Lovers in Their Fashion Read online

  John had remained silent as he digested the implications.

  ‘It’s a heck of an offer,’ Tony had said. ‘Take over from McGarrick, your next move would be Chief Exec. And if you don’t take it…’

  ‘It won’t be offered again,’ John had finished his sentence for him.

  ‘Worse than that. If you don’t take McGarrick’s job, they’ll offer it to Roger Neal. He doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t like me. I can’t see either of us lasting very long with Roger in charge.’ He did not add that, if it came before his qualification period was up, Neal’s appointment could cost him not just his job but also his right to remain in Britain and his citizenship – but John knew it, whether it was said or not.

  John drank the last of his water and stood up. He would take his dinner in the hotel restaurant. There was going to be a lot to think about while he ate.

  Chapter 9

  Alice never enjoyed receiving calls from her mother, and she enjoyed this one even less than usual. It had only got through because neither David nor Marissa, Alice’s PA, was at their desk.

  ‘What on earth have you done?’ The voice seethed with fury.

  ‘Hello, mother,’ Alice said. ‘Nice to speak to you, too.’

  ‘Don’t be clever with me, my girl. You’d be nothing without my care. Nothing. And you do this to me.’

  ‘Do what, mother?’

  ‘Martin Planer sent me home from work today. He says I’m suspended.’

  ‘And what has that to do with me?’

  ‘There’s some trumped up story that I’ve taken money from the company.’

  Alice took a deep breath. Had she ever confronted her mother, Merrill had wanted to know? There was another question Merrill could have asked, but hadn’t. Was Alice prepared to go on “helping out” her mother without making it clear she knew the truth? Whether Merrill had asked it or not, this was a question Alice had faced up to in the hours since Planer had come so close to tearing off her clothes. She had decided she knew the answer. That didn’t make it any easier to put into practice.

  ‘Mother,’ she said. ‘If the story is trumped up, you’ve nothing to worry about. Have you?’

  There was silence from the other end of the phone line. Alice decided there would never be a better moment to end years of denial. ‘Thanks to you, mother,’ she said, ‘Martin Planer came very close to raping me last night.’

  Another silence. Then her mother said, ‘Really, Alice. Rape! What a ridiculous flight of imagination. Is this how you made your career? Embroidery and fantasy?’

  ‘Mother…’ Alice attempted to break in, but her mother was in full flow.

  ‘No wonder you’re still single, Alice, if you react to the natural inclinations of a red-blooded man by crying rape!’

  ‘I suppose you think I should have lain back and thought of England?’

  ‘It could have been the making of you. You need a man, Alice.’

  ‘Do I? Well, it won’t be Martin Planer.’ Alice found herself shrieking. ‘Your own daughter is physically assaulted! And you tell her it’s what she needs? Are you completely insane?’

  ‘Now you listen to me, my girl. It is because of Martin that I am making this call. He has made this very clear. He expects you to give him what he wants.’

  Alice’s heart beat so fast she felt she might faint. ‘Are we talking money here, mother?’

  ‘Money, yes. But first he wants the other thing. The physical thing.’

  ‘Mother. You can not be serious.’

  ‘He wants you to know this, Alice. He will book a suite in the best hotel you can think of. Anywhere in the world. You can choose. But unless you and he have spent a weekend together, as man and wife, with all that entails…’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re pimping your own daughter.’

  ‘…unless you have done that before this month is out, he will hand me over to the police.’

  ‘I thought you said the story was trumped up?’

  ‘I will go to jail, Alice. And if you won’t overcome your ridiculous scruples for my sake, then think of the effect on your father. You could kill him, Alice. And all for the sake of a harmless romp in the hay.’

  The phone went dead. Slowly, Alice placed the handset back in the cradle. She was shaking like a leaf. David, who had been lurking outside her office during the latter part of the conversation, put his head round the door.

  ‘Alice? I say, are you all right?’

  Alice shook her head.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  Alice stared over his shoulder. After a long pause she said, ‘No, David. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.’

  As always, Alice changed her clothes when she returned to the penthouse that evening. A dislike for the constriction of tights was something she shared unknowingly with Cathy. At this time of year bare legs were fine, and she never felt more comfortable than when in one of her collection of loose cotton skirts. It was, of course, impossible that anyone in her business could go to the office dressed like that, but she made up for it in her own time.

  The phone call this evening was somewhat more agreeable than the one from her mother though it, too, produced its own frisson.

  ‘We’re going to a party,’ Merrill said. ‘When? On Saturday. Where? In Brighton. Who with? Friends of mine. I am assured that highly available men of a calibre to satisfy the most demanding temptress will throng the event.’ Merrill became aware of the lack of response. ‘Alice? Say “Good”, at least.’

  Alice shook herself. ‘I’m sorry, Merrill. Yes, that’s great. Tell me all about it.’

  ‘I will,’ said Merrill. ‘But not on the phone. I have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot on ice, and a Thai meal for two on its way. The real thing, not that phony supermarket rubbish. Put whatever you were going to eat back in the fridge or into the garbage disposal. Get into the elevator. I shall open my door in precisely one hundred and eighty seconds and I shall expect to see you there when I do. And you will kindly be agog, and hanging on my every word.’

  ‘I’m agog,’ said Alice.

  ‘And hanging on my every word?’

  ‘Utterly suspended.’

  ‘Then you may enter.’

  Alice took a seat and accepted the flute of nicely chilled champagne Merrill held out to her. ‘So,’ she said. ‘A party. Tell all.’

  Merrill folded her legs under herself and sipped from her own glass. ‘Bernice Hutchins,’ she said. ’American, like me, and I’ve known her for ever. Her husband’s a big wheel in financial services here. They have the most enormous apartment in Brighton and they’re throwing a party. It’s a networking event, really, for Ed to press the flesh and say thank you for past favours. Wheelers and dealers, movers and shakers, and many of them single. You’re bound to know people there.’

  Alice nodded. Even if the evening produced no fanciable man for her – and she expected no success on that front – the opportunity to network with captains of industry was one she had learned to accept when possible. You never knew when a contact would become useful.

  ‘I’ve booked us two rooms for the night,’ Merrill went on. ‘Though I have to tell you I hope we’ll be using them only for changing in and not for sleeping. Unless it’s with a man, of course, in which case who’ll be sleeping?’ She laughed her infectious laugh. ‘I chose the hotel because it’s near Bernice’s flat, it has king size beds and it’s famous for its discretion. You know what Brighton’s like.’

  ‘Not really,’ Alice said.

  ‘You British,’ Merrill sighed. ‘You have so much history you don’t appreciate it. The Prince Regent, my dear. The Royal Pavilion. Brighton Pier. The Lanes. The Races. Brighton Rock.’

  ‘I see. And we’ll be taking all of this in, will we?’

  ‘Us? Are you mad? This is merely the backdrop to our conquest of two of the most eligible men on the planet.’

  ‘You know who they are?’

  ‘Not by name, no. B
ut they’ll be there. And they’ll be totally unable to resist us.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ smiled Alice, and did not add, “But I may well be able to resist them.”

  Next morning was a full one for Alice, with visits from two internationally known models and a conference with the events company that was organizing the first showing of Marco Antonetti’s sensational designs. Models and organizers alike expressed an almost petulant dissatisfaction at not being allowed actually to see the clothes they were respectively to wear and to display, but Alice was adamant. Enormous commercial advantage hung on maintaining total secrecy until the actual morning of the show.

  All the activity in the world, however, could not have prevented her thoughts from straying to Brighton and that weekend’s party. Perhaps Merrill was right. Maybe it really was time to move on; time to try to fill the hole in her life. She was increasingly conscious of that gap. Sadly, she was also aware that it was a hole with a very particular shape and she feared that only one man alive could fill it.

  There was also an intrusion of a less welcome kind. Just before lunchtime, a motorcycle courier arrived with a package that, he said, could be delivered only to her. Bike deliveries were commonplace at House of Pharaoh; in a business as fast-moving as high fashion they are often the only way to move with anything like the necessary speed the samples and confidential documents that cannot be entrusted to fax or email. This one, though, was far from welcome to its recipient.

  David laughed aloud as Alice unwrapped a basque in peach coloured lace with black silk inserts and tiny matching panties. ‘Who on earth imagines House of Pharaoh would handle something like that?’

  Alice’s heart hammered against her ribs as she pushed the garments back into the tissue paper with the black lace stockings she had not opened. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘There’s a note,’ David said.

  ‘We’ll ignore it, shall we?’

  ‘Sure. Do you want me to get rid of it?’

  Alice dropped the package into the waste paper bin beside her. ‘Perhaps the cleaner would like it,’ she said.

  David left the office early to see Katie in a school play. Feeling almost physically sick, Alice scooped the package out of the bin and slipped it into her briefcase. She left immediately for home.

  Once there, she examined the basque, panties and stockings. They must have cost a lot of money. Oh, that so much could be wasted on such appalling taste! She unfolded the note.

  ‘Dear Alice. Today is the fifteenth. The first of next month falls on a Tuesday. The Friday before, you and I will have set off on our weekend of pleasure. I should like you to be wearing something tasteful and demure. Beneath it, these. Yours in anticipation.’

  The note was not signed. It did not need to be. A few minutes later, the phone rang. She picked it up in trembling hands.

  ‘Do you like my present?’

  ‘I think it’s vile.’

  ‘Our tastes differ. Have you chosen a venue?’

  ‘I’d rather die.’

  ‘Knowing that is part of the pleasure. But do not imagine that I am bluffing.’

  ‘I’ll pay whatever my mother has stolen.’

  ‘That won’t be enough, I’m afraid. I intend to have you, Alice. All of you. And you may as well know that I do not intend to be gentle.’

  There was a click as Planer hung up the phone. Alice ran to the bathroom and tried to be sick, but nothing came.

  It was only later that the question occurred to her. Planer had rung within minutes of her return home. How had he known she was there? She put her shoes on and hurried to the elevator. Moments later she was running out onto the street. She looked hard in each direction. If Planer had been there, he wasn’t there now.

  Chapter 10

  She got through the days somehow. David knew something was wrong, Marissa knew something was wrong and Merrill knew something was wrong, but none of them could get her to talk about it. Alice knew what she was going to have to do. She knew that Planer would call again, and she knew what she would say.

  When the call came, Planer said nothing. Alice could hear his breathing, unhurried and assured, as he waited for her to speak.

  ‘Honfleur,’ she whispered, the word squeezed out of dreadful pain.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Honfleur. On the coast of...’

  ‘I know where it is. What I don’t understand is why a Normandy fishing village when you could go anywhere in the world.’

  ‘You said I could choose.’

  ‘Very well. Honfleur it is.’

  Her voice sounded tiny, even to herself. ‘There’s a converted sixteenth century presbytery. I can’t remember its name. A restaurant with rooms, really. It’s on the Quai de la Quarantaine.’

  ‘I’ll find it. May I ask why there?’

  ‘It’s…private.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll pick you up at midday on that Friday. From home. Whatever you were going to do, cancel it.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘And don’t forget to wear my gift.’

  Alice sat for a long time with the phone clenched in her fist. Then she rang her mother.

  ‘I have agreed to do as you asked.’

  Her mother sounded relieved. ‘I’m sure that’s the sensible course of action.’

  ‘I will do what I have to do. I will let that man…I will let him do what he wants to do.’

  ‘Really, Alice, you make it sound like an appointment with an executioner instead of a pleasant weekend with an eligible man. If you’d let a few more men do what they wanted to do, you might be a happier person.’

  Alice hung up. Her anger was such she could not have continued the conversation without breaking down. And she would not break down. She would make this sacrifice, not for her mother’s sake but for her father’s. And she would be strong. She would make it clear that this was the last time she would come to her mother’s aid. She would go to the party. She would meet a man. Because she must, she would absent herself for a weekend in Normandy. And then she would get on with her life.

  Merrill drove them both to Brighton. Alice had no car, there always being someone paid to drive her where she wanted to go, and neither of them wanted to travel to a party by train.

  If Alice was quiet on the journey, Merrill chatted enough for both of them. On arrival they found that the hotel had no parking of its own, but a member of staff took Merrill’s car away while they went upstairs to unpack and change. They did the latter together in Alice’s room, supposedly so that they could go on talking but really because they were both a little nervous about what was to come.

  Merrill had ordered a bottle of champagne and smoked salmon sandwiches to be waiting for them. ‘You know what parties are like. Who knows how long we’ll have to wait for something to eat?’

  As it happened, she need not have worried. Bernice had retained what she described as “the best caterers on the south coast”, and Alice was ready to believe the description. As she circulated, glass and plate in hand and constantly replenished, she met a number of people she knew so that any uncertainty she might have been feeling soon dissipated.

  Bernice appeared at her shoulder. ‘Don’t look now,’ she murmured, ‘But there’s a guy over there who’s really keen to meet you.’

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ said Alice.

  ‘His name’s Michel LeGrand. One of those intimidatingly educated Frenchmen, you know? He’s 35. A nice age, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘He’s single?’

  ‘Divorced. He’s a journalist. Covers the UK beat for one of the quality French papers. His ex got the Washington job. Word is, Michel was chagrined. Though no doubt he wouldn’t pronounce it the way I do.’

  Alice laughed.

  ‘Do you want to meet him?’

  ‘Sure,’ Alice said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ll take you over. But listen, honey, don’t fire all the shots in your locker if you know what I mean. If this one doesn’t light your fire, there’s othe
rs here who will. Tony Frejus for starters.’

  ‘That’s an interesting name.’

  ‘For an interesting guy. I’d introduce you to him before Michel, but he seems to have a heavy conversation going with my husband. Ed doesn’t like it if I interrupt something that might mean business.’

  ‘How’s Merrill doing?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about her,’ Bernice said. ‘Merrill is going to make out fine. In every sense of the word. You do know why she’s doing this?’

  ‘I guess she wants a man in her life,’ said Alice.

  ‘She wants her mother off her back,’ Bernice replied. ‘The old girl’s starting to wonder when she’s going to see grandchildren. She’s been at Merrill to go home to LA so she can introduce her to some eligible men. Merrill likes it here, so she needs to find some British guy to take back there and show off. Reduce the pressure.’

  Both women laughed as they crossed the floor towards Michel LeGrand. Bernice made the introductions and left. Alice, noticing that he was standing alone, had wondered whether he was intimidated by lack of facility in the language, but she soon found that Michel’s English, though charmingly accented, was impeccable.

  ‘You’re not drinking,’ she said, noticing the still mineral water in his glass. The last thing she wanted was to be paired off with an alcoholic.

  ‘I may have to drive,’ he said. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll be called back to London. A story I’m covering could break tonight.’

  ‘You live in London?’

  ‘Hammersmith. And you?’

  Alice told him where she lived. His eyes dilated for a moment. ‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘A good job? Or lots of alimony?

  ‘I think I’ve just been insulted,’ Alice bridled. ‘I’ve never been married. Everything I have I’ve worked for.’

  ‘Pardon,’ said Michel. ‘In France it would not be considered an insult to suggest you screwed your ex to the max.’

  ‘I’m not convinced. But I accept your apology. Don’t do it again.’

  ‘So,’ drawled the Frenchman. ‘What is it that you do to earn all this money?’

  ‘Something fascinating in the doing but boring to talk about.’