The Designer(85)

She went round to his ‘dusty little bureau’ on the Champs-élysées to speak to his secretary, determined to get some answers.

She greeted Copper with a pleasant smile.

‘Bonjour, Madame. Isn’t the news wonderful? Is there something I can do for you?’

‘I wondered whether you’d heard from Henry – Monsieur Velikovsky – lately?’

The secretary, a well-dressed, middle-aged woman, shook her head. ‘Désolée, Madame. I have heard nothing from my chief.’

‘But – he’s all right?’

The answer was bland. ‘I have no reason to think otherwise.’

‘You’re not expecting him back in Paris, then? Now that the war is over, I mean?’

The woman shrugged slightly. ‘As you know, Monsieur Velikovsky is a busy man. He comes when he comes. I can take any message you care to leave.’ She picked up her pencil and pad, ready to write down anything Copper might say.

‘Just ask him to call me,’ Copper said, after considering and rejecting various alternatives.

‘Bien s?r, Madame.’

Copper walked away feeling empty. At the cathedral, marriage had seemed impossible. She couldn’t have gone through with it, even with a pistol to her head. Now, the prospect of marriage to a man she was sure she loved was possible. More than possible – it was essential to her happiness.



Copper arrived back at the apartment a few days later to find a note from Suzy Solidor on the hall table. Written in violet ink, it read simply, ‘I am leaving Paris. Will you come to say goodbye?’

It was not an invitation she could refuse. She went to see Suzy straight away. Suzy’s eyes widened as she opened her door to Copper.

‘You came,’ she said. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t.’

Copper entered the apartment to find it greatly altered. It was almost empty. The paintings had all been taken down from the walls. Only the largest pieces of furniture remained; the rest had been removed.

So it was true, then. Suzy was going. Copper felt a sharp pang pass through her heart. She gazed around the deserted rooms where half-filled packing crates stood with their lids propped against them.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To America. They tell me they like blondes there.’

‘Oh, Suzy! But why?’

‘You haven’t heard? They have tried me and found me guilty of collaboration. I am forbidden to perform in France for five years.’

‘The hypocrites,’ Copper burst out. ‘How dare they?’

‘This is the France of the post-war,’ Suzy said with a little shrug of one shoulder, as though it meant nothing to her. ‘Everybody wants to proclaim himself a hero of the Resistance, and shave his neighbour’s head.’

‘I can’t believe this has happened.’

‘I am a public figure. I am to be made an example of. The future belongs to such as your Catherine Dior – not to such as me.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Five years.’ Suzy’s face, as always, was mask-like. She was wearing nothing but a white chemise. Beneath it, she was naked. Her sculpted body was summer-golden; she looked like an ancient Greek goddess as she packed. ‘At my age, it is a sentence of death. Who will remember me in five years?’

‘Nobody can forget you,’ Copper said in a low voice. ‘It’s not possible.’

‘You seem to have had no difficulty accomplishing this supposedly impossible feat,’ Suzy replied dryly.

‘I haven’t forgotten you.’

Suzy replied with one of her enigmatic smiles. ‘Well, I am going into exile. And all for “Lili Marlène”. She made my fortune, the whore, and now she has ruined me.’ She pushed the lid of a trunk down and turned to Copper. ‘I’m so glad to see you, chérie. Will you have a vermouth with me?’

She opened the doors to the terrace, but they did not go out. They sat on the sofa in the cool breeze that blew the curtains in graceful arabesques. Suzy had produced a bottle of Lillet. The resinous, citrusy drink was one of her favourites. ‘And so you are becoming famous,’ she said to Copper in her husky voice. ‘I cannot open a magazine these days without reading your name.’

‘That’s an exaggeration. It took me some time to find out what I wanted to do with my life, but now that I’ve found it, I’m happy.’

‘I am happy for you, chérie. You are doing well.’

‘I’m all right. I have plenty of work. And I’m saving to buy a new camera, a thirty-five millimetre Leica. Lighter and more practical.’

‘Lighter and more practical,’ Suzy repeated. ‘You are a young woman on the move, my dear. You make me feel so old.’

‘You look magnificent as always, Suzy.’

‘Thank you.’ In truth, Suzy did not seem to age. Her face remained flawless, and her body was that of a woman of half her years. ‘I might say the same about you. I heard that you abandoned your Russian count at the altar.’

‘Yes. But I know now that it was a mistake.’

Suzy grimaced. ‘I see. So you have decided to become a Russian countess after all?’

‘If he will have me. I haven’t heard from him in weeks.’