The Designer(94)

‘You are sure?’

‘Monsieur Dior, your future is glorious! It’s in your name – “Di-Or”, the Golden God.’

As they were leaving the apartment, Madame Delahaye put a plump hand on Copper’s arm. ‘And tell me,’ she said gently, ‘the golden-haired woman I saw in your last reading – did she cast her shadow over you, as I predicted?’

Copper was struck. ‘Oh, I’d forgotten about that. You were right, I think. She did.’

‘As for the hand from the east which places a coronet on your head – I think we know what that meant, Countess.’ Madame Delahaye laughed with a touch of glee. ‘I never forget my readings. And I remember how your hands were black with soot that day, Mademoiselle. Now they are clean. You didn’t need to tell me what to say today. It was all in the cards.’

The word of the woman who had predicted his beloved sister’s safe return was holy writ to Dior. As soon as they were home, he made a nervous call to Boussac gabbling explanations and apologies. He listened to the answer and then came back to Copper. He seemed calmer. ‘There. That’s done.’

‘What did he say?’ she asked.

‘Someone intercepted my telegram, so Boussac never received it.’

‘Wonderful. What else?’

Dior sat down, looking thoughtful. ‘They’re prepared to offer me the directorship of my own establishment, Christian Dior Limited. With a starting capital of six million francs, and unlimited credit.’

Copper was flabbergasted. ‘Balmain started with a tenth of that.’

Now that his mind was made up, Dior had changed. The breathless, palpitating butterfly was gone. ‘It will do to get started,’ he said. ‘What date are we now?’

‘The middle of May,’ she replied, awed by his sudden sangfroid.

‘Come with me. I want to show you something.’



She accompanied his sober, sleek figure down the avenue Montaigne. ‘You know, petite, there was something I loved about you the moment we met.’

‘My foie gras?’

‘Your innocence.’

‘Well, thanks to you and your friends, I’ve lost that.’

‘You’ll never lose it,’ he replied gently.

‘You were so kind to me, Tian. I will never forget the way you helped me.’

‘What you have given me in return for a little help is very precious to me.’ He stopped. ‘Many years ago, I dreamed of having my own couture house. I knew exactly what I wanted. I even saw the exact place. I would walk past it often, very often, and be filled with yearning. But of course, I had no way to acquire it. It wasn’t even for sale. Just yesterday, I heard that it is now empty and that the lease is available.’ He turned her to look at the building behind them. ‘Here it is.’

It was a large house, built out of stone the colour of pale honey. A neoclassical archway carved with the head of a goddess sheltered the entrance, and stone corbels supported a balcony. The whole impression was of compactness and restrained grace.

‘It’s lovely,’ she exclaimed.

He pointed to the bel étage. ‘The salon will be there, with those large windows for illumination. The studios will go on the floor up above. And you see those windows, up in the roof? We’ll put workrooms there, in the attics. It’s simple and elegant, just the way I like things.’

She got her camera ready. ‘We need a photograph.’

‘Mightn’t that bring bad luck?’

‘Nothing can jinx you now,’ she promised. ‘Take that frown off your face.’

She bullied him into posing at the entrance of 30 avenue Montaigne. He managed a smile, but his eyes were somehow melancholy. As she pressed the shutter release, she thought of the changes that he was going to face. The carefree frequenter of disreputable clubs, boiler of lobsters, thrower of bohemian parties, rescuer of waifs and strays, was at the threshold of another world.

She lowered the camera, stricken. ‘Oh, Tian. I don’t want to lose you.’

‘Nor I you. But weren’t you and your husband the ones pushing me forward?’

‘Yes, and we still are. But your life is going to change.’

He put his arm around her. ‘We will always be friends.’

With a last, lingering look at the classical, golden house, they walked away together.



During the excitement surrounding Dior’s negotiations with Marcel Boussac, other things had been happening in the old house covered in vines. To be more accurate, certain familiar things had stopped happening, while other, newer things had been observed. To get an authoritative opinion on these phenomena, Copper and Henry paid a visit to the family doctor. He made an examination of Copper while Henry waited rather anxiously on the other side of the screen.

‘Congratulations, Madame la Comtesse,’ he said, shaking Copper’s hand once she was decently dressed again. ‘You are expecting a baby. You are in excellent health, I am glad to report. However, I should like to see you each month from now, so that we can monitor your progress.’

Henry appeared dazed by the news. Copper had been certain in her own heart that she was expecting, but had wanted it confirmed. However, Henry was so silent on the drive home that Copper began to fear he was not pleased by the news. She stopped talking about nurseries and cots and fell into a silence as profound as his.