Letter from Paris

by Thérèse

  “Well, that must be Georgia,” India quipped. “Please give it up for Georgia Pullman. Congratulations, Georgia. Come on up.”

  There was much stomping applause from the students as Georgia accepted the figurine. Annabelle took India’s arm and they stepped back a few paces as Jean-Luc returned to the stage.

  “Well done, darling. That was perfect,” Annabelle whispered under her breath.

  Jean-Luc bowed to the audience. “Thank you. And so to close, I will announce zee name of the student who will intern with me next spring in Paris,” he said. The room fell silent again.

  “Before that I would like to address all of the students here.” He looked at the assembled group with fierce intensity. “Winning awards is wonderful. I have been fortunate to win many. But awards are not the lifeblood of an artist. If any of you thought that a career in fashion would be an easy ride, think again. Leave now unless you are prepared to tunnel the depths of your soul, to take risks for your creativity, to carve a unique path. As Martha Graham once said…”

  Here he flicked through his notes and read, “‘There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it.’

  “Get a copy of that and paste it to your workstations. Never forget – if you block it, the world will not have it.” He paused. “You have chosen this creative path; make sure you give your work every fiber of your being.”

  The room was enthralled.

  “And now,” he continued, “for outstanding innovation and design, would Evan Johns please step up?”

  India heard very little of Jean-Luc’s speech. Pumped with adrenalin, she was looking forward to the after party and to the very large glass of wine she would be having.

  Within minutes of curtain-down, the backstage area was crowded with students and models hugging and high-fiving each other and making plans for the rest of the evening. India lost sight of Annabelle, whom she had last seen chatting with the student assigned to look after her. She was making her way toward the green room when Annabelle appeared at her side.

  “Quick. My dressing room,” she said. “This way. Now.”

  India ran behind, trying to keep up. “What’s the rush, Annie?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re somewhere quiet and you can hear yourself think.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “In a minute,” she muttered, squeezing behind a rack of clothes and opening the door of her dressing room.

  “Okay,” she said once they were inside. “Damien’s been trying to reach you. Sarah gave him my number. She’s gone into labor early and there are some complications but right now, she’s stable. They’re on their way to the hospital. He said she keeps asking for you.”

  “She’s not due for another two weeks,” India said. “Ron has my phone. Where is he? I have to get back to London. What time is it?”

  “Nine thirty. I’ll call Tess, see if she can get you on a red eye,” Annabelle said. “Here, use mine. Call Damien.”

  “God, I hope she’s going to be okay,” India mumbled pressing the keys. “Hello. Hello. Is that you Damien?”

  “India?”

  “Yes. What’s going on? I’m in New York. What’s happened?”

  “We’re at Ealing Hospital.”

  “Is Sarah okay?”

  “I think so. I hope so. They’ve taken her into surgery. They’re giving her an emergency caesarian. The baby has the cord wrapped around its neck. I’m outside the ER.”

  “Oh Damien, I’m sorry. I’m sure she’ll be okay. I’ll get there as soon as I possibly can. This must be so awful for you. I’ll text in a minute, when I know when I can get there.”

  She gave the phone back to Annabelle to call her assistant.

  “I’ll hold,” Annabelle said, then mouthing to India. “She’s checking now. Oh. Okay. Tess says the first direct flight is at seven twenty tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow? There’s got to be something sooner. I need to get there NOW.”

  “You’ve missed the last flight tonight. You have to be there two hours ahead. Next one leaves at seven twenty; shall she book it?”

  India looked defeated. “Okay. If she’s sure that’s the only option. What time does it get in?”

  “With the time difference, seven fifteen tomorrow evening.”

  “Shit. Okay.”

  “Go ahead and book. Yes, first class. Thanks, Tess. One way. Yes.”

  “I’ll text Damien and let him know. I feel so sorry for him. He sounds awful,” India said taking the phone from her sister.

  “I’m sure. Okay let’s go and get you a drink,” Annabelle said, putting her arm around her. “Here, let me fix your hair. You look like Helena Bonham Carter in a wind tunnel. Those are some sad ringlets.”

  India felt surreal as she walked into the crush of the after-party a while later. The room throbbed with the vibration of electronic music. A sea of fashionistas, photographers, and guests were crammed into one heaving space.

  “Hey India, come and meet some people. Have a drink,” Henry yelled, appearing at her side and lifting a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter. “Great job, India. Where’s Annabelle?”

  “She’s over with the Vanity Fair photographers,” India yelled back, taking a large sip from the glass. “Henry, how’s Peter? How’s Luella?”

  “Not sure. She’s still not picking up. I’ll try her again later. Come and charm the sponsors.”

  “Henry. Before we do, I have to tell you I’m leaving for London first thing in the morning. I won’t be able to go to the college tomorrow as planned.”

  Henry looked startled. “You can’t,” he said. “There’s a PR issue with Luella not here and we have all the interviews to tape with the winners for the video, and you’re the best at schmoozing Jean-Luc. We’re all booked for dinner at the Mandarin tomorrow night, remember?”

  “Henry I know. I know, but I have to go home. My best friend has just been taken to the ER. She’s having an emergency caesarian right now and I don’t know if she’s going to be okay or if the baby is going to…” She welled up. “Whatever…I need to be there. I have to get back. I’m already booked on a flight first thing in the morning.”

  “Let me think,” Henry said, taking her elbow. “Let’s move over there away from this crowd.” He leaned against the wall to let a group of photographers pass by.

  “All right. Okay,” he said. “We’ll have to manage. I’ll have Samantha reschedule things. I owe you one after tonight. You were great.”

  “Thanks Henry. Thanks for understanding. It means a lot,” she said. “If it’s okay with you I’m not going to stay too much longer here. My head’s thumping.”

  Henry put his hand on her shoulder. “I hope your friend is okay,” he said.

  India smiled gratefully. “So do I. So do I.”

  21

  Luella sat in a cab on her way back from the hospital staring out through the rain-soaked window into the bleak night. It had been a relief not to be allowed in to see Peter, she mused. At least now she had a few hours to get over the shock before she saw him tomorrow. She would hopefully deal with things more rationally after some sleep. In the hours since Peter’s sister had called, she had run the gamut of emotions, from terror and panic to suspense, relief and then anger. She was drained.

  Climbing into bed a little while later, Luella sank into a fitful sleep and woke again when it was still dark. She lay torturing herself with the thought that this crisis was somehow her fault, that she should have spotted the signs, and that they should have seen a counselor together months back. Maybe then she would have handled things better. Maybe Peter wouldn’t have felt so isolated.

  And what now? she thought. Where do we go from here? We have to move things forw
ard. Something has to change. We really can’t carry on like this.

  Luella dragged out of bed and showered. She dressed, forced herself to eat a piece of toast with her coffee, and drove back to the hospital. She’d been there over an hour by the time Peter was discharged.

  “We have to wait here to sign some forms,” he told her.

  “God Peter, what’s happening to us?” she murmured, gesturing around her at the peeling paintwork in the neon-lit hospital corridor. “It’s like some kind of alternate universe. Are you sure you’re okay? You look really bad.”

  “I’m fine. I just need a shave,” he said. “They don’t give you a lot of after-care when you’ve tried to kill yourself.”

  “I still think you should come back to the house with me.”

  Peter looked at her. “I’m not going to do it again if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Do you realize how lucky you are that Maisie found you in time?”

  “Lucky?” He sighed heavily. “I suppose so. She came by this morning. She’s furious with me.”

  A door swung open, and a harassed middle-aged nurse hurried toward them.

  “Sign here,” she said handing him a clipboard with his discharge papers. Peter signed the pages and handed them back to her.

  “Okay. You can go now, Mr. Laing. It’d be nice if we don’t see you back here again,” she said turning on her heel.

  “So much for her counseling techniques,” Luella muttered, giving Peter her arm as he stood up. “I’m going to drive you back and I’m going to stay over. Maisie could do with some sleep and I’ve nothing else to do tomorrow. I was supposed to be in New York at the Faux Fashion show.”

  “Oh god, Lu, I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “Yes, well…it was a relief if I’m honest about it,” she said as they walked slowly down the endless corridor and out to the crowded car park.

  They drove the mile to Peter’s sister’s house in silence where she greeted them at the door looking worn, her hair scraped back in an unflattering ponytail.

  “Hey. Come in,” she said wearily.

  “I’m going to bed if that’s all right,” Peter said.

  “Fine by me. I don’t want to talk to you anyway,” Maisie snapped. “Do you want a cup of tea, Luella?”

  Peter dragged himself up the stairs and they heard the bedroom door click.

  “Is it okay with you if I sleep over, Maisie? I’ll be fine on the couch,” Luella said, taking off her coat. “I thought as you were up all last night you might like to get some rest. I’ll be here if he needs anything.”

  “I’d be glad of that,” Maisie said. “I’m absolutely wiped. Must be the aftershock. Selfish bastard. What if I’d found him lying there dead? He didn’t think of that, did he? He made a god-awful mess too. Threw up all over the place, all over my new rug. Sorry. You don’t need to know. Did you say you want a cup of tea?”

  Luella followed her into the kitchen where she filled a teapot with scalding water and pulled out a couple of mugs. “Sugar?”

  “No thanks. Milk please,” she said, opening the door to the garden. “Give me a minute. I need a cigarette.”

  “God I needed that,” she said, pulling out a chair a few minutes later.

  “So, Lu. What’s going on with the pair of you?” Maisie asked her gently.

  “How do you mean?” Luella said, taking a sip of tea.

  “I know you’re having a rocky time of it and I haven’t wanted to get stuck in the middle. That’s why I’ve not been in touch. I assume there must be another woman; he’s always on the phone and he’s been away most weekends.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always. When Jack left me it took a year to get the truth out of him.”

  “Even more complicated than that.”

  Her sister-in-law looked at her quizzically. “How so? Please tell me it isn’t you. Are you having an affair? Tell me you’re not.”

  “No. Not me.” Luella took another mouthful of tea.

  “What then? You can’t come this far and not tell me. I have a right to know. He nearly killed himself in my house.”

  “Peter.” She took a deep breath. “Peter’s gay, Maisie.”

  “He’s what? Sorry? What? You’ve been married for twenty years for god’s sake.” Maisie jumped up, a look of complete disbelief on her face.

  “He’s been having an affair with a man for several years,” Luella continued.

  “Several YEARS? You knew?”

  “No, of course not. He told me a few months back.”

  “Lu, this is blowing my mind. I mean, he’s my brother. I’m finding this impossible to take in.”

  “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I really am.”

  “You’re going to have to give me a minute.” Maisie paced the kitchen a few times then sat back down again.

  “You know there was only ever you for him. You were the only one. I can honestly say I never gave a moment’s thought to Peter’s sexuality until this minute. It’s not anything that was even on my radar. You were always around weren’t you? You’ve always been part of our family ever since I can remember.”

  She held Luella’s hand across the table. “This must be so awful for you. I know you love him. I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

  “I probably should have told you before now, but I kind of left that for Peter to explain. I’m sorry to have broken this to you so clumsily.”

  “It’s okay. I understand. It must be so hard for you. Do you know the man he’s been seeing? Is it serious?”

  “I know who he is, but I’ve never spoken to him,” Luella said quietly.

  “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to? I mean, if you found out about another woman, you’d be around there like a shot to give her an earful. At least that’s what I did when Jack left me,” she added.

  “I’ve asked myself that a lot. I was scared. Whenever I thought about it…you know, the physical part…I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to imagine them together. Peter loves him, Maisie. He says he’s been the only one. I don’t understand that kind of love. I don’t judge it. I just don’t understand it.”

  “Me either. We have to get Peter to talk to us,” she said. “I feel so bad. I’ve been so angry. I suppose because he scared me so much. I still can’t take this in. I love the bones of him.”

  “Yes. I love him too,” Luella said, her eyes misty.

  “Look at the pair of us,” Maisie said smiling weakly through her tears. “Here, have a Kleenex.”

  “Thanks.”

  Luella blew her nose. “I have to get Peter to talk to me. It’s part of the reason I’m staying over. I was hoping we could talk properly in the morning. We’ve been trying, but it’s been hard. This kind of issue doesn’t come with a manual, and I don’t think I’ve been handling it the right way. Well, clearly I haven’t.”

  “I’m sure you’ve done the best you could. Don’t blame yourself, Lu. It’s nobody’s fault. I mean, I never guessed he was that depressed and he’s been living with me.”

  “Maisie, do you have anything stronger than tea? I could really use a brandy.”

  “Absolutely,” Maisie said, jumping up and reaching into a cupboard. “There’s Remy left over from last Christmas. Here,” she said, pouring it into two snifter glasses. “I could use a vodka, but Peter drank it all, two bottles of it the other night. I really am amazed he isn’t dead with that amount of booze and all those pills. Poor Peter. Imagine the strain of living with that secret all these years.”

  “Yes. It’s unthinkable,” Luella agreed, knocking back the shot.

  “We will be landing in London shortly, Miss Butler. Would you like anything before we turn the seat belt signs on?”

  Roused from an unexpectedly deep sleep, India sat up and looked around her in a daze. “An orange juice please. Do you know what time it is?”

  “Local time is six thirty.” T
he flight attendant smiled at her. “We’ve arranged transport and an escort to get you through immigration as quickly as possible.”

  ‘Thank you.” India smiled. “I hadn’t planned on sleeping so long.”

  “It’s good that you did. It makes the whole trip go so much faster, doesn’t it?”

  Still groggy, India grabbed her jeans and T-shirt from the cupboard in front of her and went to the bathroom to change out of the oversized airline pajamas and freshen up. Coming back to the seat, she sipped on her drink.

  It had been an overwhelming relief to see the text from Damien the previous night on the drive back to the St. Regis. She and Annie had hugged each other at the news. Sarah had had her little girl. She was underweight but otherwise healthy. There was something about Sarah being in intensive care but apparently that was normal after an emergency procedure. A few hours from now, she would be at the hospital. It was hard to imagine her friend with a baby. She felt a flutter of excitement at the thought.

  India was driven through the arrivals hall on a buggy, whisked through immigration, and at baggage claim, her case was one of the first off the plane. A driver was waiting for her and the traffic was light on the way to the hospital. Arriving at the maternity ward, she was directed to a private room.

  “She may be sleeping,” the nurse whispered, pushing open the door a little. “Let me look in and see.”

  India heard Sarah’s voice. “Please. I’d like to see her.”

  “Just for a few minutes then,” the nurse said gently.

  “Hi Sarah,” India whispered, creeping into the darkened room, carefully sidestepping a heart monitor and saline drip and leaning over to her. “How are you? Where’s the baby?” she asked seeing the bassinette was empty.

  “I’m okay,” Sarah whispered. “The pain killers are awesome, but when they wear off I feel like they’ve used a machete on me.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Where’s the baby?”

  “They’ve taken her away for the night,” she said. “I need to sleep. Damien’s gone home. He was up all night. He’s exhausted…”