nnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.’

From Macbeth by

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

She felt different. Was it because she was head over heels in love? And marvellously loved in return?

Was it because she was now living in married bliss with the man of her dreams?

Or was it because she was about to be launched as a supermodel by one of the greatest fashion designers in the world? Then again, perhaps it was because she was in Paris, a city she loved more than any other in the world. Yes, it could be that. Paris had forever cast its spell over her. The very thought of it always made her drool.

Then again, perhaps she felt different because all of these wonderful things were rolled into one big ball of absolute perfect happiness. But whatever it was, she felt fabulous. And free as a bird…liberated.

She clutched Larry’s hand tighter, and stole a surreptitious look at him, smiled to herself. He was in disguise. So was she. They weren’t really; they had no reason to be, but what they were wearing felt like a disguise. Trousers, heavy sweaters and boots, covered by bulky quilted coats, wool caps pulled down over their ears, scarves around their necks, woollen gloves on their hands and dark glasses. All of this clothing was to combat the icy January weather in Paris, and the chill wind. But, nonetheless, it was a beautiful day, with a bright blue cloudless sky and shimmering sunlight. A perfectly lovely day, except for the freezing cold.

They walked at a steady pace down the Avenue Montaigne, heading for the Champs-Élysées. When they turned onto it they were both surprised at how busy it was, chock-a-block with people, and Larry said, ‘I think this is a city where people never worry about the weather, unlike London and New York. Paris is so bloody beautiful that the weather doesn’t matter one bit.’

‘You’re right, darling, I’ve always thought that. Isn’t it funny how we often think the same thing? Anyway, it’s the wind that’s a bit of a problem. It comes down from the steppes of Russia, blows right across Europe to Paris, where it seemingly stops.’

He looked at her swiftly, grinning. ‘I bet you just invented that, you clever little minx! A wind down from the steppes of Russia! What an imagination you have, M, and how clever you are.’

‘Neither. I just have a good memory, and that was what I was once told by a very famous concierge in a very famous Paris hotel. And, as you well know, being a seasoned traveller in La Belle France, concierges know everything.’

‘Touché, my little chickadee.’

‘Well, it’s true! I’ll call him at the hotel later, and if he’s on duty you can speak to him, and he’ll confirm what I just said. His name’s Vincent and he’s a very good friend of mine.’

Larry tightened his grip on her hand, laughing, and they walked on, in complete harmony with each other. She pinched herself every day to make sure she wasn’t dreaming all this, and he thanked God that he had found her when he had.

Once they got to the bottom of the avenue, they waited for the lights to change, then crossed the road to the other side, going towards the Rond-Point des Champs-Élysées. They hurried on, heading for the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and they didn’t slow down until they arrived at Hermès, which was their destination.

‘We can’t go in, not looking like this!’ M suddenly exclaimed.

‘Don’t be so silly, of course we can. Who cares about clothing these days?’ Larry gave her a puzzled stare.

‘I’m sure they do. How awful we look, Larry.’ She jabbed his arm. ‘Just look at our reflections in the window. We look like huge bumblebees.’

‘No, we don’t. We’re not yellow and brown, we’re almost all black, actually.’

His sudden hilarity was infectious, and she laughed with him, then said, ‘I’m going to take this ghastly woolly cap off. There, that’s better.’ As she spoke she shook out her glossy black hair, smoothed her hands over it, pushed it back from her face. ‘At least I put some makeup on before we left the hotel.’

‘You should have done an Audrey in the makeup department, and they’d let you in no matter what. They’d be convinced you were her, and that you’d suddenly come back to life—been reincarnated, something like that.’

‘But if you take your woolly cap off, and your dark glasses, they’ll know you’re you, and they’ll let me in given that I’m with a handsome, very much alive actor who’s a big number in France.’

‘Only in France?’ he shot back, faking a pout, and pulled off his red and black striped cap, stuffing it in his coat pocket.

Reaching up, M smoothed his hair, and nodded. ‘You look divine, my lad.’

‘Oh, shucks, you’re just prejudiced, babe.’

Searching in her pocket, M found her lipstick, took it out, and, using the window of the shop as a mirror, she outlined her lips. ‘There, that’s better.’

‘It sure is. The lipstick makes such a difference,’ he teased. ‘Come on, let’s go in, I’m determined to buy you a brand-new Kelly to call your own.’

‘I don’t mind the old ones, you know,’ she answered. ‘After all, they were passed down to me by some very chic women.’

‘What colour do you want?’ Larry asked, pushing open the door.

‘I don’t think I’m going to have my pick, you know. The store has a waiting list, and it’s usually full of Japanese tourists buying up everything.’

‘A waiting list for a handbag?’ Larry threw her an incredulous look. ‘That’s unbelievable.’

‘I know it is. But I didn’t invent the rules. They did.’

They walked around the store for a few minutes, looking in the display cases at belts, silk scarves, gloves, enamelled bracelets, all sorts of things, including a few handbags. But there wasn’t a Kelly in sight.

M took hold of Larry’s arm and whispered, ‘See, I told you. My sister says they keep the Kellys and the Birkins hidden in the basement. You’re going to have to pull rank and play the movie star. But listen, darling, it doesn’t matter if they don’t have a bag available. Honestly, I have the one thing I want in the whole world, and he’s standing next to me.’

He kissed her cheek, squeezed her arm.

At that moment an elegant, well-groomed saleswoman came hurrying over to them. After smiling at M she looked at Larry, and in a reverential voice she said, ‘Good morning, Mr Vaughan, my name’s Ginette. Can I be of assistance?’

Larry gave her one of his dazzling smiles. ‘I’m sure you can. I was wondering if we could look at some Kellys and Birkins, please, Ginette?’

The saleswoman let out a small, almost inaudible sigh and made a tiny moue with her mouth. ‘I’m not certain we have any in stock at the moment, Mr Vaughan.’

‘How disappointing,’ Larry answered, focusing his improbably blue eyes on her. ‘Perhaps you could check, I’d be ever so grateful…Ginette.’

The saleswoman smiled and murmured, ‘Let me ask the manager,’ and disappeared.

‘Talk about putty in your hand. I thought she was going to swoon at your feet.’

‘A little charm doesn’t hurt,’ he said, grinning. ‘Especially if it’s going to get my darling her Kelly.’

‘It would be nice to have one of my very own that’s brand new, but basically it doesn’t really matter, as I just told you.’

‘I know that. But I wanted to give you a gift, darling. To celebrate this coming Monday. D-Day. How do you feel? Are you nervous?’

M shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Neither am I frightened, which Kate asked me if I was the other day. I told her I was impatient, and I guess that’s exactly what I still feel now. I’m itching to set foot on that runway.’

‘You get to do that tomorrow, don’t you?’

‘Yes. A rehearsal. Kate wants me to walk down it a few times, just to get the feel of it, to be sure of myself. You can come with me if you want; she said you could.’

‘Naturally I’m coming. Try and stop me.’

Ginette returned carrying two orange cloth bags with the Hermès insignia stamped on the front in brown. ‘Only two Kellys, I’m afraid, Mr Vaughan, and definitely no Birkins in stock. However, we can put you on our waiting list if you wish.’

Larry threw her a lovely smile, and turned to M, raising a brow.

M shook her head. ‘But I would like to look at the Kellys, please, Ginette.’

Ginette smiled. ‘Here is the black one,’ she said, taking it out. ‘And the other one is this interesting tan colour. Both bags can be worn with many different colours.’ The tan bag also came out of the orange cloth cover and was placed on the counter.

As decisive as she always was, M knew immediately which one she preferred, and she looked at Larry. ‘I like the tan bag best.’

‘So do I,’ he replied, and took out his credit card.

Patience was a virtue. Her mother had always told her that, and Kate Morrell had believed her. And so she had trained herself to be patient. As a child, as a teenager, and as a young woman. And so, at the age of thirty-eight, she considered herself to be the most patient woman on the planet. But very shortly she was about to demolish her record. She was going to go berserk. At least with Peter Addison when he arrived. If, indeed, he ever did. She had been waiting for him for four hours and he was still not here…here being her suite at the Plaza Athénée Hotel on the Avenue Montaigne.

When he had called her last night from London he had said he would be at the hotel no later than eleven. It was now three o’clock. She had checked her mobile phone constantly for missed calls—there were none; she had checked with hotel reception, and yes, they said, Monsieur Addison was expected, but had not yet checked in. And of course she had tried to call him on his mobile. It was turned off.

The phone rang again, and she snatched it up, realizing she was suddenly feeling more impatient than ever. ‘Hullo,’ she snapped.

‘It’s me, Kate.’

‘Who’s me?’ she demanded, knowing full well who it was.

‘Please, Kate, be nice. It’s Peter.’

‘Where the bloody hell are you?’

‘In my room. I’ve just checked in.’

‘To this hotel?’

‘Of course this hotel. Where else?’

‘God only knows where you might check in, you’re so undependable.’

‘Can I see you?’

‘You’d better come and see me immediately if you know what’s good for you!’ she shouted and slammed the phone down.

A moment later there was a knock on the door of the suite. ‘What now?’ she muttered, and went to answer it.

Peter was standing there looking extremely troubled.

‘That was certainly quick,’ she said, standing back, ushering him inside.

‘I’m across the corridor,’ he mumbled as he walked into the sitting room and sat down in a chair.

‘Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been waiting here for four hours. Not a word from you, that’s the worst. If you’d only called me or left a message, everything would have been fine. But you let me hang and I’ve been worried about you, and frustrated, and growing bloody angrier by the minute. I’ve actually lost my patience. Finally.’

‘For the first time in your life, I’ve no doubt,’ he said, very softly.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she demanded, her voice rising.

‘Exactly what I said…there’s no hidden meaning or double entendre.’

‘What happened, Peter? Why are you so late? And why didn’t you get in touch?’

‘Where have I been? Sitting in the bar of the Ritz Hotel on Rue Cambon in a blue funk. Not knowing what to do. What to say to you. I needed to come to you, to tell you what’s been going on in London in the past week. But…well, to be brutally honest, I lost my nerve…’

Kate knew him extremely well, understood him completely, and had been intimately involved with him for six years. He was her big huggable teddy bear of a man who constantly neglected himself, forgot meals and was an unrepentant workaholic.

Now, Kate frowned, sat scrutinizing him, suddenly growing conscious of the strained look in his usually sparkling brown eyes, the tautness of his face. He was not himself; in fact he looked drained and tired.

‘What’s happened, Peter?’

‘Something devastating happened this week. But before I tell you about it, I just need to say that everything you wanted me to set up for M’s launch and the spring collection for Tremont has been done. I have all the material in my briefcase; I’ll give it to you later. But just so you know, I have the entire British and American press coming over; all the major national newspapers and magazines: Hello, OK, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Tatler, Elle, and all the major networks, including the BBC, ITV, CNN.’

‘You’re a genius, darling, and I’m thrilled. You’ve obviously done a great job yet again, and thank you. But I want to know why you’re disturbed, what happened? Please tell me.’

Peter Addison pulled all of his diverse thoughts together. ‘Allegra has done something completely foolish and selfish. It’s disastrous. And I’m not sure how to make it right.’

Kate stared at him intently, not daring to say a word. She had always liked his daughter, but had known from the first day she met her that the girl was a walking time bomb. Self-involved, impulsive, irrational at times, and so gorgeous that every man fell for her instantly.

‘So what’s the beautiful blonde bombshell done now?’ she finally asked in an extremely careful, level voice.

‘She’s run off to Australia with a man fifteen years older than herself, and taken the two children with her. She’s left Jim, says the marriage is over, and that she will file for divorce. Or he can.’

Kate sat back with a jerk, stunned by the news.

‘I’ll see you through the spring collection, Kate, and keep to the terms of my contract, but then I’ll have to go to Australia.’

‘What for? I mean, why would you go to Australia?’ She threw him a puzzled look.

‘To bring her back.’

Gaping at him, Kate exclaimed, ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! She’s twenty-four, if I remember correctly. She won’t listen to you, Peter, and neither will the new man in her life. She can do what she wants, darling—she’s of age. Anyway, she’s stubborn to a fault. Also, surely it’s Jim’s place to go and bring his wife back, not you. Now listen to me and I’ll tell you how to handle this.’

‘All right. I’m listening.’

‘It’s simple. You are going to step away from Allegra’s mess and let her handle it with her husband and her lover. It’s none of your business.’

He nodded, knowing she was absolutely right.

‘I want you to know that I’m here for you, Peter, and I’ll help you in any way I can. Let’s put Allegra and her problems to one side for a moment.’

He nodded, looked suddenly more at ease, less taut.

‘You’re under contract to the House of Tremont, and that contract will be extended for as long as you want. Especially now that we are about to launch the New Face of Tremont in the shape of M. Also, I have a secret to tell you, and I know you won’t breathe a word to anyone.’

‘Who the hell am I going to tell?’ he asked, suddenly sounding slightly combative, more like himself.

This sudden change in his manner pleased Kate, and she leaned closer to him. ‘M told me last week that she’s married, and this is going to be one helluva story for us. It’ll boost the PR campaign in a fantastic way.’

Peter frowned and asked, ‘Why? Who’s she married?’

‘Laurence Vaughan.’

‘The Laurence Vaughan? The actor? The gorgeous movie star?’

‘You’ve hit the nail on the head, honey.’

‘Jaysus! That is a great story! Oh boy, Kate, they’re going to be the new “in” couple, and overnight. I guarantee that. It’s all going to work beautifully for you. This really opens up the coverage, because it takes us away from fashion in a sense, beyond it. I can place lots of human-interest stories. When did they get married? And where?’

‘In New York in December. At City Hall. And in secret. And she was bright enough to wear a Tremont coat and hat. Clever, clever girl.’

‘I’ll say.’