Love in Vogue (39 page)

‘What a rat,’ commented Miles. And then he could have kicked himself for being so tactless.

Yolande just shrugged her shoulders. Jayne had now spotted her, and made a point of greeting her next, hurrying over with a twenty-four carat smile.

‘Yolande, how great to see you again! How are you now? Your boyfriend? No? Well,
hello.
’

Miles held out his hand, but American royalty was in an affable mood. His cheek received a peck from the hottest lips in Hollywood. He looked utterly bemused, and stood silent as Yolande and Jayne chatted for a couple of minutes as though they had always been the best of friends.

When Jayne had moved on, Yolande gave him a wicked grin. ‘You can breathe out now,’ she said.

‘You said she didn’t like you,’ he remarked.

‘They don’t give her awards for nothing, you know.’

He smiled and pressed her arm as Patrick drew nearer, lingering in conversation with Donna Jenkins, but looking at Yolande out of the corner of his eye. At length they were face to face. Patrick paused close to Yolande. Handsome in a rough way, Miles thought. There was no mistaking his sex appeal, but he somehow looked cheap and seedy in a dinner jacket. Patrick gave Yolande a half-smile, barely turning up the corners of his mouth, but his eyes suddenly glinted suggestively.

‘Hello, Yolande,’ he said in French, leaning forwards to kiss her.

She stepped back, her head high, her green eyes cool; disdainful even. Patrick faltered a little, waiting for her to respond.

She turned to Miles. ‘I wonder how long before the ambassador arrives?’

Patrick couldn’t conceal his annoyance. He hesitated for a moment, as though he was going to say something else, but was quickly pulled away by Ethan, who made a fuss about getting him in line to greet the ambassador, whose limousine was just pulling up outside.

Yolande relaxed. The worst was over and she had triumphed. Now she had seen him again, been so close that they had almost touched, she couldn’t understand how Patrick had held her in thrall for so long. She hadn’t felt anything but contempt. No recollection of their love, no memory of their passion; just pity for a man who didn’t even have the sense to know when he was no longer welcome. As far as her emotions were concerned, he was dead.

Miles thought matters boded well for Yves, and patted her shoulder. ‘Well done.’

The ambassador received a much warmer reception than Patrick. He had been a friend of Jean-Claude Marchand, and spent a few minutes in conversation with Yolande after giving her a hearty embrace.

‘I hope you’ll spend more of your time on this side of the Atlantic now, my dear. Beautiful flowers cannot bloom in the desert.’

She smiled at this diplomatic insult to California, assuring him that she intended to base her future career entirely in Europe. Had Vic Bernitz been able to understand French, he might well have been worried.

The film itself was something of an anti-climax for Miles after the real-life drama in the lobby, but he had to admit it was good. Patrick Dubuisson most certainly could act, the script was snappy, the music memorable, the sets and stunts quite stupendous. He took special note of the bedroom scenes. When Patrick finally got his way with Jayne, superb as the rebellious, independent Amanda, Miles looked round to gauge Yolande’s reaction. She sat beside him quietly, her features immobile, though her fingers curled and uncurled around the clasp of her handbag. That was the only sign of tension. Miles mentally awarded her another point and turned his eyes back to the screen. Quite a performance, even if edited and blurred by the special lighting effects. Things suddenly didn’t look so good for Yves after all.

Yolande said very little during the journey back to Kensington, though she remarked with surprise on the crowds still waiting to see the stars emerge from the cinema.

Fast and Loose

was a closed chapter in her life. Like Patrick. The following day she was busy with an assignment and glanced only briefly at the film’s press reviews. Comment from all the important critics was very favourable. The film was going to be a major success. It suddenly struck her that she would probably make rather a lot of money out of it. She almost wanted to laugh.

Chapter Twenty-one

‘You look just like Yolande de Charbuy with your hair up like that.’

Corinne smiled at her sister, who was sitting in her room at St Xavier putting the finishing touches to her make-up. Yolande looked closer in the dressing-table mirror and grimaced. ‘I suppose you’re right. Not very promising, is it?’

‘Oh I don’t know. She found happiness in the end.’

‘But it didn’t last,’ said Yolande, picking up a diamond necklace from her jewellery box. ‘Shall I wear this?’

Corinne moved across the room and helped fasten the necklace, then rested her hands on her sister’s shoulders. ‘This is a lovely outfit. Franco’s?’

‘Yes. I got it the day I bumped into him in Beauchamp Place. I was going to wear it to the premiere, but then I thought I’d save it for tonight.’

‘It’s obvious he keeps his best designs for his own label, but I shouldn’t complain. So how was it? Miles said Jayne Herford kissed him.’

‘Much good it did her. He didn’t bat an eyelid.’

‘And Patrick?’ Corinne had had Miles’ version of events, but she still wasn’t sure how it had affected Yolande.

‘Oh, I’m OK. Honestly. Don’t worry. He had the bloody nerve to try to speak to me, but I cut him.’ Yolande paused, then leaned back against Corinne. ‘Darling, I really need to talk to you. I probably owe you some money.’

‘For what?’

‘It must have cost you a pile to buy back my shares from Stessenberg.’

‘Don’t be an idiot. I’d have had to pay you for them, anyway. We didn’t lose on it in the end. Now come on, or you’ll be late.’

‘But I’ve caused so much trouble. I want to make it up to you,’ said Yolande standing up. ‘You see, I think I may well make quite a lot of money on
Fast and Loose
.’

Corinne couldn’t help laughing at her worried expression. Who else but her little sister would get upset about that?

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Yolande, mystified.

‘You! You’re simply the craziest person I’ve ever known.’

‘But couldn’t you use some of it to invest in Marchand? I’m serious, Corinne, really. I never expected to see a penny out of it.’

Corinne’s laugh died instantly. ‘You’re joking.’

‘No I’m not.’

‘You mean you backed the film solely because of Patrick?’

Yolande lowered her eyes. ‘Yes. They insisted it would make good profits, but I really didn’t expect more than to break even. You must think I’m a total airhead, but at the time – well, as it now looks certain I’ll get a good return on the investment, it’s only fair that you benefit.’

They looked at each other for a few moments.
Corinne
shook her head. ‘No, Yolande. Thanks for the offer, anyway.’

‘But why not?’

‘It’s very, very generous of you, but I’d never be able to think of it except as blood money.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Yolande thought gloomily of her accident, Patrick; the horrible way it had all ended.

 ‘Are you going to keep Belco Pictures?’

‘I don’t want to long term. I’ll have a meeting with Troy and Shelby, see if they have some ideas. It shouldn’t be too difficult to line up some buyers on the back of the film.’

‘Why don’t you get Tex involved? He’ll come up with a strategy for you. Now, do hurry up. Yves will be here any minute and we want you gone so we can doze off in front of the TV. I need some rest before Briteuil tomorrow. It will be the Rochemorts en masse.’

‘Exhausting,’ agreed Yolande, following her out of the room. ‘But you really shouldn’t miss dinner at Vougeot.’

‘We went last month, and my waistline’s only just recovering. Gaston will be there. I told him to look out for you. And don’t worry about when you’ll be back, because we shan’t wait up.’

Yves had already arrived and was chatting with Miles in the salon. He looked up eagerly when they came in. Yolande made the somewhat mortifying discovery that he looked far better than Patrick in a dinner jacket. He kissed her cheeks and pulled her down to sit beside him on the sofa.

‘I love the dress,’ he said, his eyes appreciative. ‘Did you buy it specially?’

‘Yes.’

Suddenly she was lost for words, and looked away. Why he seemed so much more handsome now than she remembered was mystery. It was Yves, for God’s sake. She’d known him all her life. But there was something different in his manner; a confidence and maturity that gave him an edge she hadn’t felt before. He certainly lost no time saying goodbye to the others and getting her into his car. They drove off at speed, and when they had passed through St Xavier into the open country he glanced at her pensive profile.

‘You’re very quiet, Yolande. Didn’t you want to come?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Good journey home?’

‘You don’t really want all the details on my homework, do you?’ she said, rallying. ‘How are you?’

‘What do you think?’

Provocative question. He smiled as she looked at him quizzically. The ball was in her court for once. Why was this casual chit-chat proving so difficult?

‘You look very well,’ she managed tamely.

‘And you? Any trouble from your injuries?’

‘Not much. The physiotherapy was pretty intensive and I swim quite a lot – that helps.’

There was a short silence, then they talked about her course, her job, his mother’s birthday party. Finally, when they were within ten kilometres of Vougeot, he brought up the film.

‘So you went to the premiere after all. Miles told me it was quite a do.’

‘It was rather star-studded,’ she said, her voice suitably blasé, ‘but then premieres usually are.’

Yves laughed. ‘I gather he was kissed by Jayne Herford. Did you have any luck?’

‘With Jayne? Yes, as a matter of fact.’

Impasse. They drove on in silence, Yves keeping his eyes trained on the road. But he had to know about Patrick. Miles hadn’t been exactly forthcoming on the subject.

‘Dubuisson was there, wasn’t he? Was he surprised to see you?’

‘I really don’t know. We didn’t speak.’

Why do you need to know? she thought. What the hell does any of it matter now? She watched him, but his face gave nothing away and it annoyed her. The evening hadn’t even started yet and she was already feeling jittery. She wasn’t used to Yves making her nervous.

‘I’d rather not talk about him. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist.’

It was much more than Yves had hoped for, but he kept a tight lid on his feelings. The note of irritation in her voice cheered him. It was a flash of real feeling, the first he’d had from her in a long time. He looked round and saw that her arms were folded tightly across her bosom. ‘You’re cold, Yolande.’

‘This jacket’s a bit thin.’

‘You should have told me before.’

The road was empty, so he pulled up, got a blanket from the back seat and wrapped it carefully around her. She was touched by the attention.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ve just noticed that you don’t smoke any more,’ he said when they were moving again.

‘I rather lost the habit while I was in hospital, and now I don’t seem to enjoy cigarettes at all.’

‘Like Philippe. He’s so busy working, he hasn’t got time. But I remember when I asked you to give it up once, you refused.’

Once
. When they were engaged. He said it so casually and it hurt. It sounded as though he didn’t care, and Yolande wasn’t used to being considered unimportant, least of all by Yves. But why should she expect anything other than this friendly, superficial chit-chat? They had come out to enjoy themselves, and the number of cigarettes she did or didn’t smoke was as trivial a topic of conversation as the circumstances required. She resolved to show a little more spirit, and amused him the rest of the way with some insider gossip on Hollywood. He learnt far more about famous boob jobs and face lifts than he had ever wanted to know.

A long line of cars greeted them when they got near to the Clos de Vougeot, all crammed with smart guests attending the dinner. They drove slowly down the approach road through the vineyards to the twelfth-century Cistercian abbey, now the headquarters of the Confrérie des Chevaliers du Tastevin. It was a large building, but plain and unornamented; not at all like the flamboyance of Rochemort. The car parked, Yves tucked Yolande’s hand under his arm and led her into the huge banqueting hall that had once been the abbey’s cellar. Long rows of tables for the five hundred guests were laid out beneath the huge rafters. People were filling the hall, and a local choir was on a platform ready to sing songs about wine. There was a sprinkling of celebrities and a noticeable media presence.

Yolande felt people staring at her, and involuntarily clutched Yves’ arm. It was harder than she thought stepping back into her own world, where everybody knew them both and had seen all the stories about her accident and Patrick. She gritted her teeth and tossed back her hair.

‘Still turning their heads, aren’t you?’ Yves remarked, guiding her to their table. ‘Just be sure you laugh in the right places when I make my speech. Ah … here we are … Excuse me, madame …’

He pulled out a chair for Yolande next to a chic brunette in her early thirties, then went off to speak to officials on the platform. Yolande looked about to see if she recognised anyone. There had to be some people she knew here. She spotted Gaston Leclerc with his wife and sons in a distant part of the hall. Then a flash. Hell. Photographers. She turned her head, smiled slightly, and hoped they would soon be satisfied.

‘Any comment on Patrick Dubuisson?’ shouted one.

‘Never heard of him,’ she replied, still smiling.

The chic brunette laughed and introduced herself as Clarisse Beaufort, an actress. ‘It’s odd how women who’ve known Patrick always forget his name afterwards,’ she said. ‘So you’re Yolande Marchand. Your photos don’t do you justice.’

Yolande shrugged her shoulders. ‘You know Patrick?’

‘I worked on a TV programme with him a couple of years ago. I have to say, your escort tonight is
hot
.’