Authors: Jan Warburton
However, it turned out they'd heard I'd moved out of the flat already and assumed that we'd broken up. They’d learnt that Alex had moved in an American model friend of Kate's in my place and so they’d felt cautious about talking to me about it until I was ready. Clearly he'd not wasted any time.
Intrigued, I asked Vanessa more about this new flatmate.
'All I know is that they apparently met a while back in New York. She and Kate had stopped off there after a fashion shoot in Miami,' she said.
Instantly, I remembered the time Alex had rung me from the airport saying he'd been meeting a client off a Miami flight for his father. I also recalled Norman saying Kate had been modelling in Florida then. Could that have been when she and her friend had met up with Alex? Coincidental or otherwise, why had he never mentioned it to me on his return?
Suspicious and hurt, I thought I might quiz Kate about it sometime. But it was all a waste of time really. I had to face it; my relationship with Alex was quite definitely played out. All the same, he had been my first real love and my heart ached thinking of how good we'd been together … once.
Acute grief suddenly overcame me and with a leaden heart I found myself weeping uncontrollably, almost as if mourning his death but knowing, of course, that he was still around, probably in the arms of another woman. I couldn't decide which was worse. Vanessa put her arms around me and we cried together.
'Why does breaking up have to hurt so?' I sobbed into her shoulder.
'Heaven knows, darling. But at shitty times like this I find myself wondering if men are really worth it!
CHAPTER 17
Over the next month or so I immersed myself so deeply into my work that slowly Alex and the memory of my life with him began to fade into the recesses of my mind. Soon I was able to think about him or refer to him quite easily without a painful lump appearing in my throat. The experience had made me very circumspect about any involvement with men in the future. My affair with him had taught me a great deal about how selfish men could be in their relationships with women and I wondered if I would ever completely trust one again? For now my business was my main concern - and men could go to hell!
A year later, my assistant, Shirley, was still having problems measuring up to the requirements of the job, and so, regretfully, I had to dismiss her. I had tried to be fair to her by extending her original six-month trial period to twelve, but this had stretched me to my limits. She simply worked much too slowly for my exacting needs.
I then took on another ex-student, Karen, for a short trial period. However, she proved to be almost as slow. She was also irritatingly unreliable with her time keeping, and, worst of all, she was dishonest.
For a while I'd suspected that short lengths of fabric and trimmings were going missing from the workroom. My other staff had been with me since the beginning so I was confident they were honest. Soon I began to wonder if Karen was responsible.
Finally, I caught the girl red-handed.
We were working late together one evening to finish some pattern cutting, which she'd been taking ages over. I'd popped up to my flat to make us some soup and sandwiches because I knew it would probably be at least seven before we'd finish. On returning to the workroom, I noticed her cavernous straw bag which she carried everywhere with her, was in a different position. It had been hanging on the back of a chair before, and now it was tucked well behind the chair against the wall. This alerted me.
'Let's have a little break now, Karen, to recharge our batteries and then we'll get stuck in again. I'd really like to finish this little batch of cutting before seven. Not too late for you, I hope?' I put down the tray.
She glanced up from the table. 'No, that's OK.'
'It's only tomato soup and cheese and pickle sandwiches I'm afraid.'
She nodded, 'That's fine, thanks.'
I then deliberately pulled the chair, which was propping her bag up, towards me to sit on. The bag fell over and several items fell out. Noticing it had happened, she lunged forward to save it but not before I was able to catch sight of a folded length of lilac mauve silk nestling lower down in the bag. Bingo! We'd been cutting out that particular fabric earlier that morning.
'Sorry, let me...' I began picking up the spilled things.
She watched me with a frozen expression, realising I must have seen the hidden fabric.
'We didn't finish off the mauve today, did we?' I queried, looking up at the roll of silk still on the shelf. 'No, of course we didn't. In that case, why is a length of it in your bag?'
Flushed and embarrassed, she averted her eyes.
'Karen?'
'I don’t know what to say. Sorry. It ... it won't happen again.'
Too right it won't, young lady! So I'd been right all along. Recently some of my costings hadn't tallied with the amount of material bought and used. Initially, I'd suspected my supplier had been sending me less fabric than I'd ordered, or possibly that my calculations had even been a little out. But when odd trimmings had also gone missing, I had to suspect theft. I was furious.
I picked up the bag and turned it out. Underneath the mauve silk was another piece of expensive, grey silk taffeta. That did it. Without any further deliberation I faced her.
'Karen, this is
not
acceptable. I am not prepared to tolerate dishonesty in my workroom. If you desperately wanted any fabric you only had to ask and I'm sure any remnants I didn't want at the
end
of the rolls could have been yours. But taking from a roll
before
I’ve finished with it is not only dishonest but also unforgivable, especially at these prices! It makes a total nonsense of my costing, when I find I can't get as many garments as I expect out of a roll. You surely realised that?'
She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. I fished both fabric pieces out and laid them in front of her. She stared at them blankly; a sullen, arrogant expression on her otherwise pretty face.
'I don't know how long this has been going on, but I am not prepared to risk it happening again. Please get your things together and go.'
'What about my pay?' she asked indignantly.
'I shall forward any money owing to you with your cards.'
As I turned resolutely away I just glimpsed her reflection in the windowpane, poking her tongue at me behind my back. Fury erupted from beneath my calm.
'I saw that!' I raged. 'Now go! And don't expect a reference from me either!’
Instantly, I felt cross at myself for losing my cool, but it was done now and I wanted her out of my sight.
Later on, I briefly doubted my hasty actions, wondering if I should have given her another chance? But no, I h
ad
to be able to trust my staff. The fabrics were often very expensive and I could not risk lengths going walkabout.
I completed the pattern cutting myself and coped for the rest of the week un-aided, praying the agency would find me a replacement soon.
*
Two week's later I was still battling on alone, and just beginning to wonder whether I'd ever find a suitable assistant when Lynda phoned, explaining she'd ended her relationship with Edward. As I'd feared, their love affair hadn't survived the friction of working creatively together. It seemed within months they'd been at loggerheads.
'Things have become intolerable lately,' she said. 'So now I'm seriously looking for another job.'
I couldn't believe my luck. 'How about coming to work for me then? It just so happens I need a good assistant.'
'What! Really?'
I told her all about dismissing Shirley and the recent nasty business with Karen and how I was currently struggling on alone.
'Wonderful! I'd love to!'
'I can't offer you quite the salary you were getting at Courtney’s, I'm afraid, but I'll match it as soon as I can.'
'That's OK. I understand that. I shall be just so pleased to be free of all the Courtney red tape,' she said. 'Working for you again will be super and quite worth a drop in salary for a while, just to breath fresh air once more.'
I laughed. 'I can imagine! Didn't I go through it myself?'
What a difference it made. In no time she and I were back working together again in our old familiar routine. Things were done more efficiently and quicker than ever before, with my new collection soon well under way. Altogether, I was happier than I'd been for ages.
Despite sometimes yearning for the physical side of my relationship with Alex, I became more and more embroiled in my work and in no time it became less and less important to me. Business picked up in leaps and bounds and really started to flourish. I was soon able to put Lynda on a better salary, as well as pay Alex back the money he'd loaned me, the latter being a massive load off my mind.
Vanessa tried her best, introducing me to a horse-breeding friend of Rowley's when I stayed with them the first summer after Alex and I parted. However, apart from attending a barbecue and driving up to Wetherby races with him, I wasn't in the least attracted to him. Horsey, country types were not my bag at all.
I also went skiing again, this time to Zermatt for two weeks with Vanessa and Fiona. We had a hilariously giggly, girly time. Signor Luigi Garibaldi, a wealthy Italian friend of Vanessa’s father, owned the chalet we were staying in. It was luxurious, with a heated indoor swimming pool and breathtaking views of the mountains and countryside.
To my delight, I was soon able to pick up where I'd left off with my skiing in Klosters. At intermediate level now, I could even match Vanessa and Fiona in competence, which pleased me no end. After all they'd both skied much more than I had. Rowley joined us for a long weekend in the middle of our stay and even he was full of compliments about my ability.
Zermatt is a skier's paradise, with endless skiing possibilities for all levels of ability. The picturesque, compact village is surrounded by some of Switzerland's highest, most impressive mountains, including the Matterhorn. Apart from horse drawn sleighs it was virtually traffic free. The shops and cafes were charming and the après ski was varied and lively.
The weekend with Rowley proved to be great fun as well as memorable, marred only by Vanessa unfortunately taking an awkward fall while skiing on the Sunday and fracturing her right ankle. Once attended to, she then decided to return with Rowley to England. Unable to ski any more, she hadn't taken much persuading since she was missing baby Lucy anyway. So Fiona and I stayed on together for the second week.
Luigi Garibaldi telephoned the evening they left to speak to Vanessa.
'I'm awfully sorry,' I said, explaining that Vanessa was no longer there and why. 'Is there any message I can pass on to her when I return to England?'
'No, it is quite all right, my dear. I was simply checking that everything is satisfactory in the chalet for you, that is all. Apart from Vanessa's misfortune, you are enjoying good skiing, eh?' His voice was rich and lilting with a strong Italian accent, but his command of English was excellent. 'Which of Vanessa's friends am I speaking to?'
'I'm Annabel, Signor Garibaldi. I'd like to thank you so much for allowing us to use the chalet, it's absolutely beautiful here.'
'Think nothing of it, it is my pleasure, Annabel, and please call me Luigi. I have not seen Vanessa since she was a little girl and I was so sorry that I could not attend her wedding. But of course I have known her family for many years.'
His mention of Vanessa's family instantly made me think he must know Alex too and my heart lurched as it still could occasionally if I was caught off guard.
He asked me if the chalet staff, an Italian Swiss woman and her daughter, who could speak little English, were treating us well. I assured him they were.
'That is good. Well, my dear, I will allow you to continue with your holiday fun. Make good use of the chalet and the fine slopes there. Zermatt is good, eh? I hope you are enjoying the excellent après ski too?'
'Yes, it's great fun. We're having a wonderful time!'
He finished by saying that he hoped we might one day meet.
'I hope so too,' I replied genuinely. He sounded nice and from the way Vanessa had previously filled me in about him, he quite intrigued me, although I knew he was an older man.
During the last few days in Zermatt some shocking news reached me. Norman Parker Brown had died suddenly one night in his sleep from a massive heart attack. I was shattered; particularly as it was only by chance I'd learnt about it, from an acquaintance who had arrived that day from London. Apparently it had only been released to the press the day before but English papers were always at least a day late and they hadn't reached us yet. I was overcome with extreme sadness.
I tried to telephone Kate, but learnt she was talking to no one, having only just returned from Paris. What a ghastly shock for her; she would be devastated, just as indeed everyone else in the fashion and photographic world would be. It was especially sad for those of us who had known him personally.
His death affected me quite profoundly. For the rest of our stay in Zermatt and on my return I found myself frequently near to tears whenever I thought about him. Not only had he been one of the finest photographers ever, but he'd also been such a dear, kind friend to me. I had liked the man
so
much.