The Designer(73)

‘He said you were quite stern.’

‘I’ve suffered at the hands of a careless husband,’ she pointed out.

Catherine was now strengthening, and a fortnight after this, she announced that she was going to leave Paris and go to the Dior family home in Callian, near Grasse, in the C?te d’Azur. Here, with sunshine and fields of flowers to lift her spirits, her recovery could proceed in peace. Hervé des Charbonneries would go with her and they would map out a life together.

Copper and Dior went to see them off at the Gare de Lyon. Catherine held Copper tight in her arms. ‘Thank you, my dear friend,’ she said. ‘Come to see me.’

‘I will,’ Copper promised. Though still thin and weak, Catherine was no longer the frighteningly emaciated waif who had arrived at the Gare de l’Est a number of weeks earlier. There was hope in her eyes again. She and Hervé boarded the train, found their compartment, and leaned out of the window to say their last goodbyes.

‘Thank you for everything,’ Catherine called as the train pulled out of the station. She waved, vanishing as she had arrived, among clouds of steam.

Dior was crying into his handkerchief as they left the platform. Copper put her arm around him. ‘We’ll see her again soon.’

‘My poor little Catherine,’ Dior sobbed. ‘I should have looked after her better.’

‘There was nothing you could have done. We’re each on our own tightrope. All we can do is pick one another up after we fall.’



While they were making their way through the crowded station concourse, Copper caught a glimpse of a profile that was painfully familiar. At first she thought she was dreaming. She stopped in her tracks and called out over the noise.

‘Amory? Amory!’

The figure paused, and for a moment she felt he wasn’t going to turn. Then he twisted his head to look at her. She found herself looking into the beautiful violet eyes of her ex-husband. Her head swimming, she left Dior’s side and pushed her way through the throng of travellers to greet him.

‘Hello, Copper.’

‘I didn’t know you were in Paris.’

‘I’m just passing through.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘I see you’re still hanging around with what’s-his-name.’

‘Dior. We’ve just seen his sister off.’ She tried to catch her breath. Seeing him again had knocked the wind out of her lungs. He looked leaner than she remembered him, wearing military khaki, his blonde hair tousled, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Have you got a moment to talk?’

He checked his watch. ‘Sure, I have thirty minutes before my train. We can have a glass of wine.’

She explained to Dior, who nodded sadly and went back home to recover himself alone. She and Amory made their way to Le Train Bleu, the heavily gilded and opulently frescoed station buffet. They found a quiet corner in the crowded room. Amory ordered a bottle rather than a glass of wine from a harried waiter.

‘You’re looking good,’ Amory remarked offhandedly, lighting a cigarette. He wasn’t showing much interest in her, his eyes roaming around the room. She had never engaged his full attention, she thought bitterly. She never would.

‘So are you,’ she replied. But it was only a half-truth. Now that she examined him more closely, Amory had lost a lot of weight since she’d seen him last, and while little could diminish his physical beauty, he had a gaunt look. His cheeks hollowed into caverns as he sucked on his cigarette. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

He exhaled. ‘I’ve been at a concentration camp in Germany.’

Copper recalled Catherine’s experiences. ‘I remember you wrote to me from there. That must have been horrible.’

‘As a matter of fact, it’s fascinating.’ A strange light came into Amory’s eyes. ‘I’m on my way back there.’

‘You’re still covering the story?’

‘I’ve been working on it for weeks. It’s going to win me that Pulitzer.’ The wine arrived, and he filled their balloon glasses. She sipped, but he drank deeply. ‘It’s a major story. The ramifications are endless. It just goes on and on.’

‘What goes on and on?’

‘The whole thing. After I left you, I got myself assigned to a forward unit. We saw some heavy fighting. There were casualties every day; a lot of casualties. The officers were pushing us hard. We were trying to beat the Russians to Berlin. I was with the 157th Infantry Regiment when we liberated the place. It’s huge. Sprawling. We could smell it from a mile away.’ He poured himself another glass of wine. ‘The bodies were piled up everywhere: in boxcars, in the huts, in the incinerators. Not bodies – skeletons. Some of the skeletons were even walking around and talking as though nobody had told them they were dead.’

‘I don’t think I want to hear this,’ Copper said quietly.

He gave her a tight smile. ‘We didn’t want to see it. But we did. We had to. Our boys, battle-hardened veterans, were crying and throwing up. The Germans were still trying to burn the last bodies when we arrived. Know what our sergeants did? They lined the SS guards against a wall and shot them. Prisoners of war, technically. The Nazis were begging for mercy, but our guys kept firing, bringing more cases of ammunition, firing again.’

‘Oh God.’