The Designer(8)

‘He didn’t come this time.’

‘Perhaps that’s better. Between couturier and client, it’s like in the confessional. The souls are bared and each brings the other closer to God.’ He giggled.

‘Before we go any further, I want to clear something up – there’s no question of you working for nothing. That was Giroux’s idea, not mine. I am happy to pay.’

He spread his hands. ‘And I am happy to make you a gift.’

‘Absolutely not. I’m mortified by the way Giroux spoke to you.’

His gentle brown eyes were suddenly sad. ‘My dear, if you wish to find those who did not collaborate with the Germans, I invite you to visit the cemeteries of Paris. Those who still have legs to walk with and air in their lungs – you may be sure that they all collaborated with the Germans. My employer, Lucien Lelong, stood up to the Nazis when they wanted to move all the designers and all our workers to Berlin. He refused. He could have been shot for that.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘One could be shot for almost anything. Can you imagine how it infuriated the Germans to see the Parisiennes well-dressed and smiling? They would say, “You lost the war, why are you so gay?” And we would reply, “You won the war, why are you so sad?” That was our Resistance. Even to make the wives of Nazi officers stylish – that, too, was resistance. It proved how superior French taste is to theirs.’

‘Then you are certainly a hero of the Resistance,’ Copper said, smiling.

‘Giroux is a bully boy, and so are his men.’

‘Are they picketing you?’

‘Effectively, yes. They admire Stalin and hate everything beautiful. Don’t worry, we’ll get back to work. Back to the life we once had.’

‘How much would the dress . . . umm . . . ?’ she asked, more delicately.

He sucked his lower lip. ‘In the ordinary course of events . . . let us say about five thousand francs. But let’s leave that for now.’ He showed her the drawing he had made. ‘What do you think?’

She studied the sketch, trying to work out how much five thousand francs was in dollars. It was an awful lot, even with the devalued franc. But the dress! She caught her breath. He drew effortlessly. The lines were flowing and graceful, outlining a ravishing costume. ‘It’s absolutely lovely.’

‘You think so? The problem is locating enough silk. The Germans confiscated it all for parachutes. We have taffeta for the underskirt.’

‘I really don’t need silk.’

‘You must permit me, my dear, to have my own vision of you.’ He spoke with great seriousness. ‘I mean, the woman inside’ – he waved his expressive fingers at her khaki trousers and dingy blouse – ‘this.’

‘But it will be expensive.’

He was poring over his own drawing as though he hadn’t heard her. ‘I love full skirts. Nothing is more romantic. The waist is drawn in. And you see the curves at the bust and shoulders?’

‘I see why you wanted me to wear falsies.’

‘The bust is the most beautiful attribute of a woman’s body,’ he pronounced. He eyed Copper’s slight breasts regretfully. ‘Within the scope of whatever nature supplies to each individual, of course.’

‘Monsieur Christian, I suspect you have a mother complex,’ she said gravely.

He blinked and then smiled. When he smiled, the corners of his mouth turned up, but his eyes seemed to remain sad. ‘My mother loved fine clothes, of course. But I remember her perfume most of all.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Everywhere she went, the scent of flowers went with her.’

‘She must have been lovely.’

‘I would like to clothe all women with flowers. You remember the Bible? The lilies of the field? Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’

‘That’s an interesting ambition.’

He raised a forefinger. ‘I go beyond that. My ambition is to save women from themselves.’

‘Good heavens. Are we in such peril, then?’

‘Between Chanel and her little black jerseys, and the beasts who design military uniforms, yes. Not to mention the zazous and their manias. Or the diktats of Utility, with its two pockets, five buttons and six seams. Your position is extremely perilous.’

‘It’s all in the cause of efficiency.’

He gave a shudder. ‘That word. Please never mention it again in my presence.’

Copper laughed. ‘I won’t.’

‘So. I will go ahead with this model.’

‘If that’s what you really want to do.’ She had been thinking of something simple that she could show off in New York. But if Monsieur Dior wanted to turn her into a magazine fashion plate, it was ill-mannered to argue. And although five thousand francs was an astronomical price for an outfit when five American dollars would purchase a Sears frock, she might never get another chance to own a Paris gown.

‘It is my decision,’ he affirmed. Despite the gentleness, there was a certain steely strength in the man. ‘Obtaining the fabric presents a certain challenge. I will need six metres of silk, at least. But I think I know where to find it.’

As he showed her out, he said, ‘You are a captivating woman. Your husband is a lucky man.’