Gina was still stewing over Margot’s stubborn refusal to leave her to work on her novel in peace when she joined her father for cocktails that evening at Chez Julien.
As soon as she set eyes on Jay, all thought of her book and Margot fled. She’d asked for this meeting so that she could have a difficult conversation with her father. Had he insisted on such a public venue to discourage her from speaking her mind?
Well, it wouldn’t. He was so hard to pin down these days, she couldn’t let the opportunity pass by.
The restaurant’s terrace, bordered by plane trees, with the gothic bulk of Notre Dame looming above, seemed a tranquil oasis, set back from the busy street.
“Darling.” Jay stood to kiss Gina’s cheek. He smelled pleasantly of lemon verbena, a scent that shot her straight back to her childhood. He drew back, eyes crinkling as he beamed at her. “You are looking beautiful today.”
Jay looked as dapper as ever, his moustache trimmed, hair perfectly styled, his jaw as closely shaven as if he’d just stepped out of the barbershop.
When they were seated and he’d ordered them each a dry martini, Jay said, “I can’t wait to tell you all about this new venture, Gigi. All it took was for Hal to make a few calls and I’ve been busier than ever. I’m flying home to New York on Monday.”
“Monday?” repeated Gina, startled. “But I’ve hardly seen you.”
“Never mind. I know you’re busy,” said Jay, as if she had been the one to duck his calls, rather than the other way around. Knowing her father, she’d have to get to the point straightaway or risk his leaving Paris without her ever broaching the subject of Rose’s pen.
Maybe he hadn’t taken it, she thought, as the waiter arrived with their drinks. Or maybe he’d taken it by mistake. But she knew that couldn’t be right. Otherwise, the case would still be in her desk drawer where she always kept it.
As soon as the waiter left, she plunged in. “Father? I wanted to ask you . . .” She hesitated. She ought to have rehearsed how she’d phrase this. “My gold pen went missing a while back. You know, the one Mother gave me?”
His eyes went wide. “Your mother?” he repeated, as if it was the first time he’d heard of it. “Rose gave you that pen?”
How could he have forgotten that? It was her most treasured possession. Gina’s heart started to beat fast. She began to tremble and her voice came out shakily. “Did you happen to see it when you came to the apartment?”
There was a long silence. Jay seemed to be staring into the past, and his eyes filled with tears. A lone, sweet birdcall sounded far above.
“Daddy?” Her voice sounded small and she hated it, but she couldn’t control her emotions this time. She hoped she wouldn’t burst into tears surrounded by all of these people. “Did you take my pen?”
His voice was husky with emotion. “Oh, honey. I’m so, so sorry.”
It was as if an ice pick had pierced her chest so cleanly, she felt the cold of it before she felt the pain. She tried to steady her voice. “Where is it now?”
He buried his face in his hands. Then he dragged them down his cheeks and answered her. “I took it to a pawnbroker to sell.” His tears were spilling over now. He’d never been one to hide his emotions. Whipping the spotted handkerchief from his breast pocket, he dabbed at his eyes and gave a sniff.
Gina was stunned into silence. Even though she’d suspected that her father had pawned the pen as he had done with so many other valuables before the bailiffs had come, hearing him admit it made her reel. “Which pawnbroker did you visit?” she demanded when she could speak again. “Please, Father. Give me the address.”
“Why, I don’t exactly recall,” her father said, still dabbing at the corners of his eyes. “It was a couple of streets away from your apartment. Next door to a Tabac. Let me think . . .”
He couldn’t remember the name or precise location of the place he’d sold her most prized possession, though he did recall that the Tabac next door had carried his favorite brand of cigarette. He trailed off, perhaps realizing how that sounded to Gina.
The silence stretched, and Gina couldn’t dredge up an adequate response. She couldn’t put what she was feeling into words.
“Gigi?” His lips trembled beneath his dapper moustache. “Gina, my dear, are you okay?”
But Gina didn’t answer him. It was too late to visit any pawnbrokers, but she couldn’t stay here another minute. Gina snatched up her purse and muttered, “I have to go.” Ignoring his protests, she headed for the restaurant’s entrance, charging past the other diners, nearly colliding with an affronted waiter. On the street outside, as she turned toward the nearest Métro station, she came face-to-face with Hal.
“What a delightful—” Hal broke off, the smile dying from his eyes. “Gina, what’s wrong?”
It couldn’t be a coincidence. “Did my father ask you to come here?” she demanded.
“Why, yes, but I didn’t know you’d be here, too, I swear.”
Gina wanted to wring her father’s neck. She was so confused and hurt and the idea that he’d used their one time together before he left Paris to further his own agenda made her furious. “He’s trying to get us back together,” she said. “Don’t fall for it.”
“But I want us to get back together,” Hal said, his eyes searching her face. “I thought you knew that.”
She couldn’t look at him. He had always been a man who knew what he wanted. He’d come to Paris to make sure he got it. But this time, he was in for a disappointment. She couldn’t trust Jay to make things right again. She’d thought she could. She’d begun to hope he’d come through for her, that she could marry Hal with her head held high.
“Anyway,” Hal was saying, “that’s not what has you all upset. Did your father say something to distress you? I know he can be a little . . . single-minded.”
That was putting it politely. A wave of shame washed through her. How could she admit to Hal what her father had done? After all that had led to her breaking their engagement, how could she make herself look even more pitiful?
“It’s nothing,” she said, turning away. “Please leave me alone.”
He caught her arm in a hold that was gentle but firm and pulled her back to face him, his blue eyes blazing. “Gina, I’m not the enemy here. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop treating me like one.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she saw his face soften. “Oh, honey,” he said, and his voice was a caress. “What’s wrong?”
If only she didn’t feel like this. If only she could hate him, or be indifferent. But he cared about her, and the look in his eyes made her long to tell him everything, to solve this problem together, as they always had in the past. Why did he have to come to Paris and test her like this?
“I can’t!” She yanked her arm free and took off, running. She heard him call after her, but she didn’t stop. When finally she slowed her pace and threw a glance behind her, she realized that he’d let her go.
Margot couldn’t stop smiling. She was in her element among the elegant surroundings of Dior’s Grande Boutique. While retaining the hushed, exclusive atmosphere of the atelier, the emporium was not a little jewel box of a shop tucked in beneath the stairs in the foyer of the Maison Dior, but a large and expansive set of departments housed in a seven-story building full of exclusive ateliers.
At Monsieur Dior’s urging, she had left her blond wig at home and fixed her dark hair in a less severe, more becoming style. It felt like a huge step to come out of hiding like this, but Claire and Gina were right. She couldn’t hide away forever, jumping at every shadow. A new look and a new position would be a start.
She would miss working with Delphine and Béatrice and even the difficult Madame Renou at Maison Dior, but as head of the department of young saleswomen selling the most beautiful and exclusive accessories in the world, Margot felt a new sense of purpose, and she was determined to make Monsieur Dior proud.
She wondered what exactly Madame Delahaye had said about Margot’s future to make him so easily award her this position of responsibility, but Le Patron didn’t explain and she didn’t dare ask. He did, however, say to her, “You must come to me of a morning, ma petite, same as always, and we will read our horoscope together.”
In spite of herself, his singling her out in such a fashion made Margot feel special and fortunate. She knew she was the envy of some of the other, more experienced girls, but she shrugged off a momentary twinge of guilt. Life simply wasn’t fair. She’d discovered that soon enough. You were forced to take a bad hand when it was dealt; if a good hand came along once in a while, what a sad sack you would be to refuse it.
Charlie Mountbatten soon ferreted out the news of Margot’s change in role and brought along a group of young friends, who fell upon the offerings in the accessories section like hungry wolves upon hapless prey.
“I love what you’ve done with your hair!” she exclaimed. “I hardly recognized you with it like that.”
Margot smiled and wished she could be honest about everything with Charlie. She liked her very much. As for Charlie’s brother . . .
“Aren’t these sweet?” Charlie indicated the purses that had just come in for spring. They were made of wicker and shaped like different breeds of dog. “This one looks just like my Woodruff,” said Charlie, picking up a pointy-eared canine with a long, boxy snout. “Oh, and look! This is like a West Highland terrier. I’ll take that one, as well, for Gan-Gan.”
While her friends swarmed like locusts through the rest of the store, Charlie drew Margot aside. “You will help me plan my birthday party, won’t you? It simply must be spectacular.”
“Me?” She knew Charlie tended to be impetuous but this request seemed like a shot out of the blue. Margot was already regretting agreeing to attend Andrew Mountbatten’s literary soiree.
“Yes! You made lunch the other day such fun. Imagine what you might do with a party. And besides,” Charlie added blithely, “if I have you to back me up, Andrew will say yes and amen even to the most outrageous request.”
Margot pursed her lips. “I hardly think my opinion would carry weight.”
Charlie stared into her eyes. “You really don’t see it, do you? Andrew is absolutely smitten with you, but it’s as if you have blinkers on when it comes to him.” She gripped Margot’s wrist. “You will at least come, won’t you? Promise me you will.”
The event was to be a Venetian ball. They would all be masked, so what was stopping her? And really, hadn’t she taken the risk and decided not to hide anymore when she’d accepted this role at the Grande Boutique? She might not wish to encourage Andrew Mountbatten—she was still a married woman, after all—but couldn’t she simply go to a wonderful, magical party with a friend and enjoy herself for once?
Then she realized. She had absolutely nothing to wear.
“I’ll think about it,” she promised.
“You will?” Charlie beamed at her. “Oh, that would be utterly brilliant. I’ll send a car for you and everything. And clear your diary for this weekend. We have an event to plan!”
Before Margot could protest that she hadn’t actually said yes, either to attending the ball or to planning it, Charlie had turned away to examine the vitrines full of costume jewelry, exclaiming over the stunning parure of aurora borealis rhinestones that Swarovski had made in collaboration with Christian Dior and supplied to him exclusively. The shifting pinks, golds, turquoise blues, and violets of the specially treated rhinestones were magical and the clientele were wild for them.
“Can I try the necklace on?” she asked Margot.
“Of course,” Margot replied. “But the stones change color depending on what you’re wearing, so to get the best effect, you really need to wear them with an evening gown. Why don’t I find something suitable for you?”
Charlie ended by purchasing not only the aurora borealis necklace, bracelet, and earrings, but a sweet, ready-to-wear cocktail dress in turquoise that matched her eyes and set off the jewelry to perfection. A pair of Roger Vivier heels in toile de jouy and a bright pink evening clutch completed the look.
When Charlie’s friends saw her preening in front of the mirror, they wanted to have Margot put together complete ensembles for each of them. Margot was run off her feet and blessed Charlie three times over for allowing her to hit her first week’s sales target in a single afternoon.
Buoyed by this success, Margot’s confidence spilled over. She would go to the masquerade, by hook or by crook. But working at Dior, she felt rather like the Ancient Mariner in that poem: “Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink.” What could she find to wear?
The obvious solution to her problem had not escaped her, but it would be indecent even to ask Claire if she might borrow The Gown. She’d have to think of another way.