The Designer(74)

‘The German bodies piled up in heaps.’ He lit another cigarette from the stub of the first. ‘I watched the whole thing, and I was asking myself, are we any better than the Nazis? Is this justice or savagery?’

‘And what’s the answer?’

‘The answer is, it’s humanity. Just humanity.’ He laughed. His manner was as cool as ever, but his laughter, like his face, was somehow empty, as though he’d lost something. Not just a physical presence, but something internal; something deep inside. ‘The inmates took over. We didn’t give them any weapons, so they did the job with rocks and iron bars, with their bare hands. They even killed some of the women guards – after they did other things to them.’

‘How could you bear to watch any of this?’ Copper asked.

‘It was like arriving in hell. Our boys were afraid of the inmates – those starved, shattered people, pleading for food, clawing at us for help. Our soldiers shrank away as though they weren’t human. Well, you’ve seen the photographs.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen the photographs.’

‘It got into me. Into my soul. I started to understand it. I ended up staying on while the army outfit I was with moved on. I’ve turned into a concentration camp specialist. I’m writing the definitive account.’ He leaned forward suddenly, grasping her forearm with hot fingers. His lilac eyes burned into hers. ‘The camps are vast, Copper. They swallow you up. You can walk for days and you’re still in them. Still in hell.’

‘Amory, this has had a devastating effect on you.’

‘No. It’s made a man of me.’ He let out that brittle laugh again. ‘It was the best medicine for what was wrong with me.’

‘And what was wrong with you?’

‘A lot of things,’ he replied succinctly. ‘I was drinking too much, falling into bed with every willing girl. You had been the only restraining influence in my life, and without you, I was out of control.’

‘Are you in control now?’ she asked, watching him anxiously as he yanked the cork out of a fresh bottle.

‘Sure. Absolutely.’ He poured, his eyes fixed on the glass.

‘I don’t like what I’m hearing. This isn’t you.’

‘Oh, it’s me, all right.’

‘You’re drinking too much.’

‘As soon as I get back, I’ll stop. I don’t need alcohol there.’

‘You shouldn’t be going back. You need a break.’

‘I have to keep digging. I have to get to the bottom of it all. What makes us tick. There’s always more. We hanged the camp commandant on his own gallows. I photographed that. Isn’t that a kick, huh?’ He seemed amused by her expression. ‘You’re shocked. I need to be shocked, Copper. I need the jolt it gives me. I’m interviewing a priest at the moment. He spent three years in a camp. Three years! He doesn’t want to give it up, but I’m digging it out of him. It’s great stuff.’ He finished the bottle of wine and reached for his duffel bag. ‘My train’s leaving. I have to get to my platform.’

They said the briefest of goodbyes. As she watched him make his way out of Le Train Bleu, shouldering through the crowds, it occurred to her that he hadn’t asked her a single question about her own life – what she was doing, whether she was happy, if she was okay. She had once loved him madly, but not anymore. Too much water had passed under that particular bridge. She was indeed part of his past now, as he was part of hers. But she was aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as he vanished from sight. He had not struck her as a well man. She almost wished that she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t spoken to him.



Copper had taken the bold step of submitting her story on Catherine Dior to Life magazine. She hadn’t expected much of a reaction. But to her shock, she received a swift response.

Life would take the story and photographs with a number of cuts; they would also add some file photographs of the camps Catherine had been imprisoned in, and would run the story as part of a group of three ‘stories from behind the barbed wire’. She would get credit for her story, and her own byline.

The editor who called her from the States was complimentary.

‘It’s good work. Do you know what Life’s motto is? “To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other and to feel.” Well, you’ve done all that, Miss Reilly – and if you can keep doing it, we’ll keep an eye on you.’

The past weeks had precipitated many changes in Copper. Catherine Dior, in particular, had affected her deeply. Through Catherine, she’d seen how fragile life could be and how short-lived happiness could be.

Seeing Catherine leave Paris with a man she loved but could never marry, Copper had had mixed feelings. Life was not perfect, but everyone deserved a shot at happiness. You had to take your chances. Sometimes you had to accept a compromise. And just because you’d made one mistake didn’t mean you were doomed to repeat that mistake, or live with its consequences forever.

Seeing Amory, too, had frightened her. In this world, to be alone was a dreadful thing. It could lead one to the gates of hell.

Copper was in bed one night, with Jacinthe emitting ladylike snores at her feet, when the telephone rang. She answered it, hoping against hope that it was Henry. It was. As soon as she heard his voice, she burst into tears.