TWENTY

Several days later, Luke had cleared the main studio of everything. Gone were the tall stools, rolling shelves, rolling backdrops, folding and trestle tables. What he had wanted was a totally empty space, and once he had it he had brought in six life-sized blow-ups of M, mounted on hardboard.

Strategically placed to complement each other, the photographs were stunning, showed M at her most elegant and beautiful. Arranged in a semi-circle, they were all in black and white. Highlighting them most dramatically were three high-intensity lamps.

He studied the display for a long moment, finally nodded to himself, satisfied he had achieved the effect he had envisioned.A few seconds later, Kate Morrell came into the studio. As usual she was beautifully coiffed and made up, dressed in a chic Tremont suit. Following immediately behind her was the iconic French designer, tall, elegant and looking much younger than his sixty years despite his silver hair. In part, his youthfulness sprang from his lithe, slender body, his perfect tan and sparkling brown eyes.

It was Tremont himself who stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the huge blow-ups confronting him. He moved closer, stared at them intently, mesmerized, thinking his clothes had never looked better. This girl was miraculous.

Swinging around, he went to Luke, grabbed hold of him and kissed him on each cheek in true Gallic style. In his slightly accented, perfect English he said, ‘Bravo, Luke, bravo! And my many congratulations.’ Gesturing to the set of blow-ups, he added, ‘C’est magnifique, ah oui.’

Luke beamed. ‘I’m pleased you like the display, Jean-Louis, and it seemed to me that the pictures somehow looked more dramatic in black and white, don’t ya think?’

‘Fantastic, mon ami, fantastic.’ He turned around as M walked into the studio and he went to greet her. Jean-Louis took her hand, bent over it, kissed it and gave her a warm smile. ‘It is nice to see you again. So many congratulations, the photographs are incredible.’

‘It’s the clothes really, monsieur,’ she replied, meaning this. ‘You and Luke are the true geniuses here, not me.’

‘Ah, flattery, mademoiselle, flattery,’ the Frenchman murmured, charmed by her, his dark eyes twinkling. He liked her a lot, had taken to her instantly when they had met a few days ago. He knew Kate was correct about her. She would be a star. And his muse, his inspiration. Her style and class were incomparable.

Kate was thrilled with the blow-ups. Taking hold of Luke’s arm she walked him forward, so they were standing directly in front of them. ‘What do you think about using these very same blow-ups in the Madison Avenue store? Mid-December, through into the New Year? They’d make a wonderful display.’

‘You and Jean-Louis know best, Kate, and I guess they would lead into the new collection—you’ll be showing it in late January in Paris, right?’

‘Absolutely, and by the way, we want you to photograph this new collection, Luke, but we’ll talk about that later. Right now I have to settle things with M.’

‘She’ll want you to use Blane’s, you know. She has a loyalty to them.’

‘No problem, none at all. But she told me yesterday that she’d like to have all of the details herself first, before we got in touch with Blane’s. Apparently she has a sister in London who owns a boutique, and she wanted to discuss our terms with her, before Blane’s got involved.’

Luke couldn’t help laughing. ‘That’s not surprising,’ he finally said, still chuckling.

Kate looked at him curiously. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because Caresse has always said that M is a tough cookie when it comes to business. Don’t misunderstand me, though—she adores M; but then everyone does.’

‘I can see that, and I understand why, she’s a genuinely very nice young woman. And I can’t say I blame her, wanting to have her older sister, a businesswoman, as a sounding board.’

A short while ago, Kate Morrell had taken Jean-Louis Tremont to Kennedy to catch the night flight to Paris. But before leaving the Farantino Studios, she had conferred with Luke and M for a few minutes. Something of a mover and shaker in the world of fashion, she was a decisive person. And once she had made up her mind about a project, she always forged ahead, undeterred, her heart set on accomplishing her ends. In this instance her aim was to make M famous before the January collections.

She explained this to M and Luke, and then told M, ‘I need you to come to the shop tomorrow, because we have to take all of your exact measurements. Jean-Louis has already designed part of the new spring/summer collection, the rest he is now going to build around you. And naturally the clothes must fit you perfectly.’

Addressing Luke she had gone on, ‘And I would like you to be there at the same time, Luke, because Jean-Louis and I want you to photograph some of the prêt-à-porter line, on M, of course, because we do very well with our ready-to-wear collection. Together we will select the pieces.’

They had both agreed to be at the Madison Avenue store at two o’clock, and Kate had been as pleased as they were, obviously delighted they were so cooperative.

Now Luke stood alone in the studio. The overhead lights were out, and it was in darkness except for the three high-intensity spotlights focused on the six blow-ups of M. She had gone home and Caresse was cleaning up the kitchen, and he had wandered in here to turn off the spotlights, but had been momentarily captivated yet again.

Even though he said so himself, it had been an inspired idea to present the photographs like this. The blow-ups had blown Jean-Louis away, to coin a phrase. As if he had needed convincing, the designer had been enchanted by Frankie’s pictures of M when he had first seen them in Monte Carlo.

Luke sighed under his breath, thinking of Frankie, missing him, as he did every day. What a needless death it had been. A fatal crash on the Grande Corniche because Frankie, as usual, had more than likely been driving too fast; but there was no doubt in his mind that the driver of the other vehicle had been speeding as well. How often had he warned Frankie to slow down? He had never stopped worrying about Frankie’s racing driver mentality—Frankie loved whizzing along at high speed, regardless of anything else.

Moving forward, Luke turned off one of the spotlights and suddenly the whole mood of the studio was altered. Shadows were thrown across one of M’s blow-ups, gave her an eerie, ghostlike appearance. Luke shivered, goose flesh prickling his neck, and for a reason he did not understand he had a sudden premonition of disaster looming. Startled at himself, he tried to push this irrational feeling aside, but found he could not.

Luke turned off the second light, and was about to kill the last spot, but he didn’t. Instead he gazed up at the ten-foot-tall M in the glamorous black evening gown, and thought how extraordinary she looked. She was one of the most photogenic women he had ever worked with, and he knew at this moment that she would be a big star in the fashion firmament: Kate Morrell would see to that. But this was a dangerous world, full of temptations of all kinds, from excessive praise, ego-pumping accolades and extensive press coverage, to sudden celebrity, partying and frequently soul-destroying drugs. Many a great model had taken a tumble.

He breathed deeply, blew out air, reminding himself that M was practical, businesslike, and down-to-earth. He was as positive as he could be that she would remain very much herself, and yet he still felt chilled to the bone, beset by troubling thoughts of the future…