The Matchmaker's Gift(34)
“Ralph Lauren got the idea for his store from me,” Victor said, over apéritifs in his mahogany-paneled living room. A butler (Abby was not sure what else to call him) brought them glasses of dry champagne. It was already well past eight o’clock, but Nicole had yet to make an appearance.
She arrived a little after eight thirty, wearing ripped jeans and carrying a leather messenger bag. Her long blond hair was twisted into a bun. “I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping her bag on the carpet and kissing Victor on both cheeks. “My professor kept us late.”
“Nicole is taking summer classes at NYU,” he explained.
“What are you studying?” Abby asked.
“Business, mostly. I’m hoping to enroll full time next year, but for now I’m just trying to fit everything in.” She declined the glass the butler offered. “No champagne for me tonight. I have an exam tomorrow.”
Abby felt a surge of sympathy. She knew what it was like to stay up late, cramming and pulling all-nighters for days. “I think it’s amazing that you found time for school on top of your work schedule.”
Nicole flashed Abby a grateful smile. “It’s a little hectic right now,” she admitted, “but I wouldn’t trade my classes for anything. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to have professors who encourage discussion. When you’re modeling, no one wants you to speak. They only want you to wear the clothes and smile.”
“Except for me,” Victor interjected.
Nicole’s face softened, and she patted his shoulder. “Except for Victor,” she agreed. “He’s the only designer who ever listened. The only one who ever took the time to answer when I asked about the pieces.”
“It was impossible not to fall in love with her face,” Victor said. “But it was her mind that forced me to pay attention. No other model ever asked about my color palette, about the length of a coat, or the way a seam was finished. Whenever I dressed her for a show, she took every outfit apart in her head, analyzing every detail. Why put this skirt with this sweater? Why this waist with that sleeve? The first time I kissed her, it was only because I couldn’t think of how to answer her question. I was trying to buy myself a little time.”
Abby laughed. It was nice to see the couple this way—at ease with each other, relaxed, content. Perhaps she’d been wrong about Nicole’s feelings. Stop it, Abby, she told herself. You’re here to help Diane with negotiations. It’s not up to you to decide whether Victor and Nicole are right for each other.
Dinner was served in a small dining room that looked out over Madison Avenue. Abby had a view of a sleek row of stores—clothing, leather goods, and a jewelry boutique—all locked tight and lit up for the evening. While she stared through the glass at the jewelry store, Abby realized that she’d never seen Nicole’s engagement ring. Nicole’s wrists were covered in silver bangles, but her long, slim fingers were bare.
“Have you picked out an engagement ring?” Abby asked.
Nicole shook her head. “They’re not really my thing. I have a few friends who’ve gotten engaged recently, and I hate the way some of them flash their rings around—like they’re trying to make their single friends feel bad.”
“Speaking as one of those single women,” Abby said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
Nicole glanced over at Diane. “What about you, Diane? Have you ever been married?”
Diane stiffened visibly at the question. It was a subject Abby had never dared to bring up with her boss. “No,” Diane said. “I never felt the need. Maybe I’ve seen too many things go wrong.”
Before the conversation could veer into awkward territory, Victor interrupted. “Who is ready for dessert?” he asked.
But Nicole was already folding her napkin and pushing her chair back from the table. “I’m so sorry, but I really must excuse myself. If I don’t start studying, I’m going to be in real trouble.”
“Don’t apologize,” Diane said. “Abby and I have early meetings, so we should be heading home as well.”
“Of course,” Victor said, with an easy grace. “I’m pleased that you were able to join us for dinner.” He pulled two envelopes from the breast pocket of his blazer. “Next week, I’m hosting a private showing of a very special new collection. Some of the press will be there, of course, but other than that, it will be quite intimate. I hope you’ll both be able to come.”
Diane pretended to be pleased, but Abby knew the look on her face. There was no way she wanted to give up another evening just to placate Victor étoile. “I’ll have my assistant check the date,” she said, in a tone that was pleasant but promised nothing.
* * *
Half an hour later, in the hallway outside her apartment, Abby could hear her telephone ringing. It stopped before she got inside, but by the time she’d kicked off her shoes, it was ringing again.
“Did you read that invitation yet? I’m going to kill Victor! I’m going to murder him!”
“Diane?” Abby said. “Hold on. Let me look.” She pulled the envelope from her bag, tore it open, and read the card out loud. “Join Victor étoile as he introduces the NICOLE BY éTOILE fall collection … a fresh, young take on classic étoile pieces.” Abby sat down on the edge of her sofa. “What does this mean?” she asked.