Christmas at Tiffany's (39 page)

‘Hi,’ he said finally, no hint of a smile as wounded pride won the battle.

‘How are you?’ she asked, trying in turn to hide his effect on her, closing her eyes momentarily as his scent drifted over to her. She might not be able to detect a lack of butter in the reductive air, but she could still identify Tom Ford’s Grey Vetiver in a crowd of thousands.

He just nodded.

‘You’ve been away,’ she said, indicating the mid-winter tan.

‘Yeah, Turks and Caicos, for the Pirelli shoot. I probably told you about it.’

‘Yes,’ she murmured, thinking how strange it was to be greeting him so formally, in the middle of a hotel lounge, when eight weeks previously they’d have been running upstairs to bed.

A small silence began to push between them. ‘So . . . you’re staying here?’

‘Yeah. I always . . . do.’

‘I take it you’ve just been to Valentino?’ As at the Bebe Washington show where they’d met, he got front-row status and was a VIP guest at every top presentation, a world away from the catwalk photographers crammed sardine-style into their taped box.

‘Sure. I saw Bas was doing that one.’

‘Yes. I’m just waiting for him, actually.’ The waiter came back with her coffee. ‘Do you want to join us? He’d love to see you.’

Luke hesitated. ‘No . . . I’ve got some stuff on that I need to deal with.’ He jerked his thumb back towards the group and she saw, for the first time, Selena, staring at them, her hair still pulled back in a tight chignon, her lips pillar-box red. Short of the ubiquitous ruffled scarlet gown that accompanied such a high-fashion look, she was exactly the sort of creature who should be stalking these gilded halls.

Luke saw her stiffen and turned around. His shoulders slumped at the sight of Selena. ‘Oh.’

Cassie looked back at him. ‘You’re together?’

He shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

‘Right.’ She looked down at her coffee.

‘Hey, look,’ he said, moving towards her, and she felt the heat coming off him, the intensity of his stare as he tried to absorb her dramatic new look. ‘You were the one that left, remember?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So don’t get all . . .’

‘I’m not getting all anything on you,’ she said quickly. ‘Like you said, I was the one that left. It’s your prerogative to pick up with . . . with
her
.’ She looked away. Why did it have to be her, of all women?

‘I’m not going to apologize for it,’ he said, his voice tight.

‘I’m not asking you to,’ she said, whirling round quickly. ‘God knows you’re not capable of it.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Well, your behaviour has made it pretty clear just how limited your emotional span really is,’ she said angrily. She sank down into the red sofa again, the cushions mushrooming up around her.

He sat down next to her, just as quickly, just as furious. ‘Hey!
Don’t
put all this on me. I was serious about you, I asked you to stay with me – and you just left without a second look.’

‘That is
not
how it was, and you know it,’ she hissed fiercely. ‘And besides, from the looks of things you didn’t even wait long enough
for
a second look. I bet the bed wasn’t even cold before you got her into it. I was probably still sitting on the tarmac, wasn’t I?’

‘You know, I don’t know what the hell I was doing, thinking that maybe you . . .’ He tsked and looked away, his jaw clenching and unclenching like a pulse. He looked back at her. ‘Well, it’s clear that you’ve moved on anyway. Just look at you. It’s like I’ve never seen you before – like the other Cassie, the one
I
loved, never existed.’

She stalled at his mention of the L-word. ‘It’s a hairdo Luke. Not a personality transplant.’

‘Yeah, well . . . you look like you’re doing okay from where I’m standing. Didn’t get too burned after all, huh?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she muttered, and looked away, her eyes prickling with tears, horrified to be having this argument in the middle of the Crillon. Quite a few of the other guests, also over for Fashion Week, seemed to recognize him, and were staring.

They sat in tense silence. She sighed – with exhaustion and disappointment. ‘You’d better go. Bas will be here any second.’

He didn’t reply, but also didn’t get up to go, and the miserable silence stretched between them.

‘So you’re staying with Anouk?’

She nodded.

‘Where does she live?’

‘In the fourth.’

‘Nice.’ His voice was flat.

‘Yeah.’

Another silence. Where, oh where was Bas? She was going to need something stronger than PG Tips when he got here.

‘Look, I’m here for two more days.’

‘Fine. I’m sure I can manage to keep out of your way.’

‘I don’t mean that,’ he said, and she heard the frustration biting in his voice. He pulled something from his coat and handed it to her.

She looked down at it. It was a glossy invitation, printed with an image of Selena – who else? – reclining on a black suede sofa. His black suede sofa. She was nude, one arm slung casually over the side, the other resting against her temple.

‘If that’s supposed to be some kind of olive branch, you’ve missed the point.’

‘It’s my new exhibition. It’s tonight. It’s called Muse.’

‘Congratulations.’ She made as if to hand it back to him.

‘Keep it. You might want to come . . .’ He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Seeing as you’re in it.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t worry. You look beautiful. And anyway, no one’s going to recognize you now.’ His hand instinctively lifted towards her hair before he pulled it away quickly. He stared at her. ‘Maybe we could have dinner after. Talk things through.’

‘I’m out tonight.’

‘Where? Who with?’ he asked quickly, and her heart skipped at the possessiveness in his voice. ‘With Bas?’

She shook her head. ‘He’s got a dress rehearsal with Isabel Marant tonight.’

‘So who?’

‘Claude.’ She saw his mouth harden. ‘He’s just a friend,’ she added.

‘Yeah, right.’ His voice was instantly flinty.

‘He
is
. He’s teaching me to cook.’

‘You can already cook.’

‘No, I mean
really
cook – like professionally.’

There was a short silence as he struggled to believe her.

‘It’s my thing,’ she shrugged.

‘Really?’

She nodded. He cracked a relieved smile and she couldn’t help her stomach turning over at how his eyes stood out against his tan, the way they roamed hers for the truth. ‘Well, okay then. So bring him too.’

She paused for a second, not entirely sure that Claude was the best person to bring along to this. ‘I guess I could ask,’ she said finally.

‘Okay.’ He gave a boyish grin. It was charming, infectious . . .

She felt her own eyes smile back. ‘So go.’

‘I’m going.’

‘Go then.’

‘I’m gone . . .’

Cassie opened the door, beaming all over her face. Claude looked her up and down, gobsmacked surprise written all over his as he took in the vision of her. He was used to seeing her with flour on her cheeks, purée on her whites and her hair in a hairnet.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, planting one hand on her hip and posing. She was wearing nude stacked platforms so that she brushed the six-foot mark – his height – and a champagne-coloured wool dress with a slash neck that fell into a deep V down her back. The front sections of her hair were tonged into laissez-faire ringlets, and she had a smudge of ruby-red lipstick on her generous mouth.

‘
Mon Dieu
,’ he murmured.

Cassie preened at his response.

‘So you like it, then?’

‘You’ll freeze,’ he frowned. ‘And how are you going to walk in those?’

‘Oh.’ She sighed. She supposed she should have known better than to expect any kind of complimentary response from Claude. Her text message, asking whether he’d come with her to the exhibition before their class, clearly hadn’t infused him with the same excitement, as he was wearing dirty jeans and a dark brown parka with the hood up, and seemed to have steroid-boosted his stubble into an established beard that very afternoon.

She grabbed her coat.

‘Thanks so much for agreeing to this,’ she said as they walked down the stairs, horribly aware that actually he hadn’t agreed to anything. He’d simply not responded and she had bullishly decided to take his silence as an affirmative. Stopping by a photographic exhibition was most probably the last thing he wanted to do. If it had been a truffle convention . . .

The bracing air hit her immediately as they stepped into the courtyard, and she shivered. He had been right on both counts – she was going to freeze; and there was no way she could cross the cobbles in these shoes.

‘Claude, would you mind?’ She motioned for his arm.

It took him a moment to understand what she meant. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, but rather than pull them out, he swung his elbow out like a hinge. She held on, grateful.

‘Thanks,’ she smiled.

They walked painfully slowly over the Pont Saint-Louis to the Ile de la Cité, where they could more easily catch a cab. They didn’t talk. For once, she couldn’t. She could scarcely believe the butterflies in her stomach. Of course, Bas had wound her up into a frenzy when he’d arrived just minutes after Luke had left, telling her that
of course
he wanted her back, but she had to play it cool, get him to dump Selena immediately, wear the stockings and suspender set that she’d bought with Anouk, tong her hair from
this
section . . . And Bas had promised to pop into the exhibition after the dress rehearsal so she wouldn’t be completely at sea.

‘So, this photographer . . . is he any good?’

‘Yes, he really is. He’s probably one of the three most influential photographers working right now.’

‘And he has taken pictures of you?’

‘Well, we lived together in New York, so . . .’

‘You did?’ Claude stopped and looked at her. ‘But I thought your husband only just left you?’

Cassie cringed. Would she ever get it right here? Her walking away from the situation was regarded as an over-reaction, and now it was being implied that her new relationship was considered too hasty . . .

She’d deliberately not told Claude about Luke as she chattered away prepping food. She had confined the summaries of her recent life history to the bigger events – cheating husband, backstabbing best friend, continent hopping to escape the pain . . .

‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said tonelessly. It was better not to pontificate on the matter. She sensed she’d disappointed him somehow, that she hadn’t been victim
enough
.

They walked on slowly in silence, and Cassie began to regret the shoes. She began to regret bringing Claude along – he wasn’t exactly a happy-go-lucky girlfriend interested in the on–off dynamics of her relationship with her ex. She began to regret saying she’d go to the exhibition full stop. If she could just go back to this morning, when everything had been simpler – a site visit to the catacombs with Florence, coffee with Bas, cooking with Claude this evening. Her disappointment at Luke’s silence had gnawed away at her – silently, privately – but at least it had been manageable. It was so much harder trying to control her excitement, to stop her imagination from racing ahead to the what-ifs – what if he smiles with his eyes again, what if he pinches his bottom lip with his fingers whilst he listens to me talk . . .

They were over the Pont Notre Dame and on to the Voie Georges Pompidou before they caught a cab. Claude got in first – chivalry was completely lost on him – and she bent down to get in behind, leaning in to him.

‘Look, Claude – are you sure you want to come with me to the exhibition? I don’t want you to feel that you have to do this. You hadn’t bargained on coming with me. I could always come over after if you prefer?’

‘
Non
,’ Claude said, buckling up his seat belt. ‘I will come.’

The driver – clearly suicidal – deposited them outside the gallery five minutes later, and Cassie anxiously checked her appearance in the window as Claude paid.

Inside, it was heaving. Every single member of the fashion glitterati was in attendance, and they were all in black – the men in sleek Armani suits, the women in architectural black dresses that owed more to Mies van der Rohe than to Yves Saint Laurent.

‘Oh my God,’ Cassie said to Claude quietly as she recognized the impact her nude-coloured dress would have amidst the all-black crowd. ‘I not only stick out like a sore thumb, I
look
like a thumb.’ She had grown used to Anouk’s sophisticated palette of ‘off’ colours and had forgotten the uncompromising uniformity of the passing-through fashion pack.

Cassie noticed that Claude was regarding the crowd with even more unease than she was, and she instantly threw off her embarrassment. They couldn’t both flounder. ‘Come on, let’s get a drink and go and find me,’ she smiled.