The Designer(64)

‘Don’t say that.’

‘I can’t lose any more people I love, Copper. It’s too much.’ He wiped his tears and swallowed a gulp of his wine. ‘Thank you for taking Jacinthe. You’re so kind. I would take her myself, but every time I see her, I start crying.’

‘It’s no problem,’ she replied gently. She understood Dior’s sensitivity much more now.

Jacinthe appeared to have rolled in linseed oil which had dried, and she had to concentrate on disentangling the fine fur.

‘May I ask,’ Dior enquired carefully, ‘where your Russian gentleman has gone?’

‘He’s away on business.’

‘One hears that his business is somewhat delicate, yes? You must be worried about him.’

‘I’m worried to death,’ she confessed, ‘but it doesn’t do me any good.’

‘How are things with Suzy?’

‘Sometimes she’s delightful, other times I feel like strangling her. Today I felt like strangling her.’ She gave Dior a brief résumé of the Yvonne episode.

Dior grimaced. ‘I’m afraid that Suzy is not discreet.’

‘She treated me like a possession. But I don’t belong to her. I’m not even a lesbian.’ Seeing Dior’s raised eyebrows, she exclaimed, ‘I hate the word, to be honest with you. Why does it have to be used at all? Why should we be put into boxes in this way?’

‘Because for one thing, as we have already discussed, being a lesbian is Suzy’s profession. And for another, if we are not put into boxes, the rest of the world does not know what to do with us. Besides, the very fact that you claim not to be a lesbian means that there must surely be such a category for you not to belong to.’

‘I thought you were supposed to be bad at logic,’ she replied dryly.

‘I never made such a claim. I am a logical man.’ Jacinthe was now as clean as could be achieved without drowning her, and he helped Copper lift the trembling animal out of the water and wrap her in a towel. ‘I have spent most of my life being acutely ashamed of what I am,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have endured agonies, as many men like me must. I would not wish you to endure the same agonies.’

‘Pearl says men will always be disgusted by me if they know what I’ve done.’

‘I think men are far more likely to accept a woman who loves women than a man who loves men. In fact, it’s exciting to many men, which is how Suzy makes her living.’

‘I don’t understand that.’

Dior was drying the little dog’s ears and muzzle with the care of a mother. ‘You women can do as you please with each other and it’s charming and inconsequential.’

‘Inconsequential!’

‘It’s simply beauty seeking a reflection. There’s an innocence about it. Like children at play.’

‘Tian,’ she exclaimed. ‘In some ways you understand women very well. But in others – well!’

He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘You’re right, you’re right. I’ll stick to my dresses.’



Not hearing anything from Henry was very difficult. Though Henry refused to talk about his work, Copper was certain that he was in danger. As he had predicted, newly liberated France was being ravaged by strikes and sabotage. Rioting broke out almost every week as the police attempted to get strike-breaking workers past the picket lines. Communist saboteurs, apparently under the impression that the Lille–Paris Express was being used to carry troops, derailed the train at Arras. In the horrendous crash that followed, dozens were seriously hurt and sixteen were killed. The streets of Paris filled with armed police. The government assured the country that the situation was being contained. But nobody knew what was really going on beneath the surface.

As the violence intensified – and harsh weather returned, with blizzards and a coal shortage – Copper’s worries about Henry grew darker. His silence turned from a relief into a daily, hourly worry that gnawed at her. She was constantly aware of mingled anger and anxiety churning in her stomach. How could he just vanish like this? If he loved her as he said he did, how could he treat her this way?

Unless – and this thought terrified her – he’d been captured or killed. The more she tried to push the idea away, the more it pressed in on her. He’d told her he was gathering intelligence about the communists, but the truth was that she had no real idea what he did, or who he was fighting. Had he been captured? Or had he been put up against a wall and shot?

Or was she wasting her sympathy and had he simply tired of her and found a less troublesome, more compliant playmate? That thought was excruciating in a different way.

He didn’t strike her as the sort of man who would propose marriage when all he wanted was a roll in the hay. But then, she’d been desperately wrong about a man before, hadn’t she?

Some people might say she’d played hard-to-get with Henry. Perhaps he’d felt she was being false. Perhaps he’d grown disgusted with her.



On a Sunday morning, while the church bells of Paris were still ringing, Copper was roused from her bed by a trembling Dior, his eyes staring from a white face.

‘I’ve had a call. It’s my sister. She’s alive.’ He clutched at her. ‘She’s coming home.’