper had to sit down. ‘You didn’t go back to him? You couldn’t have!’

‘Well, I did.’

‘What about the bookkeeping?’

‘Bugger the bookkeeping. I can’t add up.’

‘This will kill you,’ Copper said, trying to hold back the lump that was rising in her throat.

‘It was just the one shot. Just to get me right again.’

‘I’m going to smash that needle.’

Pearl snatched up the book and clutched it to her breasts protectively. ‘Don’t you hear me? It’s just the one shot.’

‘And when that wears off, you’ll want another, and then another.’

‘You don’t know what it’s like.’

‘We can take you to a doctor—’

‘I don’t want a doctor. I don’t want anybody sticking their nose into my life.’

‘Pearl—’

‘Leave me be, Copper.’ She went to her room and locked the door.





Seven

Copper slipped away from the table while everyone was talking and drinking champagne, and made her way through the noisy crowd that filled La Vie Parisienne every night. She’d got into the habit of coming to the club two or three times a week. It was a way of keeping up with the gossip in the fashion world, since Suzy’s club was the meeting place for the designers and couturiers. But there was more to it than that.

The weeks had passed swiftly. Nineteen forty-five had arrived, and the Allies were already on German soil. Since Amory had left, it was as though the sullen laws of gravity had been suspended, letting her float free among bright clouds. Gaining the friendship of Christian Dior and his set had been the start. It had given her an entrée into the fashion world. She knew all the gossip, heard all the scandals. She was starting to understand what constituted haute couture, what was new and what was now hopelessly démodé. A future as a journalist who could write authoritatively about women’s affairs and fashion had opened up.