Letter from Paris

by Thérèse

  “You’re right. Tell you what, a day with you here was exactly what I needed to clear my head.”

  “Me too. It’s not been all plain sailing at work since you’ve been away. Lots going on.”

  “I want to hear all about it. You have the conch,” India said, lolling back in the lounger.

  Leaving the spa, India decided to treat herself to a taxi home. It had been such a perfect day; why ruin it jostling for the tube? She sat in the back of the black cab, taking in the city as they edged their way through the snarled traffic past The Ritz and Green Park’s endless railings with displays of art. They cut through Hyde Park and passed Marble Arch with its landmark equestrian statue outlined against the sky. I take this city for granted, she thought. It’s as beautiful as Paris if you look at it with fresh eyes. Maybe I’ll see if Adam would like to come for a few days. I could take him to so many wonderful places we didn’t get to see last time he was here. She pulled out her phone and fired off the text.

  Hey, I’m back from New York. How about you come to London next weekend? Miss you. Xxx000

  After happily paying what she knew to be an outrageous amount of money for the ride, she skipped up the path to her house. Yes. I’ll plan out a weekend every bit as magical as the one we should have had in Paris.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Luella said, sitting down opposite Henry in the conference room. “I had a stressful morning.”

  “Peter?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Tell me where we’re up to with the show.”

  Henry opened his laptop. “I have good news,” he said. “I think you’ll be pleased. I’ve been trawling around for a fashion designer to host the show, someone uncontroversial who’s not going to be targeted by PETA. I thought of the French designer Jean-Luc. He’s always at the palace with Elton John or at charity events with Sting and whomever. I dug around a bit to see how we could best contact him.”

  “I love his work,” Luella said. “His designs are kind of ‘out there’ without being insane like Galliano’s. He always uses such beautiful silks.”

  “We struck lucky.” Henry grinned. “Jean-Luc graduated from LIFT.”

  “Really? I would have thought he’d have trained in Paris.”

  “He did his post-graduate degree at LIFT. I asked the dean of the college to approach him for us and she reached out to him and…wait for it…he’s agreed.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Luella said. “Absolutely brilliant. My nephew’s in awe of him; he’ll be thrilled about this.”

  “Not only that. She told me he’s donating his fee to the college.”

  “They must be delighted too then.”

  “They’re all over it. Here, watch this video. You’re going to love it.”

  Henry swiveled his Mac toward her and Jean-Luc appeared on the YouTube video wearing an outfit that, to the untrained eye, could be mistaken for a dress. The sheath of fabric, hitting at the knee, was reminiscent of something Gandhi might have worn to lead the Salt March. His toned arms were swathed in tattoos, his head preternaturally shiny, making his eyes glint like buttons on a military jacket.

  “There’s a revolution happening in fashion,” he said, bringing his speech to a climax. “The fundamentals remain the same – the silhouette, the balance, the color, the fabric – but the focus is on innovation, on forging new creative partnerships. It is about defining and redefining a designer’s philosophy. In this ever-expanding global market, it is no longer about keeping to a rigid set of rules or the latest trends. It’s about individuality, a respect for the environment and collaboration. Thank you. Thank you all.”

  He smiled graciously at the camera before taking a bow with a flourish of his arm.

  “He’s a real showman,” Luella remarked. “What he’s saying is absolutely on target for us. He’s absolutely perfect. Congratulations. That’s a coup.”

  “He’s exactly what we need to get traffic to the sites,” Henry said. “Yes. I’m rather impressed with myself.”

  “More so than usual?” she quipped. “I can’t believe how far we’ve come in just a few months. India is a real asset isn’t she?” She held his gaze for a moment.

  “Are you fishing, Lu?” Henry grinned, pushing his seat away from the table. “And in case you ask, no we haven’t.”

  Luella laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally come across a woman who can resist your sexual charisma, Henry. That would be too awful to contemplate.”

  He raised his eyebrows in mock disdain. “Were ever such a thing to happen I agree, it would be quite awful.”

  “So what about the female presenter? Do you have any thoughts on that?”

  “This is where I’m hoping the lovely Miss Butler will come in handy. I think Annabelle Butler would be perfect, don’t you? She’s just been promoting her latest movie. She’s smoking as they say and she just happens to be India’s sister.”

  “You know Henry, sometimes you still manage to surprise me. That’s what you had in mind all along isn’t it? That’s why you hired her. You had this planned from day one.”

  “Well that wasn’t the only reason, but yes I have to admit it was a factor for sure.”

  “I’ve a feeling India will be cool with it. Why wouldn’t she be? Shall I ask her tomorrow? We’re working from my house in the afternoon.”

  “No. Leave it with me to talk to her. I need to handle the ‘ask’ carefully. Don’t say anything.”

  “Okay,” Luella said, clicking her reading glasses into their case. “So Henry, if we’re all done here, it’s five o’clock. I’m not hungry, but I could do with a drink. I don’t want to go back to an empty house right now.”

  “Absolutely,” Henry said, pressing the intercom. “All done here for today, Samantha. Miss Marchmont and I are leaving. There are some papers on the desk for you to collect on your way out.”

  Luella picked up her purse, pulled on her jacket and followed him into the corridor.

  “Tell me, Henry,” she said as they waited for the elevator. “Do you ever play it completely straight with anyone?”

  “Rarely.” He grinned as the door slid open. “But of course, I always do with you my dear.”

  “You’re very quiet. What is it?” Luella asked India the next day as they were checking the invitation list in her office.

  “Am I? Sorry,” India said, snatching up some papers as the breeze caught them. “Nothing to do with work.”

  “I won’t probe, but feel free to talk if it’ll help,” Luella said, closing over the window.

  “I feel pathetic talking about it, especially as I know you have your own problems right now,” India answered. “Where do you want the rest of these illustrations to go?”

  “Here. Just put them on Margaret’s desk. She can sort them in the morning. Look, we’ve made as much progress as we’re going to today,” she said, dropping a pile of photographs into a file drawer. “How about we go for a drink? It’s far too lovely an evening to be inside.”

  “You’re right,” India sighed. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “Let me grab my purse. How about Caprice? It’s pretty basic, but it’s just around the corner.”

  “Sure. Do you want help putting the rest of this away?”

  “Leave it. I’ll come to it fresh in the morning. Let’s go. You and I need some downtime. Let me get my coat.”

  “Great news that we’ve nailed Jean-Luc don’t you think?” India said as they turned the corner of the street and grabbed a couple of empty chairs outside the wine bar.

  “Yes. Brilliant,” Luella agreed.

  “I’ve been researching him,” India said. “He’s incredible. He started out as a hairdresser. How do you go from working in a salon to becoming a world famous photographer, an art director and fashion designer? That’s serious talent.”

  “And charisma. One hell of a trajectory,” Luella agreed. “He was awarded the Order of Arts and Letters last yea
r too.”

  “The project is coming together well isn’t it?”

  “It is and you’re such a great addition to the team,” Luella said, shunting her chair underneath the table. “Will this do, by the way? It’s a bit cramped but at least we get to sit outside.”

  “It’s fine. As long as they serve decent wine I’m happy.”

  “So what are you going to have, red or white?”

  “White for me.”

  “Shall we split a bottle of Pinot Grigio?”

  “Perfect,” India said. “So, I’m sorry if I’ve seemed a bit distracted today.”

  “That’s okay. You’ve just been very quiet that’s all. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Well, it’s just that I’m in a long-distance relationship. The distance part is getting to be a major problem as in ‘no relationship because of the distance.’”

  “I understand how that can happen. Sorry to interrupt, but hold on while I get this girl’s attention. We need that wine,” Luella said with a wave of her arm. She ordered and turned back to India. “Sorry. You were saying. Long distance…”

  “Yes. Well, right now he’s on location in France, so I thought he could maybe come for the weekend. He says he can’t get away. Okay, so I know he’s working, but what I’m trying to fathom is if he’s making excuses not to see me or if he really can’t get away. He’s an actor. He’s always going to be an actor and it’s starting to dawn on me that this is never going to change. He was married for a while. I can see maybe why it didn’t last.”

  “So you’re not sure if the lifestyle would suit you long term.”

  “That about sums it up.” India nodded.

  “In the interest of full disclosure I have to admit that I Googled you a while back,” Luella said, as the waitress poured their wine. “I hope you don’t think that’s awful; it’s the writer in me. I can’t stop myself. I’m always looking for stories. But anyway the truth is, I can’t sit here pretending not to know that this ‘long-distance relationship’ is with Adam Brooks.”

  “I really don’t mind,” India reassured her. “So now you know, you can see my dilemma; I mean he’s gorgeous right? And clever and funny and…” She stopped.

  “Yes. I have absolutely no difficulty seeing your problem there.”

  “So. Any advice?”

  “A while ago I’d have told you to stick with it, to work it out, that love would conquer all. I’d have told you that marriages last even if there are chunks of time you spend apart. I’m afraid I don’t believe that anymore. I don’t think you’re talking to the right person to give advice.”

  “I suppose nobody can give you advice you don’t want to hear either. I’m sure it’ll all work out.” India sighed. “So okay. Now you know why I’ve been a bit preoccupied today. Anyway, going back to what we were talking about, Henry told me Jean-Luc is going to be giving a lecture at The London College of Fashion tomorrow night.”

  “Yes. I’m glad you can make it. How about we have dinner together afterward? I was hoping to meet him, but as it’s a fundraiser, he has a formal dinner with some alumni.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” India said. “Speaking of dinner I’m starting to feel hungry. I haven’t eaten all day. Shall we order some food? The tapas look good.”

  “Sure. Go for it. I’ll eat later. I’m not hungry right now,” Luella said, taking another sip of her wine. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Go ahead,” India said, though I wish you wouldn’t, she thought.

  “So tell me more about Adam,” Luella said, lighting up and wafting the smoke away from the table. “How did you meet him? How long have you been together?”

  “That’s a hard one to answer. I mean do you count the months we’ve been apart as ‘being together’ if you see what I mean? I met him the summer before last at my sister’s house. We really hit it off. It was a summer romance, but it was so much more than that. I was having a major crisis about work. I wanted to leave teaching but I’d no clue how to go about it. He really helped me build my confidence. Just being with him and his friends helped so much. There’s such a ‘can do’ culture over there.”

  “Yes. I agree. I sense that when I’m in America too.”

  “You feel like anything’s possible there, don’t you? Of course it wasn’t all about work. We just clicked. He makes me laugh. I feel like I can be completely myself around him.” She paused. “Anyway, for one reason or another I had to come back to London. He’s come to stay a few times, but then he got this huge part in this last movie and the travel just hasn’t worked out.”

  “That’s tough.” Luella nodded.

  “I keep trying to catch that girl’s eye. Hang on a minute; it’ll be quicker if I go inside to give her my order.” India said standing up and squeezing between the tables.

  “Okay Luella. That’s enough about me,” she said a few minutes later coming back to her seat. “I want to hear about the new book you’re writing, the one set in Paris. You’ve written so many; where does the inspiration come from?”

  “Ha.” Luella laughed. “I’m not so sure inspiration has very much to do with it. As I said earlier, it can be a slog.”

  “But how do you get the characters? How do you dream them up?”

  Luella looked thoughtful.

  “Well,” she said, “I suppose you could say I audition them. I give them a name and some personality traits and get to know them. Sooner or later, one or two of them start to write their own dialogue. It’s hard to explain really. I suppose it must come from my subconscious. They start to take on a life of their own. They become real in my head. Mind you, I’ve been wondering lately if I have another book in me.”

  “I’m sure you have,” India said. “You must have. It’s probably writer’s block.”

  “Writer’s block is a myth,” Luella said, pausing while the waitress set down India’s plate.

  “How so? I thought it’s an accepted fact,” India asked, dipping her pita bread into the humus.

  “You’re forgetting about discipline. Talking of which, or the lack of it rather, I need more wine,” Luella said, looking up at the server and nodding in the direction of the ice bucket. “You can’t call it writer’s block if you don’t turn up at the computer to write. Writers write. Simple as that.”

  “I suppose so,” India said thoughtfully. “It’d be like a dancer saying they can’t dance when they haven’t been practicing enough.”

  “Exactly.” Luella smiled. “That’s exactly it. I’m not practicing enough. I haven’t been able to focus lately. That’s all it is. Real life has intervened. Frankly, I couldn’t have made up the stuff I’m dealing with right now. But let’s not go there. Let’s talk about something else. Where shall we go for dinner after Jean-Luc’s talk?”

  13

  The students sat with rapt attention in the college lecture hall. Jean-Luc clicked the remote control in his hand and a collage of rapid-fire images accompanied by a retro soundtrack of “Heart of Glass” hit the screen behind him. It abruptly switched to a Stravinsky piece India recognized as Orpheus, a composition she had decided years before, ranked as possibly the most painfully discordant piece of music she had ever heard.

  Next, they’ll be playing Kate Bush. Take me now Lord, she thought, squirming in her seat. Where are the models, the runway, the CLOTHES? Why this sequence of demolished buildings, metal sculptures and cars erupting into flames? Why all this ugliness. How much longer is this going to go on?

  After what seemed like an age, the screen went black. There was a moment’s pause before the audience rose to its feet in thunderous appreciation. India struggled to her feet, nonplussed. What? A standing ovation? she thought, peering to see how Henry, who had been sitting next to Luella, was responding. If the way he was clapping were anything to go by, he’d experienced some kind of spiritual epiphany. People sat down again in reverent silence as Jean-Luc walked over to the lectern and thumbed through his notes.<
br />
  “Thank you. Merci.” He smiled. “I do apologize if my English is not so clear. As some of you may know I am not Eeenglish.” There was a ripple of laughter.

  “I would like to use a quote from a leetel fashion designer that some of you may have heard of. Her Name was Coco Chanel.” Another ripple of laughter. “Madame Chanel once said, ‘Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.’

  “Let us take a few minutes to think about what is ’appening. What is ’appening now? We have a world that we are abusing by using up all our resources out of greed and corruption. We ’ave ‘the Internet’ that is changing everything. We ’ave crime, we have poverty, we ’ave war. Our planet is on the road to destruction. We ’ave a moral responsibility as artists to reflect that.”

  Jean-Luc thumped the lectern with his fist.

  ‘’We are the vanguard of a movement. We have inherited this ‘brave new world.’ We must stand up and be counted. This is a revolution.”

  The students rose to their feet again, clapping and screaming, punching the air, hooting and whistling.

  If I’d known I was coming to a rally, I’d have brought a hard hat, India thought. The idea of working with Jean-Luc just got a whole lot more interesting.

  Adam Brooks was taking in the afternoon sun, reclining by the seawater infinity swimming pool at Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc. Lost in thought, he gazed across the expanse of glistening blue ocean to where the oligarchs’ sleek yachts were outlined against the horizon.

  The woman stretched out next to him rolled onto her back, rearranged her Pucci sarong and adjusted her sunglasses and floppy white sun hat.

  “We really should have booked a cabana,” she drawled. “I feel totally exposed out here.”

  “You’re such a diva, Diane. Here, this might help.” Adam said, topping up her glass of rose Krug champagne and handing it to her.