The Designer(88)

‘I say them because I mean them.’

‘I know you do.’ She put down the implements and turned in his arms, looking up into his freshly shaven face. ‘There, that’s better. Now you look like you again.’

‘I will try to make you a better husband than the previous incumbent,’ he said, gazing down at her adoringly. ‘You are not going to run away again?’

‘No. I promise. And I will try to be a good wife to you, my darling,’ she replied. ‘And I promise—’

But she had to leave the rest of the promise unspoken, because his warm lips sealed hers.



The second ceremony, as she had requested, was held at the office des mariages in the local mairie. It was very quiet. No Russian duchesses were present, nor any Parisian bohemians. Only Christian, Pierre Balmain, Hervé and Catherine came, serving as witnesses.

The room was not a very glamorous one, lined with filing cabinets on one side, but the other side had large windows with a fine view of the Arc de Triomphe, and the public notary was a charming woman who kissed them all roundly after the ceremony. Copper wore a sheer pink dress with a turn-down collar made for her by Tian, and carried a small bouquet of rosebuds, as she had wanted. The men all wore morning suits and coats with top hats. They exchanged plain gold rings, and were filled with quiet joy.

After the ceremony, the wedding party went for lunch in a private suite at the Ritz. The table was decked with cream lilies and the meal was equally elegant and beautiful, beginning with oysters and continuing with lobster and salmon, accompanied by vintage champagne.

Hervé and Tian both proposed toasts. Hervé’s was very dignified, but Tian choked up during his and had to be given a handkerchief to dry his eyes before he was able to continue.

Catherine was now on the road to recovering her strength. She and Hervé were living near Grasse, in the south of France. It was she who had supplied the bouquet of rosebuds, gathered from her own garden. Copper could see curves in her figure that hadn’t been there before, and her hair had grown; but nothing, Copper suspected, would take the haunted look from her eyes. Several times during the course of the lunch, she caught Catherine staring into nothing, her hands clenched. A touch on her arm was enough to break the spell of what were almost certainly terrible memories, but Copper knew there was a long way to go yet. Catherine still found it difficult to eat more than a few mouthfuls, even though Copper coaxed her.

‘When we first got to Ravensbrück,’ she said, ‘our stomachs used to rumble so loudly in the hut at night that they made us laugh. Really, it was comical. We had competitions to see who could make the loudest gurgles. But after a while, our stomachs shrank and they stopped making any noises at all.’ In the silence that followed, she looked apologetic. ‘I shouldn’t talk about these things.’

‘Of course you should,’ Copper said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured to Copper as conversation resumed. ‘I don’t want to spoil your special day.’

‘You’re making it beautiful. But I can see that you’re still in pain.’

Catherine shook her head. ‘When I was in the camps, I could think of nothing but France. And now that I am home, my thoughts return constantly to the camps. My mind is like a monkey that never does what I tell it to do.’

‘I know the problem,’ Copper said ruefully.

Catherine pressed her hand. ‘I’m well. Enjoy your day. It gives me such joy to see you married.’

‘She deserves to be happy,’ Copper said that evening, as she nestled in Henry’s arms in the old house covered in vines.

‘Yes, she does. And so do you.’

‘I couldn’t be happier,’ she replied, stroking his cheek.

‘Nor could I. I can still hardly believe that you are my wife.’

‘You were right about one thing, though,’ she said.

‘What’s that?’

‘The registry office ceremony was awfully drab. The cathedral would have been much nicer.’

He stifled a groan, rolling his eyes. ‘You will drive me mad.’

‘Probably,’ she admitted.

‘We can still arrange the cathedral, if you want.’

‘No, thank you. I’ve been married quite enough times.’ She kissed him on the lips. ‘And now I think it’s time you made me yours.’





Fifteen

‘You’re going to be my wife,’ Dior told Copper.

‘I have a perfectly serviceable husband,’ she pointed out. ‘You may have noticed that we’ve already had our first wedding anniversary.’

‘He won’t mind. I’m just borrowing you for the afternoon.’

‘What for?’

‘We’re going to go shopping for an outfit for you.’

‘That sounds fun. Chanel? Schiaparelli?’

‘Somewhere much more discreet – Maison Gaston. After all, we’re a staid old couple, not young gadabouts.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Copper snorted.

Dior had asked her to meet him on the rue Saint-Florentin, but would not explain why. He led her into Maison Gaston now, arm in arm like a respectable married pair.

The shop was redolent of old-fashioned Parisian charm. The bustle of the rue Saint-Florentin seemed to fade behind them. The clothes were somewhat severe. Almost every garment was trimmed with sable or mink, unappealing for the summer, but as Tian pointed out, autumn would soon be here. Middle-aged, black-clad vendeuses glided around them, combining icy politeness with an impression of unassailable superiority.