Daughters of Fortune: A Novel (54 page)

“Why the hell are you holding it there?” Elizabeth had asked when she’d first heard. But as soon as Caitlin had walked into the building, which had once housed spices and teas from the Far East, she had known it was the ideal venue. It had that period feel she had been searching for—huge vaulted ceilings and cast-iron pillars. Given those features, she didn’t need to think about any further decoration. A runway, seating, and lighting had been easy to hire and assemble. And they were all set.

Now, it was up to the designs to speak for themselves. She knew William, Elizabeth, and the rest of the family were out in the audience, rooting for her. And Lucien, too. He had sent a Good Luck bouquet that afternoon. It was all in white: white roses, lilies, freesias, and gerberas—simple, elegant. Pure Lucien. If everything went well tonight, she’d finally introduce him to William, she promised herself.

The lights dimmed. And in that moment she put Lucien, her father, and everyone else from her mind. Adrenaline coursed through her. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for.

Outside, in the auditorium, the air throbbed with expectation. The momentum around Melville’s latest collection had already begun to build even before London Fashion Week kicked off. As journalists, celebrities, and fashion commentators took their seats, they chatted and gossiped in excited anticipation.

Usually, the Melville show was a fashion graveyard. But over the past couple of weeks it had become clear that something exciting was happening over at the English fashion house. The pre-show gift had piqued everyone’s interest. And then rumors had started filtering out of the Albemarle Street headquarters—most of them strategically leaked by Elizabeth—of changes afoot. “There’s something going on at Melville . . .”

Now, press and buyers waited in eager anticipation to see if the hype was true.

To set the mood, Caitlin had selected the Prelude to Purcell’s semi-opera,
The Fairy Queen
. As the triumphant sound of strings,
trumpets, and oboes filled the air, everyone fell silent. Then the formal baroque music was joined by a driving hiphop beat booming out of the loudspeakers, a brilliant combination of classical and modern that a friend in the music business had mixed especially for Caitlin.

A bright, white spotlight hit the runway, and model Sapphire Klint strutted out. Laced into a fitted corset in deepest purple, her legs encased in a pair of skin-tight black leather jodhpurs with matching riding gloves, she looked like a modern highwaywoman. She cracked a whip at the audience as she stalked by in fuck-me boots.

“This is fabulous!” the senior buyer for Harvey Nichols whispered to her neighbor, but
InStyle
’s fashion editor was too busy scrawling down every detail to voice her agreement.

The audience gasped and applauded as girl after girl hit the runway, looking ever-more-sensational, in crushed velvet jackets, satin halters, and elegant evening gowns made of yards and yards of lace. The collection was sharp, hip, and sensual—words no one would ever have associated with Melville.

“The clothes were simply sumptuous!” gushed the fashion correspondent for
The Times
, when she phoned in her copy later that night after the show. “It was costume drama meets contemporary clubland.”

“I haven’t seen anything so exciting since Tom Ford took over at Gucci,” the editor of
Women’s Wear Daily
was heard to remark over and over again.

The after-party took place in the elegant surroundings of Annabel’s in Berkeley Square. The venue was William’s choice, a link to the sixties and seventies heyday of the company. As the Melville family arrived at the private club, journalists, photographers, and camera crews fought to quiz them about the company’s new look. Naturally, Caitlin was the focus of their attention. After the show, she had changed into a baroque-inspired gown of burgundy velvet, complete with fitted bodice and full skirt, trimmed at the bust and sleeves with antique lace. The decadent costume captured the mood of the collection perfectly, and everyone fought to get a photograph.

William stepped forward and put his arm around her shoulders.

“What you have seen tonight is our first step toward showing the world that Melville is still the great company that it has always been. And I’d like you to meet the person responsible—my wonderful, talented daughter, Caitlin.”

He hugged her close as she smiled up at him. Flashbulbs blinded them as dozens of photographers immortalized the moment.

Elizabeth stood to the side, looking on, wondering why she didn’t feel happier. This was exactly what she had wanted, the kick-start the brand desperately needed. But she was only human, and it was hard seeing Caitlin get all the credit. Especially when she knew that tonight would never have happened without her efforts.

Around midnight, the PR team went out to collect the first editions and bring them back to Annabel’s. The fashion and business pages all led with the same headline: Father and Daughter Team Breathe Life into Melville, complete with a picture of William embracing Caitlin underneath. There was a look of pride on his face that Elizabeth had always wanted him to bestow on her.

By Elizabeth’s side, Piers beamed. “Isn’t this fantastic? Your father’s so delighted with everything Caitlin has done.”

On autopilot, Elizabeth smiled her agreement. She was so busy trying to appear pleased for Caitlin that she didn’t notice the appraising look Piers was giving her.

Cole wasn’t sure what had gotten into Elizabeth. She’d been in such a good mood earlier, but now suddenly she seemed irritable and upset, insisting that they should leave right away. “But I haven’t even had a chance to speak to your dad yet,” Cole protested.

“Well, you go and do that,” she snapped. “I’ll see you outside.”

Cole knew she wanted him to follow her, but he wasn’t about to go without at least exchanging a few words with William. He knew how easily his father-in-law could take offense.

He found Melville’s chief executive surrounded by a bunch of the company’s directors. It took a while, but finally Cole managed to get him alone. He made the appropriate noises about William looking better. “And how are you finding being back at work?”

“Good,” William answered a touch defensively. He was always a little wary around his dynamic, successful son-in-law. “Frankly, I’m not sure
how much more of this staying at home I could have taken,” he added. “Isabelle was beginning to drive me mad!”

Cole smiled. “It’s definitely an exciting time for the company,” he said generously, happy for once to flatter William’s ego. He glanced around the room. “Tonight was a definite coup for Melville.”

William visibly relaxed. “Yes,” he agreed. “I never doubted the show was going to be a great success. But it’s exceeded even my expectations.” There was a pause, and both men sipped their drinks. “And how’s everything going with you?” William asked.

“Good,” Cole said, echoing William’s earlier sentiment. “It’s been . . . well, pretty hectic since we moved back.”

He hesitated, wondering how to phrase his request. He’d been waiting for an appropriate time to ask William to have a word with Elizabeth about slowing down. Cole had tried to get her to relax, to take work a little less seriously, but he didn’t seem to be able to get through to her. But she listened to her father—maybe William would have more luck.

Unfortunately, before he could say anything, Caitlin hurried over to them, her date for the evening in tow. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said to William. Her face was flushed, and her eyes glittered with excitement. “But there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Cole looked with undisguised interest at the striking young man standing by her side. With his long, flowing black hair and ghostly skin, there was something almost ethereal about him. He was definitely another arty type. After all, not many lawyers or accountants could get away with dressing like
that
—in black suede trousers and an open-necked black shirt, with a maroon scarf wrapped around his neck. It was all rather too effeminate for Cole’s tastes.

Cole could only imagine what William was going to make of
him
. From the little he knew about Caitlin, he guessed she wasn’t going to introduce someone to her father unless the relationship was already pretty serious. And from what he knew about William, he wasn’t about to give his approval lightly.

He wished he could stay around to see what was going to happen, but he’d left Elizabeth alone long enough. “I’ll leave you guys to it,” Cole said.
And good luck,
he added silently, as he walked away.
You’re going to need it.

*   *   *

William assessed Lucien with the wariness of any father meeting his daughter’s boyfriend for the first time. Cole was right—the Frenchman was somewhat more
alternative
than he might have liked. But Lucien had stood up under rigorous questioning, answering some rather probing queries about his work and background with an ease and frankness that suggested he had nothing to hide.

“Lucien has an exhibition on at the moment,” Caitlin chimed in, looking anxiously between her father and boyfriend. She couldn’t judge how this was going. “It’s at a wonderful gallery in Hoxton.”

“Oh?” William looked unimpressed. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of all this photography nonsense.

But if Lucien noticed William’s lukewarm attitude, he didn’t let on. It was that Gallic confidence; nothing seemed to get to him. “Of course you would be most welcome to come anytime you like,” he said graciously.

William happened to glance up then and saw Isabelle trying to catch his eye. They’d agreed to leave by one, and it was nearly half-past. He put his drink down on the table. “Caitlin, we’re going to push off now,” he said. “Are you coming, too?”

She glanced around the room. Guests were beginning to drift out, but the party was still in full swing. She wanted to enjoy tonight for as long as possible. “I think I’d rather stay for a bit longer, if you don’t mind.”

“Shall I send the car back for you, then?” William asked.

Before Caitlin could answer, Lucien put a protective arm around her shoulders. “You have no need to worry. I’ll make sure she gets home safely, sir.”

William stared at him for a moment, and then he broke into a slow smile. “Well, thank you, Lucien,” he said. “And do call me William from now on.”

By four in the morning, the party was almost over. Caitlin sat curled up on one of the plump leather couches, watching the last of the guests. A lone woman moved unsteadily on the dance floor, lip-syncing to an old Madonna track; a few of the design team were gathered around a tequila bottle at the bar, noisily doing shots. They beckoned Caitlin over, but laughingly she shook her head. She was enjoying the natural high of success.

Lucien came up to her. “The car’s waiting out front.”

Caitlin took one last look around the room. “I guess this is it, then,” she said regretfully.

Lucien held out his hand to her. “Come on,
chérie
.”

He helped her to her feet, and they walked outside, arm in arm.

Since that night in his apartment, when she’d opened up to him, everything had finally been going right between them. She’d told him everything: about her mother dying and finding out about William. Leaving Ireland and going to live with the Melvilles. Feeling she didn’t fit in at Aldringham. Then Greycourt and everything that had happened to her there. Escaping to Paris and wanting to start over, to forget the past and her family. But not quite managing to.

“I wish you’d told me,” Lucien had said once she’d finished. “I would have been more understanding.”

“Maybe, but that wasn’t really the point. I suppose . . . well, I didn’t want you to pity me.”

He’d lifted her hand to his lips. “I don’t think anyone ever would.”

They were taking the relationship slowly this time. And it felt right. For the first time ever, she was able to enjoy their being together as a couple.

They reached the car that would take her back to Eaton Square, where she was still living. The driver stayed discreetly inside, as they lingered by the door. Lucien reached up and touched her cheek.

“Dors bien, ma petite.”
He bent his head, his lips gently brushing hers, and opened the car door.

She hesitated before getting in. It struck her then, as it had all those years ago when they were at the Paris Opera House—
Lucien was the one for her
. She didn’t want to leave him—not now, not ever.

“Lucien?” she said suddenly.

“Oui, mon amour?”

“You know, I don’t think I’m ready to go home quite yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No.” Then she said, almost shyly, “I think I’d like to come back with you, to your place, instead.”

A look of understanding passed between them. He stared at her for a long moment before saying, “I’d like that, too.”

The streetlamp cast a pale glow across the room. They stood together in the shadowy darkness, close but not quite touching. Sensing Lucien’s
hesitation, Caitlin turned her back to him and said, “Help me with this?”

Slowly, he unlaced her corset, his fingers brushing her bare shoulders and sending the first flickers of desire through her. Then he loosened the ties of her skirt, and the gown fell away.

Outside, a car went by, its headlights illuminating the room. Caitlin caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the one that hung on the back of the door: pearl-white skin accentuated by the deep russet color of her underwear. For the first time ever, she felt no shame. In the reflection, her gaze met Lucien’s. He had moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving her alone in the middle of the room. The old her would have felt exposed and vulnerable. But now she felt something else—sexual and bold.

She turned to face him, enjoying the way his eyes moved over her body—her heavy breasts and rounded hips—drinking her in. It would have been easy enough to move over to him, but this time she was in no rush. Instead, she reached up and began to remove the combs that held her elaborate hairstyle in place, the ink-black curls tumbling down around her shoulders. When she’d finished, she posed, hands on hips. “So what do you think?”