Breaking the Rules (Harte Family Saga Book 7)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “Okay, General.” M grinned and hurried out.

  Luke turned to Caresse and said, “I want to make her a star, Caresse. For her, for myself, for you and Frankie. He was so determined to launch her, you know. Now it’s up to us to do it for him. She’s our legacy from him, in a sense, don’t you agree?”

  Caresse nodded and brushed her hand across her eyes as she unexpectedly teared up. “Frankie told me M was a natural, that he’d never seen anybody so relaxed in front of a camera, never seen a novice so professional. Skilled was the word he used. In fact, he kept saying to me that he thought she’d actually been trained to be a model but was keeping it to herself. I agree M does seem to have a lot of self-confidence, a certain kind of composure.”

  “It’s breeding,” Luke announced. “I don’t know where the hell she comes from or who her family is, but she’s got class, and that you can’t acquire. You’re born with it.”

  Caresse looked at him through narrowed eyes and murmured, “Frankie said almost the same thing. I’ll be honest, he raved about her so much after he’d developed the film, I got jealous. Frankie tried to explain it was only a professional thing; he said he admired her as a model, as an object to photograph, and that he wasn’t interested in her as a woman—”

  “I am, though,” Luke cut in. “I wouldn’t mind being entangled with her one bit. Want to know something? . . . I’d enjoy it.”

  “I think she’s seeing an actor,” Caresse volunteered.

  “Who?”

  “Larry Vaughan.”

  “No kidding!”

  “That’s what she told me anyway.”

  “But he’s not just an actor, he’s a movie star, for God’s sake! Do you think it’s serious?”

  Shrugging and making a face, Caresse said, “I don’t know, I don’t think so . . .” She gave him a long, hard stare. “So you’ve got the hots for M.”

  “Why not, she’s gorgeous.”

  “She’s a lot taller than you, Luke.”

  He burst out laughing. “What does that matter when you’re flat on your back?”

  “Luke! You devil. . . . I betcha there’s no chance with her. Not for you.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we? In the meantime, help me roll the Paris backdrops over to the middle of the studio, will you, sweetie pie? We’d better use the Champs-Élysées and the Eiffel Tower scenes to begin with. That’s what Tremont wants, well-known Paris backgrounds for these shots.”

  The two of them went out onto the studio floor and Caresse said, “Alex wants to help us with this shoot, and he’ll be here real soon. That’s okay with you, Luke, isn’t it?”

  “Sure it is, he’s a good kid. Anyway, I guess this whole shebang is his now, right?”

  “Yes, sure is,” Caresse responded and decided not to add that Frankie had left her a thirty percent interest in the studio complex. This was in a codicil he had added to his will about three weeks before they became engaged. She had been so touched when his lawyer told her about it she had cried herself to sleep for three nights, thinking about Frankie, the best man she’d ever known, and missing him like crazy.

  Caresse was amazed a short while later when Kate Morrell arrived with her assistant, Janet Gordon, the two women pushing a rack of clothes in garment bags. The thing that surprised her was the way the women handled the rack, especially since they were all dressed up in smart high-fashion outfits and teeteringly high Manolos. She couldn’t help wondering why they didn’t have an able-bodied young man to do this job.

  Caresse hurried forward and introduced herself, as did the two women who worked for Jean-Louis Tremont in New York, and then she opened the double doors to the studio complex and led them over to the biggest studio, where Luke was to do the shoot. They followed her, pushing the rack of garment bags.

  Luke and M paused when they reached the rack of clothes, and as he sorted through them, he said, “Since your hair is currently in a ponytail, I think we should start with day clothes, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. And I love this pale blue wool coat and the gray flannel suit. Oh, and just look at this black wool dress, Luke, the cut is fantastic.” Turning to him, she added, “I’ve always admired Jean-Louis’s clothes. . . . I’m going to enjoy modeling them, I really am.”

  “That’s great, I’m glad you feel that way. Now come on over and meet the two women from the shop. Kate Morrell has a lot of influence with Jean-Louis, but she’s very nice, tough but unassuming. You’ll like her, and just look at the excitement on her face, she can’t wait to meet you.”

  Luke guided M toward the two women at the far end of the studio, who stood waiting for them. When they came to a stop, Luke said, “Kate, Janet, this is M.”

  The three women shook hands, and Kate said in an enthusiastic tone, “I think you’re going to look wonderful in Jean-Louis’s clothes. I can’t wait to see you wearing them.” Addressing Luke, she continued, “I know you don’t like an audience when you shoot, but I would love it if we could see M modeling the clothes before we leave. Is that all right?”

  “Course it is, Kate. No problem at all, and I’m positive you’ll be thrilled. They look as if they’ve been designed just for her, don’t ya think?”

  “I do, yes. They’re from Jean-Louis’s fall and winter collection, which was shown in Paris this past July, and Janet and I brought along the shoes, gloves, and accessories which go with the different pieces. Janet has the list.”

  Janet immediately produced this and handed it to Caresse, who had already unpacked the smaller items. Walking over to the rack and signaling Caresse to come with her, Janet explained, “The pale blue pillbox hat goes with this pale blue winter coat, as do the dark beige shoes and matching leather gloves. Now, the pearls work with the black day dress and also the black lace cocktail dress. Every outfit has its own shoes, gloves, et cetera.”

  “I understand,” Caresse said. Glancing down at the list in her hand, she nodded. “Everything’s very clear, Janet, and it’ll make my job easier.”

  Luke suddenly announced, in a confident voice, “I don’t think Jean-Louis is going to be disappointed.”

  “Neither do I,” Kate shot back, sounding enthusiastic, a huge smile on her face. Seating herself on one of the tall stools and beckoning Janet to join her, she added, “Take your time, Luke, let’s work at your speed.”

  “We’ll start in a couple of minutes,” Luke responded, and he and M hurried over to the rack. M took the blue wool coat, and Caresse followed them into hair and makeup, bringing the matching pillbox hat, beige shoes, and gloves.

  When M walked out into the studio a few minutes later, Kate knew that this young woman was the ultimate, a winner. Her dark exotic looks were eye-catching, and she was beautiful in an offbeat way. An Audrey Hepburn look-alike, no two ways about that, but Kate realized that the makeup had been kept to a minimum, and she suddenly understood why. Luke wanted her to be M, to be herself, not a replica of anyone.

  Kate was also struck by the way the pale blue coat looked on her, better than on other models somehow. It had a round neck with no collar, two sets of buttons at the top, and dolman sleeves. An A-line coat with a grand flare at the back. And the pillbox hat was perfect. Jackie O, Kate thought, she wore hats like this.

  Oh, yes, this girl has something truly special, Kate decided. What also caught Kate’s attention was M’s body. She was tall, especially in the three-inch heels, lithe and unusually elegant. She moved gracefully, almost like a dancer, and there was a marvelous self-confidence about her as she walked and turned.

  “She’ll be at home on a catwalk,” Kate murmured to her assistant.

  “She’ll dominate it,” Janet whispered back. “She’s a natural, a real find.”

  Kate nodded. Without a doubt, this young woman, who rather enigmatically called herself M, was going to be a big star. The New Face of Jean-Louis Tremont, Kate thought. It would be the banner for their next show. M was exactly what they had been looking for for the longest time. Just what they had need
ed. And then another thought came to her, a somewhat revolutionary thought. They would make M a star before she modeled their spring-summer collection next year. Kate herself was going to make M a star now. If Luke’s pictures were as great as she believed they would be, they would use them immediately. What a boost for the current collection this would be. A new campaign, with M at the center of it.

  I’m inspired, Kate decided. Inspired by the mysterious M.

  Twenty

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

  Strategically placed to complement each other, the black-and-white photographs were stunning. They were arranged in a semicircle and highlighted dramatically by three high-intensity lamps.

  He studied the display for a long moment, finally nodded, 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, perfect tan, and sparkling brown eyes.

  It was Jean-Louis himself who stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the blowups. He moved closer, stared at them intently, 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 blowups, he added, “C’est magnifique, ah oui.”

  Luke beamed. “I’m pleased you like the display, Jean-Louis. It seemed to me the pictures looked more dramatic in black and white.”

  “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, his dark eyes twinkling. He liked her a lot, had taken to her instantly when they 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 blowups, and 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 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’s very loyal to them.”

  “No problem, none at all. But she told me yesterday that she’d like to have all the details herself first. 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.

  Kate stared at him, a look of bafflement on her face. “Why do you say that, and why are you laughing so hard?”

  “Because Caresse has always said that M is a tough cookie when it comes to business, although how she knows this I have no idea. Don’t misunderstand, she adores M, but then everyone does.”

  “I can see that, and I understand why, she’s a genuinely 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 always forged ahead undeterred, her heart set on accomplishing her ends. In this instance it was to make M famous before the January collections.

  She explained this to M and Luke, then told M, “I need you to come to the shop tomorrow, because we have to take your exact measurements. Jean-Louis had already designed part of the spring-summer collection; the rest he is 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, because Jean-Louis and I want you to photograph some of the pret-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, delighted they were so cooperative.

  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 blowups of M. She had gone home, 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 blowups 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 first saw them in Monte Carlo.

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

  Luke turned off one of the spotlights, and suddenly the mood of the studio was altered. Shadows were thrown across one of M’s blowups, giving her an eerie, ghostlike appearance. Luke shivered, gooseflesh prickling his neck, and he had a sudden premonition of disaster. Endeavoring to push this irrational feeling aside, he found he could not.

  Luke turned off the second light and was about to kill the last spot, but he did not. 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 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 herself, yet he still felt chilled to the bone, beset by troubling thoughts of the future. . . .

  Twenty-one

  M was not only frustrated but worried. And on the verge of becoming really angry. For the past few days she had been unable to reach Larry. Very simply, he wasn’t responding to her messages or returning her calls, and she couldn’t imagine why.

  She sat on the bed in her room at Geo’s, staring into space, her mind racing, her cell in her hand. And then she checked her watch for the umpteenth time. It was just past eight-thirty on Saturday morning. Five minutes ago she had tried to get Larry on his cell, but it was turned off. A split second later she had dialed the Four Seasons Hotel in Toronto and asked to be put through to Mr. Laurence
Vaughan’s room. The phone had just rung and rung, and she had finally ended the call in exasperation.

  She bit her lip, wondering what to do, then realized there was nothing she could do. Anyway, he was coming back to New York later today, after two weeks in Toronto with his father.

  Edward, unfortunately, had arrived a week ago, sooner than expected, and the mere idea of this troubled her. No wonder we kept playing telephone tag on Monday, she now thought, Edward is probably giving Larry a hard time, taking it out on him because he was forced to fly to Canada so that Larry could leave. Seemingly, Edward had better fish to fry when it came to being a good son.

  So why had he arrived sooner than expected? Don’t even go there, she told herself, stood up, pushed her phone into the pocket of her jeans, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

  Her mind remained focused on Larry as she made coffee. The first week he had been in Toronto they had spoken twice a day, but since last weekend they had been out of touch. Perhaps Larry wasn’t responding because there were problems with his father after all. M considered this possibility for a moment and dismissed it, chided herself for being stupid. Larry had told her that his father was in good shape, so his sudden silence might well have something to do with the arrival of his brother.

  The thought of Larry exposed to Edward filled her with dismay. But he was due back this afternoon. She would soon know everything, and things would normalize. In the meantime, she would just have to be patient. And she wasn’t going to phone him again either, because she didn’t want to be perceived as a nuisance. She knew she would hear from him the minute he arrived at the Beekman Place apartment.

  Taking her mug of coffee over to the table near the window, M sat drinking it, acknowledging that she was a little disappointed she hadn’t been able to share all of her good news with her fiancé. Fiancé. Yes, that was exactly what he was, and soon he would be her husband. Her thoughts turned to their marriage; she was well aware she would have to tell him who she really was before they went to City Hall to “tie the knot,” as he called it. If she married him under an assumed name, it would not be legal. She wondered what he would say when she told him her name wasn’t Marie Marsden—