Chapter 3
John called her the morning after her dinner party, and thanked her again for including him. But she had only a few minutes to spend with him on the phone. She was swamped. She was leaving for the Hamptons that afternoon, to stay with friends, and going to Paris the following week. She said she had a million things to do, and when he asked her to dinner, she said she didn't have time to see him before she left, which was relatively true. She could have changed some plans for him, but she didn't think that was a smart move. She was trying her best to resist her overwhelming attraction to him. She didn't want things to move faster than was comfortable for her, and she still wasn't sure she wanted to succumb to the lure of him. Emotional involvements were always dangerous, and she was leery of them. And if anything was going to happen, she wanted it to go slow, to give her time to think. She was in no hurry to rush into anything with him, no matter how appealing he was. And there was no denying he was very appealing. Maybe even too much so. She was suspicious of her own feelings for him. They were so powerful and nearly irresistible, it made her want to run away.
“In that case, you leave me no choice,” he said sensibly.
“About what?” She sounded confused. He had that effect on her, and it made her feel out of control, which frightened her.
“About seeing you. I guess I'll take you up on your offer, for a ticket to one of the fashion shows. I have meetings in London on the first, and I could fly to Paris late that afternoon. Is there a show I could come to then? But only if it's not a nuisance for you.” He didn't want to be a pest, but he wanted to see her again. And Paris appealed to him a great deal. She was startled by his offer.
“Are you serious?” She sounded stunned.
“I am. How does that fit into your plans?”
“Actually, that might be fun for you.” She tried to sound like a docent at an art exhibit rather than a woman he was pursuing, just for her own peace of mind. If she thought about it too much otherwise, she knew she'd get too scared. This was almost threatening. She was much too attracted to him. But on the other hand, he seemed like an incredibly nice man. He had no obvious defects, no visible character flaws, no bad reputation from all she'd heard. He was a good man. And she knew only too well how rare that was. So for the moment at least, she wasn't running scared. But she wasn't offering him closet space either, as Adrian had suggested she should. All she was going to do, if he was serious about coming to Paris, was offer to book a room for him at the Ritz. He would have plenty of closets of his own. “The Dior show is the night of the first, and it's the most theatrical and spectacular. I think you'll enjoy it, although the clothes aren't easy for anyone to wear. But Galliano does the show in unusual locations, and the clothes are incredible. If you like it, we can go to Lacroix the next day, which is always beautiful and almost like living sculpture. I'll get you a seat for both. And there's a big party the night of Dior. Would you like to come to that?”
“I'd love to come to anything you want me at. I don't want to intrude on you, Fiona. I know you have to work. I don't want to get in your way, but I'd love to come to any and all of it. I'm taking a few days off over the Fourth, and I don't have to rush back. My girls are both busy this year, so I can hang around as long as you want. Or leave the day after the Dior show, if you prefer.”
“Why don't we play it by ear? See how much you enjoy it, you might hate it. But most of the time it's a lot of fun. And if you've never seen the couture shows, they're a real spectacle, and the parties are fabulous. Everyone goes all out for the haute couture. It's like an art form in France, even cabdrivers know about it, and talk about the shows as though they've seen them.
They're very proud of all that in Paris. I think it's terrific of you to come over. Do you want me to get you a room at the hotel? We all stay at the Ritz. They may be booked, but I can give them a call, they know me pretty well.”
“That would be wonderful, Fiona. Just tell me where to show up when.” He was pleased with himself, and even more so with her. It was fun to step outside the confines of his safe, familiar world. And into her far more exotic one. It promised to be a real adventure for him. And maybe even for her too. Although Fiona seemed to vacillate between being warm and impersonal with him, which was a manifestation of her own ambivalence toward him.
“I'll have my secretary send you an itinerary.” She made it sound as though they were just friends, which worried him. She had been a lot friendlier the night before, but she had awakened worrying that she might have been too friendly—particularly if Adrian was talking about sharing closets. She wondered if she had given John the wrong impression at her dinner party. She didn't want him to think that she was chasing him, or too available. They both needed time to think about what they were doing before they did it, no matter how tempting it was. That was all the more reason to move cautiously, and she had every intention of doing that, particularly if he was coming to Paris. But she was thrilled he had decided to come. It was going to be a lot of fun to have him there, and she said as much to him. He could hardly wait. And she called him back an hour later to tell him he had a room at the hotel, near hers. There were only a few left, and she was relieved to have snagged one of them for him. She always stayed in the same suite on the Cambon side of the hotel. There were no rooms left overlooking the Place Vendôme, and she suspected he would have liked one of them, but she had to take what she could get, and had on his behalf.
“Thanks a million, Fiona, that'll be great.” He made a note to have his secretary call the hotel, give them his credit card details, and arrange to have a car pick him up at Charles de Gaulle. He was thrilled to know it was less than a week away. And Fiona was equally so as she drove to East Hampton late that afternoon. She was mildly sorry she had decided not to see him before she left. It might have been easier than seeing him again in Paris, for the first time since her dinner party. It felt a little weird that they hadn't had a date yet, and he was meeting her in Paris, but they would have plenty to keep them occupied. And Adrian would be there. She could send them off together, if Adrian was free and she had to work. But she was going to try and spend as much free time with John as she could. It was a great way to get to know each other, and a great place to do it.
She nearly had an accident thinking about him, in the heavy traffic on the Sunrise Highway, and she didn't get to East Hampton till that night. The traffic had been horrendous, and she was happy to see her friends. It was an easy, relaxed weekend with one of the senior editors of the magazine, her husband, and her kids. And when Fiona got home on Sunday night, John called.
“How's my rival?”
“Who would that be?” She sounded happy and relaxed after her weekend on the beach. And she was feeling more comfortable about him, particularly since she hadn't seen him all weekend.
“Sir Winston, of course. Did you take him to East Hampton?”
“He hates the beach. It's too hot for him, and he can't swim. He spent the weekend with Jamal. He just brought him home. He's always mad at me when I go away. He's going to summer camp next week.” In this case, it was truly a dog's life, one any man would have envied him, and John nearly did. He particularly liked the thought of lying around, sleeping on her bed, minus the snores.
“He's a lucky guy,” John said cryptically, and they discussed last details of the trip to Paris, and what sort of clothes he should bring. She told him then that nothing planned was black tie, but he needed a couple of dark suits. The Dior party was usually dressy. And there might be one given by Givenchy. Chic always gave a cocktail party, as did most of the big designers. Valentino, Versace, Gaultier, and Chanel always gave one in Coco Chanel's apartment on the rue Cambon.
They weren't going to lack for entertainment and social life. And the party Chic gave at the Ritz was always fun. Adrian was in charge of organizing it and inviting the guests. He always invited every movie star, singer, designer, celebrity socialite, and royal he could lay his hands on. People begged to come.
&nbs
p; She made a mental note the next day to tell Adrian to include John in the party Chic gave. John sounded genuinely excited about the trip. And in spite of her occasional conflict and concern about him, she still found John hard to resist, and she was just as excited as he. It was going to be fun to have someone to share Paris with. Someone other than Adrian and her other editors. It was going to be nice to be with a man again, for whatever reason, whatever purpose, friendship or other, for however long. And as she hurried off to a meeting thinking about it, she decided in a moment of bravado to give it a fair chance with John and throw caution to the winds. Who could tell, he might just be worth it. And what would life be without excitement and romance?
Chapter 4
The night flight to Charles de Gaulle from JFK was always too brief. Fiona did some work, ate dinner, settled back in the reclining seat under the comforter Air France provided in first class, slept for a few hours— and then hit the ground running.
She was at the Ritz by ten A.M., and after a shower, a change of clothes, and a cup of coffee, Fiona had a million things to do. She had meetings with the press attachés of the couture houses, usually met with the designer himself, and always got a glimpse of a few of the choice items from the show, which was a sign of their deep respect for her. Few editors, however important, were allowed into the inner sanctums of the couture houses and workrooms, the ateliers, before the shows. Fiona was. And after making the rounds of the most important houses on the first day, she met with Adrian and both their assistants that afternoon. Jet lag hadn't even had time to hit her by then, and Adrian was up to his ears in last-minute arrangements for the party they were giving. Fiona had already told him to put John on the list.
She and Adrian had dinner at Le Vaudeville that night, which was a small bistro they both liked, near the stock exchange, and where they were less likely to meet fashion people. Otherwise, they both liked L'Avenue, but Fiona wasn't in the mood to meet a dozen other editors, or a million models, who hung out there and at Costes as well. Her favorite restaurant of course had always been Le Voltaire, on the Left Bank on the Quai Voltaire. But they were both tired on their first evening, and happy to share a huge platter of oysters, and a salad, and go back to the hotel. They both knew that by the next day everyone would be in high gear and moving at full speed. The first show would be that night, and John was arriving from London in the late afternoon. Adrian had already teased her about it, and she had brushed him off, they had plenty of other things to talk about. The clothes they were going to be seeing, some of which Fiona had previewed that day, were for the winter season, and they were going to be fabulous if the samples she'd seen were any indication. The wedding dress at Chanel was beyond belief, with a heavy white velvet bell-shaped skirt bordered in white ermine, and a matching ermine cape trailing behind it, and it looked as if there were shimmering snowflakes resting on the veil. It was magical.
When she and Adrian said good night, she closed her door, took off her clothes, and was in bed in less than ten minutes. And she didn't hear another sound until her wake-up call the next day. It was a glorious, sunny summer day in Paris, and the sunlight was streaming into her room. She always slept with her curtains open in Paris, because she loved the light and the sky, night or day. There was a luminous glow to the night sky that fascinated her, almost like a large black pearl. She loved lying in bed and looking at it until she fell asleep.
Fiona's second day in Paris was even busier than the day before, and John had already arrived by the time she got back to the hotel late that afternoon. He called her room almost as soon as she came through the door.
“You must be psychic,” she teased. “I just walked in.”
“I know,” he confessed. “The concierge told me. I was talking to him about restaurant reservations. Where would you like to go?”
“I always love Le Voltaire.” It was small and chic and cozy, and all of the most elegant people in Paris went there, crowded at little tables, or squeezed into the two tiny booths. There was barely space enough for thirty people in the entire room, but it was where everyone who was anyone wanted to go. “But we're going to the Dior party tonight anyway, and I think Givenchy is doing something tomorrow. We can go to the Versace cocktail party before or after. Maybe we can go to the Voltaire after our party, if you're still here.” She wasn't entirely sure how long he was staying or how much high fashion he could stand. Most men would have had their fill, and then some, after a day or two, and he didn't look the type to linger long in a woman's world. She could never get enough of it, and it was her business. John was just a tourist.
“I'm here for the duration, if you want me,” he announced gamely, which was news to her. Originally, they had discussed a day or two. “I don't want to be a nuisance, or get in your way. I don't have to go back to London. We wrapped it all up today, and I cleared the decks in New York. So you've got me if you want me, and if you don't, then just ship me off and I'll go home.” He sounded more philosophical than he felt. He had sensed her conflict and ambivalence about pursuing their attraction to each other and didn't want to scare her.
“Why don't you see how you feel about it after you get a taste of it?” she said vaguely. “You may be sick to death of haute couture in a day or two.” But he knew it would take longer than that to be sick of her, at least he hoped so, but he didn't say that to her.
“So what are our plans? When do you want me?”
“The Dior show is at seven. That's what the invitation says. If we're lucky, they'll start at nine. Dior is always a zoo, they never start on schedule, they're always late. They'll still be sewing beads on dresses and finishing hems at seven, but it's the best show. And they do it in crazy locations they announce at the last minute. We just found out it's at the train station, so it's not too far away. If we leave here at seven-thirty, we'll be fine. I don't want to sit there for two hours. And if by some miracle they start earlier than usual, we'll still be okay.”
“Coat and tie, I assume?” He had no point of reference, and Fiona laughed at the question.
“You can go naked if you want. At Dior, no one will notice.”
“I'm not sure if that's reassuring or insulting.” At least he hoped she would, but she had given him no indication that she was going to pursue, or even accept, a romantic liaison with him, particularly a physical one. He had sensed the magnetic pull between them from the beginning, but there were times when she was very cool. And despite the romantic surroundings in the most beautiful city in the world, here Fiona appeared to be all business. But that was, after all, why she was here, so he understood it. He wondered if they'd get any time alone before he left. But whether or not they did, he knew he would enjoy being with her, and it was fun for him to be immersed in a world that was so entirely different. This was a rare treat for him, and he was excited to share it with her. He suspected it would give him huge insights into her and the world she ate, slept, drank, and breathed. Fashion was the very fiber of her being.
“I'll meet you downstairs at seven-fifteen,” she said briskly. She had calls to return and things to do before she met up with him, and then suddenly her voice softened, and she sounded more human. “Thanks for coming, John,” she said gently, “I hope you have fun here. And if it gets to be too much, just come back to the hotel and swim in the pool.”
“Don't worry about me. I'm looking forward to it, Fiona.”
“Good. I'll see you downstairs.” She hung up quickly, and predictably it was seven-thirty when he saw her hurrying through the lobby. There were a million people milling around, or so it seemed, the usual summer tourists who stayed at the Ritz and came from everywhere and those who had come for the haute couture. There were models, photographers, editors, reporters, clients of haute couture wearing their prizes from the last shows in January, European, American, Arab, and Asian women, with their husbands in tow, and a crowd of gawkers staring at them all. And outside the hotel there were groupies and paparazzi waiting to snap photographs of anyone well know
n. According to the whispers in the crowd, Madonna had just cruised through moments before. Like most of the other stars staying in the hotel, they were going to the Dior show. Moments later Fiona and John slipped into the chauffeured car she'd hired for her stay, and they sped off toward the station. Adrian and both their assistants were following in a separate car. Their photographers were already at the train station, and had been set up there for hours. The shots they got were all important. The haute couture shows in Paris were the World Series of Fashion.
As Fiona glanced over at him, she smiled in amusement. “I can't believe you're doing this with me. You're a hell of a good sport, John.”
“Just ignorant, I guess. I have no idea what I'm getting into.” But it already seemed like fun to him. He loved the atmosphere and the underlying sense of tension and anticipation. “How are they going to do this in a train station?” They were headed toward the Gare d'Austerlitz.
“God knows. We'll see. If I lose you after the show, find the car outside, or meet me back at the hotel.” She was anticipating barely controlled chaos, which was an appropriate assumption at almost any of the shows.
“Do you want to pin my address to my shirt? My mother did that once when we went to Disneyland. She had absolutely no confidence in my ability to remember my own name. She was right of course. I got lost as soon as we got there.”
“Just don't forget mine,” she said with a rueful grin as they got out of the car, and fought their way through the crowd. Their VIP tickets were large silver cardboard invitations that were easy to spot, but in spite of that, it took them nearly twenty minutes to fight their way through. It was after eight by the time they got in, and were taken to leopard-printed directors' chairs set up on the platform. The chairs seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. And the theme was, as Fiona already knew, African jungle.
Second Chance Page 5
