Love in Vogue (30 page)

‘Actually, I think he decided to go home because of his daughter. He seemed to want to be a proud papa.’

‘Philippe? You can’t be serious.’

Yolande shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, that was my impression. I had quite a conversation with him at the Hervy gala in October. I didn’t tell you about it because it was all still secret. He’s changed, though you’d never guess it when he’s putting on his party face. But I’ll bet his return had an effect on Corinne, even if it wasn’t the one she expected.’

‘Really, Yolande.’

‘Well, I’ve tried everything to make it up with her. I only hope she’s happy, even if she never wants to see me again.’

‘Oh, come on, darling.’ Grace hugged her again. ‘It’ll work out once she’s settled down. She always takes her time.’

‘I’m going home in August, anyway, so she won’t be able to avoid me. I suppose we’ll have to reach some sort of agreement over the apartment and Le Manoir.’

‘You’re not really going to sell out, are you?’

‘I haven’t got much choice.’

‘But surely you don’t want to break up the art collection? It’s the work of generations. You
must
try to come to a sensible arrangement.’

Yolande stared out at the passing traffic, stroking her mother’s hand. She didn’t want to talk about it. All these rows – because of Patrick. Patrick, who had kissed her tenderly goodbye in the VIP lounge at Los Angeles that morning, saying he would miss her. But she had caught the flicker of a smile on his face before he turned away, and it couldn’t be just because he was looking forward to his mother’s visit. She wondered whether he was with Jayne Herford. But her mother must never know. No one must even guess. It was too degrading.

‘Did you know that Franco will be in town just after Easter?’ asked Grace.

Yolande brightened up at once. ‘How lovely! Where’s he staying? I suppose he’s left Hervy now?’

‘Yes – back in January. He’s going to open a boutique on Madison. I think he’ll have one on Rodeo Drive as well, so you’ll be able to keep up the connection in L.A. There was an article about it all in last month’s
Vanity Fair
, but there have been delays because his financial backer collapsed. In fact, Corinne is putting up the money for his label now. He’ll be managed by Marchand.’

‘What! When did all this happen?’

‘Very recently. There’s a strange connection somewhere with your shares,’ continued Grace, ‘but I’m not sure if I’ve got it straight. Franco was getting the finance for his label through Ulrich von Stessenberg. He owned that holding company you sold your shares to, didn’t he?’

‘Yes – but I didn’t know that at the time.’

‘Well, Stessenberg’s company folded about a month ago. There’s not been much about it in the press. Franco was in a complete hole, so he went to Corinne and she’s launching him as an independent designer within the Marchand group.’

‘So what’s it got to do with me?’

‘Apparently Stessenberg was building a stake in Marchand to sell to Pedersen Corporation – then Pedersen would have launched a takeover bid.’

Yolande was thunderstruck. Hank Pedersen, Ulrich von Stessenberg, Patrick’s film. She had met Althea Pedersen and Stessenberg at the same time. But there was surely no link with Vic Bernitz and
Fast and Loose
. Or was there? Patrick, she recalled, had been deep in conversation with Althea Pedersen and Vic at the Hervy gala. Had Hank Pedersen manipulated the whole thing to get her to sell her stake in Marchand Enterprises? It was impossible. It had to be. Yolande shut her mind to the thought that she had been set up. She felt a big enough fool already.

The rest of the journey was given over to a discussion of the social engagements her mother had planned for her. It promised to be a fun fortnight. Grace knew everyone worth knowing in New York, and was determined to get Yolande back into the swing of things. If, as she suspected, the relationship with Patrick was disintegrating, something – or somebody – would have to be found to fill the void.

It was while she was waiting for a call from Patrick on Easter Sunday that Yolande caught up with the
Vanity Fair
article on Franco’s new label. There was a full-page photo of him with his wicked lop-sided grin. Dear Franco. It would be great to see him again. Since settling in California she’d been deprived of friends on her own wavelength, and was only now beginning to appreciate the advice he’d given her about Patrick. She smiled when she remembered his seduction attempt in her car after that fateful meeting with Vic Bernitz at Gianni’s, but the smile faded once she started reading about Stessenberg, who was also pictured, sleek and professional, in a Rivera suit.

Her thoughts kept straying back to that evening with him and Hank Pedersen’s horrendous wife at Le Grand Véfour. And Patrick. Had he been part of a covert deal to get her shareholding in Marchand?

The telephone rang. She answered it immediately.

‘Hello, is Grace there?’

It was Yves. Yolande just held the receiver by her ear, unaccountably affected by his voice.

‘Hello? Hello?’

‘Yves. It’s me – Yolande.’

‘How are you?’ he asked after a pause. She could almost hear the lump in his throat.

‘Fine.’

‘Is your mother at home?’

‘No. She’s at church with Tex.’

She hadn’t gone with them because she didn’t do organised religion except for weddings and funerals, but she couldn’t be bothered to excuse herself. Yves probably thought her morally bankrupt anyway.

‘Shall I take a message?’ she asked, rather put out by his silence. ‘Is it important?’

‘That depends. Wait – here’s Philippe. He’ll explain it all much better than I can.’

‘Hello, Yolande! What’s a beautiful girl like you doing so far away?’

‘Reading,’ she said primly.

‘What a waste!’

‘Are you at home?’

‘Where else? It’s beautiful here. Everything’s marvellous. I’m getting married, by the way.’ He swore that his happiness would only be complete if she promised to come with Grace and Tex to his wedding, which was being arranged for St Xavier in August. It didn’t conflict with her plans, and she gladly accepted the invitation. What a relief that someone at home still liked her. Philippe talked a lot about Claire, and was quite ecstatic over Isabelle. He sounded so buoyant, she was envious. He was going to have everything she wanted with Patrick; everything that now seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

‘What are you doing in the Big Apple, anyway?’ Philippe asked at last. ‘Tired of the movies already?’

‘Patrick’s mother came to stay. I’ve hardly had a minute’s peace since I got here. Mummy’s been dragging me out to parties.’

‘How very decadent of her. Don’t forget to tell her she
must
come. I’m putting Yves back on. Look forward to seeing you, my darling.’

She heard a slight altercation, then Yves was on the line again. ‘Are you coming to the wedding?’ he asked, more for the sake of saying something than because he was interested in her answer. At least, that’s how it sounded.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s good.’

‘How’s your mother?’

‘Philippe’s arranged a consultation for her with a top surgeon, so I’m hopeful of progress at last. He’s rather taken over since he got back.’

‘I expect you could do with a break,’ Yolande said. ‘Give her my love, won’t you? I hope it all goes well.’

He thanked her and rang off, with barely a word of farewell. Yolande was hurt. There was no need for him to hate her, though they had broken up; they had been friends since childhood. He didn’t possess even a fraction of Philippe’s warmth and charm. Patrick’s call came through fifteen minutes later, and his endearments were soothing. He flatly denied any knowledge of Pedersen Corporation’s plan to take over Marchand Enterprises, swore that he missed her desperately, and his mother was sorry not to have seen her, and quelled her anxiety by stating that Jayne Herford was spending the holiday on her Montana ranch with Sam MacPherson, one of the supporting actors. Yolande thought it was silly to get wound up over nothing, and forgot her suspicions. When Grace and Tex returned, she was curled up on the sofa with a mug of coffee and the
New York Times
, several of its unread sections scattered on the floor. It was the most normal Sunday she had had for months.

Franco was hovering expectantly in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel, and almost knocked over two other guests in his haste to get to Yolande, who sauntered past the doorman wearing one of his dresses and a beaming smile. He hugged her tightly, and they kissed on the lips.

‘
Carissima
, you look gorgeous. But where’s the belt for this dress?’

‘I never wear it. Don’t you think it looks better without?’

He glanced at her critically. ‘On you, yes. But it wouldn’t on a shorter woman. Still, I designed this with you in mind. It matches your eyes.’

They linked arms. ‘Is it all right if we lunch here?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got some samples in my suite I’d like you to look over.’

‘Lovely.’

‘Why didn’t you bring Patrick?’ Franco asked. ‘I’ve got a few items he’d appreciate too.’

‘He’s not with me.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, definitely
oh
.’

When they were seated at a table in the Palm Court, he demanded an explanation.

‘Don’t misunderstand me, Franco,’ she said, trying to play down the remark, let out in the rush of feeling at seeing a friend at last, ‘we haven’t broken up. But Patrick’s so wrapped up in the film, all the fun we used to have doesn’t even interest him now.’

‘Shame. I was hoping he’d do my collection in Milan this October.’

‘So you’re going to be based in Milan?’

‘Yes, but I’ll have a boutique in Paris. Left Bank, of course. There’s no threat to you titans of
haute couture
.’

Yolande laughed. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know how many ripples you’re causing already, Franco. I’m just waiting for the scents and accessories. Are you really opening up on Rodeo Drive as well?’

‘Of course. The Rivera style is going to be the only style this millennium.’

‘I hope someone’s told Armani,’ she said.

Franco snapped his fingers, his eyes twinkling. ‘Don’t forget the Roman Empire split into two, Yolande. It could happen again. In fact, if your sister has anything to do with it, I’m sure it will.’

‘I have to say I’m surprised at her involvement. She was never that interested in fashion.’

Franco looked at her keenly. ‘You underestimate her, Yolande. I did too, but I’ve got to know her in recent weeks. She has a very acute understanding of the business and a real gift for spotting future trends. She’s been brilliant. I wouldn’t be here now without her.’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m her biggest fan. But she doesn’t want me.’

He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. ‘Idiot. She’s got a photo of you on her desk.’

It was music to her ears. It was so good to talk to him. He made her laugh, made her feel necessary. When he asked her how Guy Monthély was getting on at Hervy, she realised how out of touch she had become. She didn’t have a clue.

‘I’ve heard whispers that Corinne’s going to ask me back to work on Hervy’s
prêt-à-porte
r lines.’

‘But won’t that take away from your own label?’

‘I’d have to keep the Hervy look, naturally, so there shouldn’t be a conflict. My label’s for a different market. Now, tell me all about
you
. It’s forever since I saw you.’

Later, over coffee, she asked a few questions about Stessenberg, but gleaned little. Stessenberg had simply dropped off the map.

‘Probably avoiding his creditors,’ said Franco. ‘They’re said to be extremely unpleasant people.’

‘So what’s the deal with you and Corinne? Could you buy her out?’

‘If I make good profits, yes. But not for years yet. You wouldn’t believe the rents we’ve agreed on those boutiques. But I must have an upmarket image, or the whole concept will be useless.’

Upmarket his designs certainly were. Silk, satin, cashmere, beautifully cut to fit comfortably, yet flattering the natural lines of the body. Yolande tried on a couple of dresses, but was most taken with a beige summer trouser suit. Perfect for California.

‘You can take it,’ Franco said, hanging the garments she had tried back on a rail. ‘Go on. It’s a present.’

‘You made it for me, didn’t you’?’

He smiled, approaching her. ‘Yes. I told you I was going to miss you, Yolande. You have no idea how much.’

She eyed him apprehensively, conscious that this time they were in a hotel suite with a bedroom only next door. He slipped his arms around her waist. ‘Come and model for me in October.’

The invitation she had been waiting for – a lifeline out of Hollywood, back to Europe. Back to her career. But it would mean leaving Patrick for some while, and she was already planning to be away from him during August. She hesitated.

‘Please,
carissima
.’

‘I’d love to,’ she said at last. ‘Thank you, Franco.’

‘There are other ways of saying thank you,’ he replied, holding her tighter.

‘I know you want to be upmarket, but don’t you think your price is just a little steep, darling?’

He had to laugh.

‘I’m not going to sleep with you, Franco.’

His lips drew closer.

‘Please don’t.’

‘Why not? We’ve got hours.’

‘But I have a boyfriend.’

More laughter. His mouth hovered over hers. ‘Just a kiss, then.’

She didn’t have a chance to say no. Perhaps it was a longer kiss than she intended, and his hands did begin to stray, but she left ten minutes later with the trouser suit in a box and a definite engagement for his Milan show. He promised to do his utmost to attend a cocktail party her mother was holding the following evening. Franco was quite convinced that by the autumn Yolande would be free of Patrick and more receptive to his caresses. His career as an independent designer would certainly start with a blaze of publicity. When Yolande Marchand stepped onto a catwalk, everyone else was eclipsed.

Claire kept trying to tell herself to behave as normally as possible, not to be nervous. But it was impossible. Everything was happening too quickly. She was only just getting used to the idea that she was going to marry Philippe, when she was faced with this formal visit to his family. The little he had told her of Marie-Christine wasn’t reassuring; she was religious, she hadn’t been interested in Isabelle. Innocent little lsabelle, strapped into her child seat at the back of the BMW with some of her toys, continually asking when they would reach Papa’s château.