Three Weeks in Paris (15 page)

Charismatic, reliable, and strong, he had been steady as a rock, and the most enduring influence in Nicky’s life.

At least my work is going well, Nicky thought as he turned the corner. He and his brother, Larry, were busier than they had ever been, and their theatrical design company, with offices in Paris and London, was thriving.

Not only that, he was particularly enjoying teaching this season. He gave two classes a week, on set designing and decorating, at Anya’s school, and this year he had discovered that he had several brilliant students in his class. Consistently, they took his breath away with their work.

Larry, who stood in for him when he was away on a film, agreed with him about their unique talents, was also full of praise.

Nicky had always found it rewarding to encourage and nurture students who showed promise, and he took pleasure in showing them how to develop their work and achieve their goals.

————

HALFWAY DOWN THE
rue de l’Université he finally came to the huge wooden double doors that led into the courtyard of the school. He went in through the small side door designed for pedestrians; as he closed it behind him, he hoped Anya would be happy with the designs he had created for her birthday party. He was going to show them to her later that day.

Nicky went up in the old-fashioned lift to his office on the fourth floor. This was in the building where the original school had first started and had been housed from the twenties to the forties, which was when adjoining buildings were acquired.

As he stepped out of the lift and walked along the corridor, he couldn’t help thinking about the history of this
place. The school would be seventy-five years old later this year, and what a success story it was.

If only walls could talk, he thought, going into his office. He put his umbrella in the closet, sat down at his large desk, and began to look at the sketches he had made for Anya’s party. But his mind drifted off after a while; his thoughts focused on the school, and what it had become, all because of Anya Sedgwick.

————

ORIGINALLY, IT HAD BEEN
a modest little school of art run by Catherine Lacoste, Anya’s mother-in-law.

The young widow of the renowned French sculptor Laurent Lacoste, who had started the school in 1926, she had struggled to keep it going after Laurent’s death in the early thirties.

Despite being small, it had a good reputation because of the gifted teachers it employed, mostly artists themselves who needed to earn a steady income to support their art. Even in those days it had a certain prestige because of Laurent Lacoste’s name.

Incredibly, and to her credit, Catherine had even managed to keep the school open during the war years and the German occupation of Paris. Somehow it had been able to survive in the terrible and troubled times of the Nazis’ domination of Paris, during the many deprivations and hardships of all kinds.

After the end of the Second World War, the school had begun to blossom more fully once again. But in 1948 Catherine realized she could not run it by herself for much longer. She was growing increasingly debilitated by arthritis, and becoming less mobile than ever. Eventually, she had asked her young daughter-in-law to take over the school and run it for her. Anya had agreed, knowing she
would have the advice and guidance of her mother-in-law at all times.

Anya and Catherine had always been unusually close. They had initially bonded in 1936, when Michel had taken Anya to meet his mother for the first time. It had been her twentieth birthday, and Anya had once told Nicky that they had sat in the garden drinking champagne and giggling like schoolgirls as they got to know each other. Apparently, they had hit it off in no uncertain terms; Catherine had even predicted, that very afternoon, that Anya and her son would marry one day.

During the war, Michel Lacoste, a journalist by profession, was based in London, where he was a member of the staff of General Charles de Gaulle, leader of the Free French forces, who was headquartered in London.

Anya and Michel, who had fallen in love in Paris before the war, continued to see each other in war-torn England. They were married in 1941 during the Blitz. The wedding took place at the Kossikovsky house in Chelsea, in an austere and badly bombed-out London. Anya was twenty-five, Michel thirty-one.

In 1946, some months after the war was over, Michel had taken Anya and their two young children, Olga, aged three, and Dimitri, aged two, back to Paris.

Life in France in 1946 was full of postwar problems and shortages, just as the rest of Europe was. Because of the shortage of available housing, and their shaky financial situation, Michel and Anya had moved in with his mother. Catherine had been thrilled; she welcomed them warmly, excited and delighted to have her son’s young family with her at long last. The war years had been hard and lonely; she welcomed their company, cherished her beautiful grandchildren.

They had all lived compatibly in the lovely old black-and-white half-timbered house where Anya still lived. The
house was big enough for them all, and the garden a boon, a place for the children to play and run free, especially in the warm weather.

At Catherine’s request, Anya had gone to teach parttime at the school; much to her amazement, she had discovered she had a gift for teaching. And then two years later, when Catherine had asked her to take over, she had agreed to do so, confident in her abilities.

Anya was an astute young woman, and soon, under her guidance, the school began to prosper. Anya had a talent for organization, management, and promotion, plus a keen nose for sniffing out exceptional teachers. Like Catherine before her, she always sought out artists who needed to support themselves in a compatible environment while continuing their own creative careers. It was a policy that had always paid off.

But, perhaps most important, Anya had a vision. In her mind’s eye she could see so many marvelous possibilities, exciting ways to expand the little art school by developing its curriculum, adding new courses that taught some of the other important decorative arts.

However, out of respect for Catherine, Anya did not implement too many of her new ideas, nor did she make any really serious changes until after Catherine’s death in 1951.

It was at this time that she slowly and cautiously began to upgrade the school, adding the new courses that taught fashion and textile design, as well as costume and theatrical design.

The classes in art and sculpture were still the mainstay of the school, and as always the most important to Anya. But students began to enroll for the other courses, and she and Michel were thrilled.

Her innovations, long in the planning stages, were working, and both of them were surprised how popular
the new courses were becoming. So much so, they acquired the adjoining building when it became vacant, and another a year later.

And then in 1955 tragedy struck.

Michel suddenly and unexpectedly died of a massive heart attack; he was forty-five years old. He and Anya had been married for fourteen happy years, and she staggered momentarily because of her terrible shock and devastating loss.

Stunned and grief stricken as she was by Michel’s untimely death, Anya continued to run the school. In a way, it held her together, helped to get her through those heartbreaking months. When Nicky once asked her how she had managed to do it, she had replied: “I just kept plodding on. Even though my heart was breaking, I knew I couldn’t give in, or collapse. I had so many responsibilities at the school, and many people depended on me for a livelihood, especially the staff, and the teachers. There were my two young children also … to raise and educate, and I had a living to earn. I had to keep going, you know. But it was the plodding that did it … that was the secret. Anyway, I felt I owed it to Catherine’s memory to keep the school open.”

Two years after Michel’s death, in 1957, Anya met Hugh Sedgwick, an English businessman living and working in Paris. A widower and childless, he had been introduced to Anya by mutual friends who thought these two single people were a good match. Hugo came from a theatrical family; his brother, Martin, and his sister, Clarice, were both actors, and Hugo himself was a bit of an amateur artist, painting in his spare time. They seemed to have a lot in common.

Hugo and Anya had dined together several times when she let the friendship drift away. She was far too involved
with her children and the school to be bothered with developing a relationship, and, as she later said, the time was not right for her.

A year later they ran into each other by accident at an art exposition, discovered how much they enjoyed each other that evening, and soon began to see each other once more. Very quickly they became involved, and in 1960 they were married in Paris.

Hugo was an enterprising businessman of unusual acumen and foresight. When Anya asked him to help her with the financial management of the school a year after they were married, Hugo agreed. He happily took over these duties from Anya, who was overburdened. Within a year the school turned yet another corner; it became highly profitable for the first time in its history.

Not only that, its reputation began to grow in the ensuing years. More than ever before, students were flocking to the school, many of them from abroad. It had acquired a certain cachet as well as prestige, not the least because many of its graduates had become famous in their given fields. And Anya’s own fame as a teacher and nurturer of young talent had begun to spread. A place at her school had become expensive, and much sought after.

By the mid-sixties it was called the Anya Sedgwick School of Decorative Arts. A few years later the name was changed again, this time to the Anya Sedgwick School of Decorative Arts, Design, and Couture. And it went on growing, and turning out truly exceptional graduates, and Anya’s fame was magnified. She had become a legend in her own time

————

THE SHRILLING TELEPHONE
startled Nicky to such an extent, he literally almost jumped out of his skin. He had
been so lost in thought, it took him a moment to recoup and reach for the receiver.

“Nicholas Sedgwick.”

“It’s Anya, Nicky.”

“
Hello
! I was just thinking about you, or, rather, the history of the school.”

“And what
exactly
were you thinking?”

“To tell you the truth, I was wondering if you were planning on giving some sort of reception later in the year. After all, the school is celebrating its seventy-fifth anniversary in November.”

She began to laugh. “Don’t you think my birthday party is enough celebrating?”

Laughing with her, he answered, “One thing has nothing to do with the other. Just a
small
reception, Anya.”

“I don’t know, Nicky. Let me think about it.”

“Yes, do that. And we can talk later. Now, what time shall I come to your office to show you the sketches for the theme of your party?”

“I don’t want to see them, Nicky, that’s why I’m phoning you. Frankly, I would much prefer the party to be a
total
surprise … every aspect of it. I’ll leave it all to you to make the choices and the decisions.”

“But, Anya—”

“No, no,” she cut in. “I trust you implicitly, darling boy. You have the best taste of anybody I know.”

“That’s very flattering, I must say, but I do think I’d feel better if you saw them,” he protested.

“I want to be surprised. Nothing much surprises me these days, I must admit, so indulge me. I know I’m going to love everything.”

“I sincerely hope so,” he muttered, then added, “but to be honest, I really was looking forward to seeing you.”

“Then you can take me out to tea. That would be
nice
,

Nicky, and we can have a little chat, visit for a while. We haven’t done that lately.”

“What a good idea, and it’ll be my pleasure. What time shall I stop by your office to pick you up?”

“I’m not at the school. I’m … out. So why don’t we meet at the Hotel Meurice, it’s very beautiful after its re-decoration. Have you seen it lately?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then we’ll meet there. At four o’clock, oh, and, Nicky, the main entrance is now on the rue de Rivoli.”

“I’ll be there. Four sharp.”

THEY SAT TOGETHER IN THE JARDIN D’HIVER—THE WINTER
garden—just beyond the lobby of the newly refurbished Hotel Meurice on the rue de Rivoli opposite the Tuileries.

Palm trees in tubs and many other exotic plants helped to create the garden feeling so prevalent in this charming and comfortable spot where lunch and tea were served. Floating above, set in the center of the large curved ceiling, was a glass roof in the shape of a dome, interlaced with metalwork. The milky opaqueness of the glass filtered the natural daylight and gave this garden-inspired room a softness that was unique.

“They discovered that glass roof when they started to tear the hotel apart,” Anya suddenly announced, looking up at the ceiling and then glancing across at Nicky. “It had been covered up, plastered over, and painted for many years. No one had any idea that the central dome was actually made of glass, until the restoration and refurbishment began several years ago.”

“How amazing! And what’s even more amazing is the condition of the glass,” Nicky exclaimed, following her gaze of a moment ago. “It
can’t
be the original, can it?”

“No, actually it is not. It’s new glass, and, of course, a totally new dome, Nicky, made in the Art Nouveau style, as you can see,” Anya informed him, sounding extremely knowledgeable. “The architects and designers had the original copied. You see, when they found the glass roof up there, it was cracked and broken, ruined in general. It had been damaged by the plaster and paint that had been slathered on for God knows how many years. But it’s beautiful now, isn’t it? I’ve always been a trifle partial to Art Nouveau, haven’t you?”

Nicky nodded and gave her a curious look. “How do you know all this, about the roof I mean?”

Anya smiled a bit smugly. “One of the directors is a friend of mine, and he told me about that glass roof when he showed me around the hotel recently, then took me to dinner here.”