Angel

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Why have you never told Johnny?’

  ‘It’s better this way.’

  ‘Mebbe not. My sister Gina, she loved you, Salvatore. You was her life after Roberto died. She’d want Johnny to know you’re his father, his mother’d want him to know the truth.’

  ‘No,’ Salvatore said in a low but vehement voice, putting his glass down on the table. Leaning closer to Vito, pinning him with his eyes, he hissed, ‘He must never know. Nobody must know he’s my son.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s a stupid question, Vito.’ Salvatore shook his head. ‘It must be old age.’

  Vito ignored this pointed remark. ‘What harm would it do if he knew?’

  ‘No,’ Salvatore said, ‘it’s best my way.’ In a voice so quiet it was scarcely audible, he whispered, ‘I want him to be clean. My son Johnny must always be clean.’ He gave Vito a hard stare. ‘Capisci?’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Ever since Collie’s untimely death in the middle of January and her return to Paris from Montfleurie, Rosie had been working exceptionally long hours.

  She had chosen to do so because of her own need to be fully occupied, for she had discovered long ago that work helped to deaden pain for her.

  In this instance it helped to keep grief at bay. And she was terribly grief-stricken about her beloved Collie, with whom she had enjoyed a special relationship since the first day they had met in 1982.

  ‘Love at first sight’ was how Collie had frequently described their initial meeting and Rosie had felt exactly the same way about the woman who was the first friend she had made in Paris, and who would ultimately become her sister-in-law. They had been devoted to each other. Collie had remained steadfast when Rosie’s problems with Guy had begun; if anything, the problems had brought them even closer together. Collie had taken Rosie’s side, had been a source of consolation and friendship through trying times. It was natural that she missed Collie and she knew she always would.

  And so work had been a godsend these past few weeks, and of great solace to her. Also, it pleased Rosie that she had been able to get ahead with the costume designs, and weeks before preproduction on the movie actually began. It gave her a tremendous head start, and for that she was grateful.

  Gavin was delayed in New York. Several snags had developed in the postproduction of Kingmaker. He had pulled Aida into New York to help and pushed back the date for the move into Billancourt Studios. Aida and the team from London would not be arriving in Paris until March now, when Gavin was also coming.

  Nevertheless, Rosie knew she had her work cut out for her even with this lead time. She was facing a monumental task since, once again, she would have to create period costumes which were elaborate and much more complicated to design than contemporary clothing.

  Now, on this clear, sunny morning in early February, Rosie stood in the middle of her studio looking at some of her sketches. It was a large, light-filled room with several floor-to-ceiling windows and a skylight overhead, situated at the back of her apartment on the rue de l’Université in the seventh arrondissement.

  There were six sketches and they were the first group she had finished down to the last detail. Rosie had propped them up at intervals along the viewing shelf she had had built years ago especially for this purpose. The shelf covered the length of a side wall, and once the sketches were lined up and on display it dominated the studio.

  All of the sketches were four feet in height, painted in full colour on board. Three were costumes for Napoleon, to be played by Gavin Ambrose; the other three for Josephine, actress unknown as of this moment.

  Because they were so sumptuous and complicated to design, Rosie had first tackled the clothes Napoleon had worn when he was crowned emperor. The under robe was of white silk heavily trimmed and embroidered with gold, worn with a full-length red velvet outer robe draped with a white ermine shoulder cape; his crown was a wreath of laurel leaves made of gold. Rosie fully intended to create exact replicas of everything. As usual, she was being a stickler about authenticity.

  Her second sketch for Gavin was one of Napoleon’s uniforms. This was a pair of white, skin-tight breeches, black boots, a black cutaway coat decorated with gold and a tricorn hat. The third was a civilian suit, composed of knee breeches and a coat, which would be cut from red cloth, worn with white silk stockings and black shoes with gold buckles.

  After looking at these drawings for a few minutes, she moved on, studied the sketches for Josephine’s clothes. Like Napoleon’s robes for his coronation, Josephine’s gown for hers was equally sumptuous. Made of yards and yards of white silk, it was embroidered all over with gold thread; with it went exquisite jewellery and a diamond tiara. But this outfit did not concern Rosie for the moment. Her attention was focused on an evening gown which was already in work as a prototype for the seamstresses. It was draped on the dress form near one of the windows.

  Moving away from the sketches, Rosie walked across to the dress form and began to re-drape the fabric. The gown was designed in the Empire style, popularized by Josephine, with a high bustline, a low, scooped-out neck, and short puffed sleeves. Made of silver-coloured silk, it had an over-dress of pale-blue chiffon. The chiffon mounted on the silk bodice and floated down over the skirt, with an opening at the front like a coat. The sleeves were of chiffon, while the gossamer over-skirt was trimmed at the edge with the silver-coloured silk.

  Rosie pulled out a few pins, stuck them in the pin-cushion strapped to her arm, and took hold of the fabric with strong, confident hands. Endeavouring to make it hang correctly on one side, she worked on it for a good ten minutes until she was relatively satisfied with the results.

  Draping was an art in fashion design, and Rosie was as accomplished at this as she was at sketching. She had learned to drape in the workrooms of Trigère, the French-born American couturière. It was through her father’s sister, Aunt Kathleen, who had died two years ago, that this fortuitous situation had come about. Kathleen Madigan had been one of the head fashion-buyers at Bergdorf Goodman, and she had arranged for Rosie to work as an intern during two of her summer vacations from the Fashion Institute of Technology.

  Rosie always said that she had learned to drape at the knee of the master, for Pauline Trigère was renowned at this technique. Trigère handled fabric in the way a sculptor moulded clay, designing her clothes with fabric on a dress form rather than with a pencil on paper.

  Making a few small gathers along the high waistband at the back, Rosie expertly inserted the pins carefully, and then stepped back, eyeing the gown, her head to one side. It still wasn’t quite right, and so she opened the book containing photographs of this particular gown. It was an art book which Henri de Montfleurie had bought for her. She had found it extremely helpful since it was the history of Napoleon shown through paintings of him, Josephine, his retinue, his battles and the times in which he lived.

  Turning to the page where the gown was shown in a beautiful painting of Josephine, Rosie took her time looking at it once more, as always striving for total authenticity. After a short while she started to work with the fabric again.

  Half an hour later her concentration was broken by the ringing of the door bell. Momentarily startled, she glanced at the clock on her desk, and saw to her surprise that it was almost one o’clock. Unstrapping the pin-cushion on her wrist and taking off her white designer’s coat, she went out to the foyer. She knew it was Nell, who was in Paris and whom she had invited to lunch. The minute she opened the door they fell into each other’s arms, hugging affectionately, and exclaiming how glad they were to see each other.

  Rosie drew Nell into the foyer and closed the door, then stood away from her oldest and dearest friend, regarding her appraisingly. ‘You look wonderful, Nell. I think my brother agrees with you.’

  Nell laughed and nodded. Then she said, ‘Well, most of the time.’

  Rosie did not pick up on this. Instead she helped Nell off with her dark mink coat and led her into the library. This was a
small cosy room, Belle Epoque in style, where a fire burned in the hearth and the scent of mimosa and other spring flowers was so strong it was almost overpowering.

  ‘Good God!’ Nell exclaimed, ‘where did you find mimosa at this time of year?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Rosie answered. ‘Johnny Fortune did. At Lachaume. They’re the most exclusive florists in Paris and they deal in hot-house blooms and all kinds of out-of-season flowers.’

  ‘Well I never,’ Nell said and grinned at Rosie. ‘And I told him you liked peach roses and violets.’

  ‘Oh, he sent those too. They’re in the living room.’

  ‘He doesn’t do things by halves, does he?’ Nell said, bending over the vase, burying her nose in the mimosa. ‘This smells divine.’ Straightening, she walked over to the fireplace and watched Rosie opening a bottle of white wine, which she had lifted out of an ice bucket on the small console table. ‘I suppose it goes without saying that he’s after you, Rosie. Decidedly keen on seducing you, have no fear.’

  Rosie merely smiled as she pulled the cork out of the wine bottle. ‘I sort of figured that out for myself, Nellie darling. I told you weeks ago that he phoned me at Montfleurie in December, and here last week, to say he’d be coming to Paris via London.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Nell sat down in a chair, leaned back, crossed her legs. ‘I’m not disapproving, Rosie mine. Far from it, I think it’s a grand idea that you have a little love and romance in your life. Why not? And especially after all those years of starvation with Guy! What’s happening with your divorce, by the way?’

  ‘It’s on its way. Guy has been co-operative, and he’s signed all the papers.’

  ‘And how much did that cost you?’

  Rosie gaped at her. ‘How did you know it cost me anything?’

  Nell shook her head. ‘Oh, Rosie, Rosie, I was just making a shrewd guess. But it was a good one at that, wasn’t it? I know what Guy de Montfleurie is only too well. A male whore, for want of a better expression. I figured that he would hit you up for money. So, how much did you give him?’

  ‘I bought him his ticket to the Far East and gave him two thousand dollars. He tried to get more out of me, but I refused. I couldn’t spare any more, to tell you the truth. He quickly accepted what I offered.’

  ‘I don’t know why you gave him anything at all!’ Nell exclaimed, sounding cross.

  ‘It was cheap at the price, believe me. I wanted him out of my hair, and out of Henri’s hair. I didn’t trust him, and I suspected he might be troublesome at Montfleurie. And to everyone. So I bundled him off to Hong Kong the moment he’d signed everything, and at least this way he’s not going to rock anybody’s boat.’

  Nell nodded, accepted the glass of wine Rosie offered, and thanked her. The two old friends touched glasses, and Rosie said, ‘If you don’t mind, Nell, I thought we’d eat here. It’s easier for me than going out. I’ve got tons of work.’

  ‘Fine. How’re the costumes coming along?’

  ‘Very well. They’re complicated, of course, as I’ve no doubt you realize. But I’ve been very focused actually, and the work has helped me to cope with Collie’s death.’

  ‘I know what you’ve gone through. She was so young.’ Nell shook her head.

  ‘Thanks for calling me as much as you have, Nell. It’s helped, it really has.’

  ‘I know what Collie meant to you.’

  Rosie half smiled at her, and changing the subject asked, ‘And how’s Kevin?’

  ‘Beautiful. Loving. Exciting. And maddening.’

  ‘That all sounds great except for the last bit.’

  Nell looked into the fire for a moment, her face suddenly sad, her eyes grave, and then she swung her gaze to Rosie and answered very quietly, ‘I adore Kev, you know that. But I can’t handle that damned job of his, Rosie. You know as well as I do that he’s forever in danger. And I literally live through it with him, live on the edge of fear night and day. My nerves are really jagged these days.’

  ‘That’s because you love him so very much, Nell.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Of course. At least I think so. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t care the way you do, and you wouldn’t be so worried about him all the time.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Nell admitted.

  ‘Why don’t you two get married?’

  Nell simply stared at her, and decided not to answer.

  Rosie said, ‘I know he’s asked you, because he told me he had on the phone last week.’

  ‘Did he now? And yes, it’s true. But I… well… I don’t think I’m ready to become domesticated. At least, not just yet. I like things the way they are.’

  ‘Kevin loves you very, very much, Nell. Gavin told me the same thing the other day.’

  ‘My God! All these transatlantic calls! It sounds as if you and the old Gavers are ganging up on me! And you promised me you wouldn’t pressure me. I just can’t take pressure about Kevin right now. I’ve enough stress from a variety of other things. And from clients. Which brings me to Johnny Fortune. I’m here with him to finalize details of his concert in Paris this summer, but then I’m going back to London. I have some problems to deal with at my London office. But Johnny’s remaining in Paris. He’s going to be all over you like chickenpox, I’m warning you.’

  Rosie had to laugh. ‘Don’t make it sound so ominous. A few minutes ago you were delighted he was interested in me.’

  ‘I still am. I’m just alerting you to the fact that he’s not going back to London with me tomorrow, that—’

  ‘But I knew Johnny was staying. He’s called me every day since you both arrived in London from New York. I’m having dinner with him tonight. You know that.’

  ‘Yes he told me and you told me. But I wasn’t sure you realized he was going to be in Paris a few days longer, perhaps even a week.’

  ‘I did.’

  Nell stared at her, then grinned. ‘As my Aunt Phyllis would say, you look like the cat that’s swallowed the canary.’

  ‘No, I don’t!’ Rosie protested and flushed.

  ‘You do too, Rosalind Mary Frances Madigan!’ Nell shot back and then burst out laughing at the embarrassed expression on Rosie’s face. ‘But it’s okay for you to look like that, Rosie mine—so satisfied. After all, Johnny Fortune’s quite a catch. Actually, I get the impression he’s really got it bad for you. And as I told you when we were in California in November, you could do worse. He’s intelligent, good-looking, sexy, rich, famous, the idol of millions of women, and a nice man really. Personally I think he’d make a great husband.’

  ‘Hey, not so fast, Nellie!’ Rosie cried. ‘I haven’t had one date with him yet and you’re already getting us married!’

  ‘That’s not such a bad idea. And I’ll be a bridesmaid.’

  ‘And that brings me back to my brother. What are you going to do about Kevin? Now come on, tell me truthfully, and don’t make silly remarks about not wanting to be domesticated just yet.’

  Nell bit her lip, and after several moments of reflection she gave Rosie a very direct look, and said in a low, even voice, ‘If you must know the truth, I’ve got it all worked out… sort of.’

  ‘So tell me,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Very well, I will. Look, Kevin’s working on a special case right now. I’m sure he’s mentioned it to you, hasn’t he?’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Yes. The Crime Intelligence Division is zeroing in on the Mafia. A specific family. Kevin’s in the middle of it all.’

  ‘Exactly. Kevin expects this case to be finished soon. He mentioned that in passing the other day, just before I left New York. He thinks that in a month or two it will be all over bar the shouting… that’s how he put it to me. I got him to promise that he’ll take a vacation with me then. And when we’re on vacation I’m going to make him a proposition.’

  When Nell did not elucidate further, Rosie pressed, ‘What kind of proposition?’

  ‘I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse, to coin a phrase,’ Nell laug
hed. ‘I’m going to propose that I sell my company, that he gets out of the force, and that we start some sort of business together.’

  ‘Would you really sell the company?’ Rosie exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ Nell answered in a firm voice.

  Rosie was silent, knowing full well that her brother might not acquiesce, might not quit the CID. After a second or two, she said, ‘Oh Nell, I don’t know.’ She shook her head worriedly. ‘I don’t think Kevin will give in so easily, honestly I don’t. He’s a fourth-generation cop. He loves the NYPD.’

  ‘I’m hoping he loves me more. And if I make a sacrifice for him, by giving up Jeffrey Associates, he ought to be big enough to make one for me.’

  Rosie said, ‘But, Nell, let’s face it, you’re an heiress in your own right, through your mother and grandfather. Kevin might not think that selling your company is such a big sacrifice, since you don’t have to earn a living if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Oh come on, Rosie! I love my business, and I’ve built it up all by myself. And from nothing. It would be a tremendous sacrifice for me.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘So does Kevin know.’

  ‘He’s very proud,’ Rosie pointed out.

  Nell stood up and paced around the library for a while, and at last exclaimed, ‘I don’t know what else to do, Rosie! I thought this was a good plan. Now you’re throwing cold water on it. Oh hell, why did I have to go and fall in love with an undercover cop!’

  ‘He’s not any undercover cop. He’s Kevin Madigan.’

  ‘I know, that’s the problem. He’s so wonderful, he’s almost too good to be true.’

  ‘Well, you do have one consolation,’ Rosie murmured.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘He will have to retire from the force one day.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can wait that long,’ Nell said.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Johnny Fortune stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom at the Plaza Athénée Hotel, staring at himself through critical eyes. A thoughtful expression washed over his lean, tanned face, and then he abruptly turned away and strode across the room.