Chapter 5

Andrew was laden down, for him, for the Paris trip. He had his usual backpack with regular clothes, his camera and Manon and Phillippe’s gift. He also had his garment bag with clothes for the event that night, as well as a suit for any of the other evenings. The train did its usual meandering, endlessly stopping journey to Dover and deposited Andrew at the Priory station at 11.07. 25 minutes later he was in the Wilson’s car as they queued for one of the ferries. Before the tunnel there were three ferry companies using boats as well as one with hovercrafts. The boat was moderately busy and the crossing took little more than an hour. It gave them the chance to grab a cup of crap coffee and a soggy sandwich. Once they were finally on the road to Paris Andrew could feel the excitement from the back seat. So could Dan.

“We should get there in plenty of time. Relax will you.”

Andrew had no idea if Dan was talking to his wife or daughter, probably both. It didn’t stop them asking what felt like hundreds of questions none of which Andrew knew the answer to. But it kept them distracted, and him too he supposed, for the journey. They were booked in the same hotel Pedro and Andrew had used in the spring, the Monsart, nice without being too expensive. Abi was in a separate room; her parents were relaxed about their relationship but not that relaxed. Andrew went for a stroll once he had checked in, it would take him all of 30 minutes to shower and get ready while Abi and her mother were already freaking out that they did not have enough time. Andrew walked down to the Tuileries Gardens and then towards the Louvre. It was floodlit and looked magnificent on that clear winter evening. It helped kill 40 minutes so that when he returned it was time to shower and get ready.

Andrew was wearing his full Scottish outfit, kilt, sporran, fancy jacket, everything. He figured it was the fanciest thing he owned and doubted anyone else would be wearing it. It was probably a little over the top but from what he remembered from March not as much as he would think. At 6.15 he was standing in the small bar off the lobby of the hotel feeling more than a little conspicuous. Ten minutes later Abi and her parents came out of the elevator. Andrew saw them before they saw him and could take in how elegant they looked. Dan was in a suit and looked smart, but no one was going to be paying attention to him. Pam had a red dress, just above the knee, tight across the hips and arse and showing an impressive cleavage. Dan was trying not to preen but was failing miserably, Pamela Wilson had gone all out and brought her A-game. And yet she was eclipsed by her daughter. There was a youthful beauty to Abi that was stunning. She was poured into a black strapless dress, tight to her hips and then fluffed and ruffled to her knees, but the difference was in the bearing, in her eyes. Her mother knew she was a knockout, a legacy of her beauty pageant past, whereas Abigail didn’t realise that she was a traffic-stopper. Andrew finished his whisky in a gulp and walked out to meet them in the lobby.

Apparently, it was the mutual admiration society that night. Abi’s face lit up in a big smile and she walked confidently across the lobby and air kissed him.

“I can’t touch you, you’ll end up with lipstick everywhere. But my goodness you like very handsome.”

Andrew complimented both the ladies and they called a cab to take them the few blocks to the store. Right at 6.30 they were dropped off at the entrance and before they could even say anything to the doorman controlling the entrance Manon came out to get them. When she saw Andrew walk round from the other side of the cab she stopped in her tracks.

“Oh my, are you going to turn some heads tonight.”

Air kisses and hugs were exchanged all round before she led them into the store and up the stairs to the Salon. Andrew had not noticed the discreet door for the cloakroom the first time through but the ladies were able to deposit their coats before it was time to run the gauntlet.

Manon led the four of them into the Salon and across to the bar. The next 20 minutes were a bit of a blur. Phillippe was talking to a couple of people and came over when he saw them. Andrew had barely finished introducing the Wilsons to him when Beatrice Raymonde bustled up. Apparently since he was the chosen male model that Heloise wanted to work with, Andrew was worthy of notice. He was dragged off to meet various Hermès people, all of whose names he promptly forgot. In hindsight a suit might have allowed him to blend in slightly better, as it was Andrew felt like a horse at the paddock being led round and appraised by all the punters. He thought he managed to bear up to it with good grace, but with him you never could tell. Manon came and rescued him after 20 minutes and Andrew was able to have a couple of glasses of sparkling water. He stayed off the booze, as he was worried he was going to gulp the wine down, never a classy move.

Who else was there? Andrew hadn’t a clue. There were clusters of people and although there was some circulation, there did not seem to be much moving between the clusters, other than the Hermès people. Rich, titled, political, famous, probably but it all passed him by. Andrew recognised nobody. But given that he knew maybe 10 famous French people, all from the news or TV, it was hardly surprising. Finally it was time to be seated. The crowd flowed over to the runway and Andrew found they were in the third, and last, row of seats down near the end. Abi squeezed his hand when they were in their chairs.

“How are you coping?”

“Too many French names, too much French, too much English with an impossibly strong French accent, but other than that I have understood everything.”

She giggled.

“How are you doing?”

“Andrew, it is wonderful. Mum and I have been trying not to gawk like country bumpkins, although probably not doing a very good job of that. Phillippe has been talking to Dad, his French is the best of the three of us, Mum and I can just about get by if it is not too fast, and so it has let Mum and I just soak it all up. Your friend Manon is really nice, and very funny. We are going for dinner after the show, so I can’t wait to talk to her in a quieter setting.”

After that Andrew hardly got another word out of Abi for the next 90 minutes. She was captivated, constantly whispering to her mum and so obviously and thoroughly enjoying the experience. The models all had the full thousand yard stares going, it appeared that they were not even aware of their surroundings. Heloise looked so impossibly tall and thin when she came down the runway. Andrew also recognised Joelle from the photoshoot back in March but there was no sign of Camille. She was probably too short for a runway show. He probably spent more time people watching than anything else. The fashion was meh, he didn’t really care. But it was fascinating to see all these self-absorbed shiny people up close. They appeared to be trying to outdo each other, the front row especially. Andrew smiled to himself as he thought about him perched right in the middle of the front row, blocking the view of all those behind him. Finally the show was over and people immediately rose and headed back through to the Salon. They let the initial rush go before standing and looking round. Time to find out what they thought of it.

“Was it everything you imagined?”

What Andrew did not imagine was being crushed in a big hug by Pam. She didn’t actually manage to say anything but he got the point. It had been a good night. Dan gently pried her off Andrew and held her in his arms. Abi leaned in next to him and whispered.

“You did a good thing tonight Andrew. She will relive this night for years.”

They waited to let Pam compose herself before they went back to the Salon, the last people to leave the show room. Beatrice Raymonde came over again with a stunning woman who looked to be in her mid to late 20s.

“Andrew, allow me to introduce your co-star for Sunday, this is Chiara Zellicotti. Chiara, this is Andrew McLeod, a friend of Heloise, you will be shooting with him on Sunday.”

It is not often you get to watch a full scale hissy fit right in front of you, conducted entirely in a foreign language, although it appeared to switch back and forth between French and Italian. Finally Andrew had met and got to watch a temperamental fashion model. Dan was standing beside him and gave him the gist, at least the French part.

“You are nothing but a tall boy. The rest is padding around that fact, you are an idiot, this woman is an idiot, Heloise is a love-struck idiot, at least I think that is what she meant, Hermès are idiots. Basically she is not happy.”

Initially Andrew was flustered but when it became clear that Beatrice was getting the brunt of it, all of a sudden it became street theatre. The woman had an imperious beauty to her, but it was like Amy back at the Art College. She had gone through life being feted, admired and pursued. Andrew didn’t give two hoots about her. Heloise was not only more beautiful but she was a nicer person by several factors. She was logarithmically nicer. Chiara was auditioning for Cruella and was passing. With ease. Beatrice was trying to drag Chiara away, stifle her, anything to remove a scene from the Salon. If she had been taller she would have contemplated a fireman’s lift by this point. Manon was hovering behind Beatrice, present without being effective. Rather than watch them cut the body out of the car wreck Andrew turned his back to them both and walked over to the bar, leading Abi gently at his side.

“Well it looks like I will be home a day early.”

Abi looked at Andrew in amazement.

“How can you be so calm?”

“I have three options. I can stride over there and berate the silly bitch; stand here at the bar worried about what she said and drink myself stupid; or I can remember I am here with a beautiful woman, who is also wonderful, smart and funny, and just forget about her. The third option seems to be the best one.”

He kissed her with a smile. As Andrew looked up there was Heloise striding towards him, a large smile on her face. This was going to be good.

“So I finally get to meet the woman who unmasked my secret, yes?”

Heloise’s dressmaker must have been short of cloth as there really wasn’t much to her dress. It was short, backless, sleeveless and she had clearly chosen it very carefully. Her legs went on forever, it flattered her modest curves and she totally dominated the room. It looked like Abi was about to hyperventilate. Andrew whispered in her ear.

“Remember to breathe.”

He didn’t think a whack was an appropriate response but Heloise laughed and pulled Abi in for a hug.

“Heloise Leclerc de Hauteclocque, pleased to meet you.”

“Abigail Wilson, I am so pleased to meet you too.”

Once the hugs and kisses were finished Heloise turned to him.

“Don’t you look all handsome tonight. It is nice to meet a man I don’t have to look down on. How are you Andrew?”

“Captivated by you as always Heloise. It is lovely to see you.”

Heloise looked over her shoulder at Chiara and Beatrice.

“How long?”

“Three minutes, maybe five, no more.”

“Why?”

“I am too young. Oh, and everyone associated with the shoot is an idiot. That appears to be the crux of the conversation.”

“Manon and I have arranged a quick tour backstage for Abigail and her mother. Can you stay out of trouble for 20 minutes?”

“Probably not but for you, I’ll try.”

A laugh and kiss and she was gone, Abi and Pam trailing along behind her looking stunned.

“Would it be rude just to sneak off?”

Dan shook his head.

“Really? You have women throwing themselves at you left and right, including my wife I might add, and you want to leave?”

Andrew blushed and Dan laughed.

“Well not all the women, you would have thought she had run out of breath by now.”

Phillippe wandered over and the three of them stood at the end of the Salon bar chatting away. Andrew always found Phillippe easy to talk to. He was someone, like Jim and Freya, who was naturally good at moving the conversation along, keeping everyone involved and being a good host. The crowd around Chiara and Beatrice had thinned out as the spectacle wound up. In fact Beatrice came over and joined them, motioning for the barman for a generous glass of wine.

“Models!”

She really didn’t have to say much else.

“She was Heloise five years ago. She is now 29 and in her own loud and inappropriate way she makes a good point. She thinks the age difference will be too much, too obvious. I have calmed her down and she is going to do the shoot, at least to start it, on Sunday. But we will also get a younger model so that the difference in age is not so obvious. I apologise for her tonight, she is always a bit, how you say, high maintenance but not normally as bad as that. All models have a sell-by date and she is close to, if not past hers. Will you be okay working with her after tonight’s antics?”