eo glanced around the grand salon of the Hôtel Cygne Noir, not far from the Louvre and newly opened, thinking how beautiful the room was. Traditional in style, it smacked of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI; the latter’s name was given to a decorative style she happened to like, even though it was sometimes a bit rococo in feeling.

The runway opened from the stage, ran straight down the middle of the salon and stopped almost at the end, where it branched out to make a T-shape. She couldn’t wait to see M gliding down it, ‘strutting her stuff,’ as M called it, and she was thrilled to be here. She and James had flown to Paris last night, after two weeks in London, so that she could come to the fashion show, and spend a few days with M.

Suddenly hearing her name, Geo turned around and immediately jumped up when she saw Luke heading her way, camera in hand, as always.

The two of them embraced and Luke said, ‘You look fantastic, Geo. Marriage definitely appears to agree with you. And how’s James?’

‘He’s great. Somewhat busy with all this reorganization of his company. But anyway, you’ll see him tonight; on the way over here, M told me we’re all having dinner together.’

‘I know, and hey, that’s great, kiddo. By the way, I’ll be shooting M from around about here, once the show starts—it’s a great vantage point for me. And after the show is finished, I want to get some casual shots of the two of you together. Okay?’

‘That’s fine, Luke, just as long as I can have a copy of the picture.’

‘It’s a done deal,’ he said, grinning, his puckish face lighting up. ‘I’m going backstage to get some candid shots of M. See ya later, honey.’

Geo sat down on the gold ballroom chair marked with her name, and then turned to her right as the woman sitting next to her spoke.

‘I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I couldn’t help overhearing the photographer when he was speaking to you. He was standing so close to us. Let me introduce myself. I’m Rebecca Byam.’

Geo smiled at the tall, blonde, rather attractive woman who had walked into the salon a few minutes before Luke had arrived. She stuck out her hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Georgiana Carlson.’

‘I’m happy to meet you, too, and this is my friend Ann Molloy,’ Rebecca answered.

Ann Molloy stood up, went to shake Geo’s hand. ‘Hello. Lovely to meet you, Ms Carlson.’

Geo nodded. She was another tall, good-looking woman, with thick chestnut hair and unusual greenish-blue eyes. Both women were well put-together, wearing smart clothes, and Geo realized they were American. She now ventured, ‘You said something about the photographer. Did you have a question about him?’

‘Not exactly,’ Rebecca replied. ‘But he did start talking about M, and we couldn’t help overhearing. We weren’t eavesdropping, you know, it’s just that he was so close. And we wondered, if you knew her. We’re such big fans of hers.’

‘Actually, I do, yes,’ Geo answered, but volunteered nothing more. She was fiercely protective of M and her business, as were Larry and James, and also Luke Hendricks. There was far too much curiosity about M these days, and they all knew to keep their mouths shut.

‘We read that she’s totally unspoiled by all this sudden fame and success. Is that true?’ Ann Molloy asked quietly.

Geo thought there was no harm in answering this perfectly innocent question, and she nodded. ‘She’s the same as she’s always been. Fame has not changed her. It hasn’t even made a dent.’

‘Isn’t that nice to know! Success often goes to people’s heads,’ Ann Molloy remarked.

Wanting to change the subject, Geo now asked, ‘Do you go to many fashion shows?’

Rebecca was the one to reply. ‘Yes, we enjoy them. And when we had the opportunity to come here today, we thought it would be wonderful. Especially since it was advertised that M was going to be showing the clothes.’

‘You’ll really enjoy it,’ Geo said, and opened her programme. The two women followed suit, and they were all three soon engrossed. At one moment, Geo glanced around and saw how fast the salon was filling up. Looking at her watch, she realized the show would be starting soon. She settled back in the chair, excited about seeing M on the catwalk again. She was tremendously proud of her friend.

M settled her body down, making herself comfortable in the pastel-coloured chiffon evening gown, her ‘sweet-pea dress’, she called it, and turned to thank her dresser Claude. As she did so she spotted Philippe Tremont heading her way.

She had recently met Jean-Louis’s brother, earlier in March, when he had returned after almost three months of travelling. Philippe ran the export division of the House of Tremont, except for the States, which was Kate Morrell’s domain, and he had been on a worldwide trip.

There was a smile on his tanned, handsome face as he came up to her. Philippe was a younger, slightly more dashing version of his brother, with a great sense of humour and a much more relaxed demeanour than Jean-Louis. He said, ‘This was my first chance to see you on the runway, M, and you are fabulous. It belongs to you. Some models, even top girls, can’t always do that…take it for themselves. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you, Philippe, it’s nice of you to say so. I guess it’s just a knack I have. My elder sister taught me certain things about modelling, and she used to instruct me to do what you just said: take the runway for myself. She likened it to a path in our mother’s garden, and constantly reminded me to make it a familiar place. In other words, she told me not to be afraid of it.’

‘She was a good teacher, I believe, this sister. Well, I am so glad you are with us…as the New Face of Jean-Louis Tremont. Kate is brilliant, the way she launched you.’

‘She is, and so is Peter Addison. I think they have done a fantastic job.’ She suddenly giggled, and added, ‘They made me a supermodel overnight. Can you believe that? I still can’t.’

Philippe laughed with her, thinking what a lovely, normal, unspoiled young woman she was; according to Kate she was not at all temperamental. He had a good feeling about her, and he believed she would always remain this way, just as she was today.

Claude waved to her, and M excused herself and hurried over to her dresser, who said, ‘You will go on next, M, in only a moment.’

‘Thanks, Claude,’ M answered, and got ready to move forward onto the stage as the other two models were coming off at the opposite side.

She glided onto the wide stage, paused dramatically, spun around, walked forward, paused again, and then pranced out onto the catwalk, moving down it with ease and grace and total self-confidence.

M and the gorgeous pastel-coloured summer evening gown inspired instant applause from the audience; she turned and swirled in the middle of the runway, and then strutted on, walking up and down on the T-shape at the very end. A moment later she was coming back up, moving gracefully, showing the lovely chiffon frock to advantage, loving every moment of what she was doing.

M was happy, extremely light-hearted this afternoon.

Everything was good. She and Larry were so much in love, and they had a perfect marriage, compatible in mind as well as body. Thanks to a lot of luck, and Kate and Luke, she now had the career she had long wanted. And her dear friends Geo and James were in Paris…Paris in the spring—well, almost, she thought; and what could be better than having them here now with me and Larry. My life is so great…

Walking on at her normal fast pace, M covered the catwalk once more, before stepping onto the stage. She swirled again and headed into the wings, knowing she would be going out on the catwalk again in a few minutes. She had just enough time to change into the next gown.

But as she hurried towards the dressing area, the tip of her high heel caught on something, and when she went to move forward she was dragged down to the floor. M went down heavily; she tried to break the fall with her hands, and at least managed to keep her face from hitting the floor. Thank God, she thought.

Claude had seen M fall, and cried out, ‘Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!‘ immediately rushing forward, wanting to help her. Philippe, who had been talking to Claude, swiftly followed the dresser, and they got to M before anyone else did.

‘Are you injured?’ Claude asked urgently. ‘What happened?’

‘It’s the heel of my shoe, it’s caught on something,’ M said, and tried to move her foot with no success.

‘Please, M, remain still,’ Philippe said. ‘I must release the heel. It is stuck in a…crack on the wood floor. Is it possible for you to slide out the foot?’

She found it impossible to do so, and said, after a second, ‘I can’t. My foot is trapped and the shoe is at a funny angle. Claude, you’ll have to get somebody else to go on in my place. I think I’ve done my ankle in; it’s either broken or very badly sprained.’

‘Oui, oui, bien sûr.’ Claude hurried away.

Kate arrived with Jean-Louis. They were horrified and distressed when they saw M lying flat on the floor, with one foot trapped in a shoe caught between two planks of the wood flooring.

Concerned and worried, Jean-Louis knelt down next to his brother and took hold of M’s hand. ‘Is anything broken? Are you in pain, mademoiselle?’

M smiled at him faintly and shook her head. ‘I think I’ve sprained my ankle, but there’s nothing we can do at the moment. My foot’s stuck in the shoe. I can’t get it out.’

Kate, practical as always, also knelt down and looked at the shoe, a high-heeled satin pump, and said, ‘I need a sharp knife, a box-cutter if possible. But actually any sharp knife will do. I have to cut the shoe off M’s foot. It’s the only thing we can do. Her foot is very swollen, and I’m afraid to even make an attempt to get the shoe off.’

‘Oui, oui, Kate, cut if off!’ Jean-Louis exclaimed, and after squeezing M’s hand and smiling at her encouragingly, he stood up, as did Philippe.

Kate crouched next to M, touched her shoulder. ‘Are you really all right, sweetie?’

‘I am, honestly, Kate, except for my ankle. Well, I’ve got a bit of a pain in my side because I twisted my body so I wouldn’t hit my face on the floor. But I’m okay.’

‘You didn’t hit your face, luckily. And we’ll get you fixed up in no time, don’t worry, sweetie. Either Angelina or Sophie can go on in your place, finish showing your clothes. Oh, here’s Sophie now. Claude’s put her in the pale blue chiffon. I guess she’ll have to wear the wedding gown also, since she’s about your height and size.’

‘Oh, God, the wedding gown. I’d forgotten that for a moment,’ M cried, grimacing. ‘I could try to go on, Kate. Listen, if Claude gets me into the gown, Philippe and Jean-Louis could carry me to the catwalk. I could just stand there—’

Kate shook her head, but a smile touched her mouth as she said, ‘You’re such a good sport, M, you really are. We’ll manage. Sophie’s okay. Oh, here’s Philippe with a box-cutter.’

Philippe knelt down with Kate, and he held M’s foot steady as Kate carefully slit the satin pump from the rim to the toe. Pulling the fabric back, she was able to slide M’s foot out fairly easily. ‘Very swollen, darling,’ Kate informed M. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to stand on it for a couple of days. And you’d better see a doctor. I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s best to be sure.’

‘Thanks, Kate, for getting me out of the shoe,’ M said.

Philippe and Kate got M to her feet, and they each put a hand under her arm and helped her as she hopped on one foot to her dressing table.

Georgiana was a brilliant artist. And she had an exacting eye. Now, as she sat waiting for M to reappear as the fashion show drew to a close, she noticed something odd.

The runway seemed to shift slightly and ripple.

How could that be? Geo frowned, blinked several times, and then looked at it again. She must have been imagining things. Now it was as steady as a rock; she wondered if she needed glasses.

Two of the top girls were finishing their pirouetting and parading, and had left the catwalk, and Geo leaned forward, peered at the runway very intently now that it was empty. It seemed to her that there was nothing amiss after all.

Glancing around, she caught Luke’s eye, and he nodded, grinned at her, went on reloading one of his cameras, seemingly undisturbed. And then Geo suddenly sat straighter in her chair, amazed to see the six bridesmaids coming out onto the stage, followed by the six groomsmen. Their arrival signalled the finale of the fashion show. It was too soon, wasn’t it? Part of the show was missing. On the other hand, perhaps Jean-Louis had simply edited it down for the charity event.

The six models came onto the catwalk, turning and moving gracefully, showing off their pink and yellow organza bridesmaids’ dresses, with their usual consummate skill. Within seconds they had tripped back to the stage to join the groomsmen and the groom, who had just stepped out onto the stage. All of the male models were handsome in black tie.

A moment later a wide smile spread across Geo’s face when M glided onto the stage, then it immediately fled. She stared in astonishment. It wasn’t M wearing the wedding gown. It was another girl. Sophie. Geo’s eyes flew to Luke, who had turned to look at her, and he was obviously as startled as she was. He shrugged, shook his head, indicating that he was also baffled.

Now the bride and groom and the bridesmaids and groomsmen were moving down the runway. They were followed by the whole troop of models wearing the evening gowns they had just shown. The catwalk and the stage filled. The audience went crazy. They clapped and cheered; some even stamped their feet and waved their arms in the air. Jean-Louis stepped out onto the stage, smiling, bowing, acknowledging this great accolade.

Geo was watching everything, wondering where M was when she saw it. The catwalk rippled, just as it had earlier. It began to tremble and shake before it literally crumbled before her eyes and fell apart. Metal girders were collapsing, wood crashing. It was a catastrophe.

Chaos. People screaming. People shouting. The male and female models falling off the disintegrating runway. Falling on each other, on the audience, on the floor. Ballroom chairs being turned over. People pushing. People running down the salon. Blood everywhere. People hurt. People dead.

Stunned and appalled, Geo was paralysed, frozen to the spot.

She felt someone suddenly grab her arm, heard a voice urging her to move. It was Rebecca Byam, the American. Her friend Ann Molloy had picked up Geo’s handbag and was shoving it into her hands. They were pulling her away from the scene.

Geo saw Luke, blood all over his face, coming towards them, beckoning. Luke, Geo, Ann and Rebecca made it to the exit door where the runway became a T-shape and ended.

Someone had grabbed the mike, was asking for calm. Security men from the hotel were everywhere. Outside, police sirens were screaming. Ambulance signals were blaring.

Luke opened the emergency exit door and hurried the three women out of the salon. They found themselves in a corridor, and stood together, took a moment to catch their breath.

‘What happened?’ Ann Molloy asked. ‘How could the runway collapse like that?’ She was pale, distressed.

Luke said, ‘God only knows! But it’s the biggest disaster I’ve ever seen. Unbelievable. The underpinning just crumpled away as if it was made of cardboard.’

‘I saw it ripple earlier,’ Geo said at last, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘Then I decided I’d imagined it. Obviously I hadn’t. I should have said something, told somebody. I could have prevented this.’ Tears came into her eyes.

Luke took hold of her arm consolingly. ‘Who would you have told? And who would have listened? Or believed you? Tell me that.’

Geo said, ‘You must be hurt, Luke. You’ve got blood all over your face.’ She opened her bag, took out some loose tissues. ‘Here,’ she said, handing them to him. ‘They’re clean.’

He wiped his face, and reassured her. ‘I’m not hurt. But someone near me was injured, badly cut by a piece of metal…that’s how I got blood on myself.’

‘We have a car and driver outside,’ Rebecca said. ‘Can we take you somewhere?’

‘Thanks, that’s so nice of you, Rebecca, but I have a car,’ Geo murmured, and hugged her and Ann. ‘Thank you so much for helping me. I’m so grateful. I was sort of…frozen. For a few minutes.’

They chatted for a moment longer and then the two women walked down the corridor. Geo said, ‘They were terrific.’ She looked at Luke. ‘Do you think we should go back inside, try to help?’

He shook his head vehemently. ‘There’s nothing we can do, kiddo. A lot of the hotel security men were rushing in as we were getting out, and we heard the sirens. Proper help is in there right now. We’d only be in the way.’

Geo said slowly, her voice shaking, ‘Thank God M wasn’t on the runway. She could easily have been killed.’

‘She’s just had a narrow escape,’ Luke muttered, and shuddered. Taking hold of Geo’s arm, he led her swiftly down the corridor, explaining, ‘I’m going to sit you down in the hotel lobby and then I’ll go and investigate, see what’s happening, look for M.’

‘But everything must have been all right backstage, don’t you think?’ Geo said, staring at him, her face filled with anxiety.

Luke nodded. ‘I think so. I hope so. Which one of her security men was with her backstage?’

‘It was Stuart. Craig stayed with the car. He’s parked nearby. I have his cell number. I’m to call when we need him.’

Nodding, Luke opened another emergency exit door, and they found themselves walking into the lobby. There were many people milling around, but Geo saw Stuart almost immediately. He was taller than most. She hurried over to him, dragging Luke with her.

Relief spread across Stuart’s face when he became aware of Geo approaching. ‘M sent me to look for you,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t get into the salon. They wouldn’t let me in. Security’s very tight. Police are in there already.’

‘M’s all right, isn’t she?’ Geo asked, peering at him.

‘Yes. She’s already in the car. Waiting for us. She sprained her ankle earlier, that’s why she wasn’t on the stage or the catwalk when it collapsed.’

‘I’m glad she sprained it,’ Luke exclaimed. ‘That’s why she’s still alive.’

Shocked and stunned by the disaster that had just occurred in the grand salon of the hotel, Jean-Louis Tremont was somehow managing to hang on to his self-control. Despite the sense of rising hysteria he felt inside, he spoke in a steady voice to Inspector Raymond Letort. The inspector had been one of the first policemen to arrive on the scene from the nearest gendarmerie.

‘C’est une catastrophe,’ Jean-Louis said, his expression dour. ‘Never in my entire career have I known anything to happen like this. C’est incroyable.’

Inspector Letort nodded, escorted the fashion designer to a quieter corner backstage. He said sympathetically, ‘It is indeed horrendous, Monsieur Tremont, an overwhelming tragedy. Now, monsieur, tell me exactly what occurred, as seen from your point of view. S’il vous plaît.’

‘It happened in an instant.’ Jean-Louis shook his head; he was still disbelieving. ‘I came out onto the stage. It was the end of the fashion show. I was going to give the thanks, say a word. I did not open my mouth. The runway…’ Jean-Louis paused as his voice began to shake, then he continued more steadily after a moment. ‘I saw the runway collapsing. I became paralysed. My girls, the models, were falling off. And the male models. Panic. Screaming. It became chaos—wailing, shouting, moaning. I saw people hurt, blood everywhere. I rushed off the stage, went down into the grand salon to help. I did my best. It was horrific.’

‘I understand, monsieur. And your brother?’

‘Philippe had been standing in the wings. He heard the commotion, came to investigate. I saw him immediately rush away. I understood he was coming here, to the dressing and makeup area. Our model M was awaiting her car, and Philippe wished to be sure she was all right.’

‘She was not on the catwalk?’ the inspector asked, a brow lifting in surprise.

‘Ah, non. M had had a small accident backstage. Earlier. She sprained her ankle.’

‘She was lucky, n’est-ce pas?’

‘That is true,’ Jean-Louis agreed.

‘Monsieur Tremont, I have sent for our top counterterrorist unit,’ the inspector now announced, his voice lowered. ‘There is something peculiar about this most tragic accident. It is unprecedented. Runways do not collapse on their own. Not in France. Fashion is big business. I am suspicious.’

Jean-Louis was silent for a second before asking, ‘Do you think it was contrived?’ He sounded astonished. There was a puzzled frown on his brow. ‘Why would someone wish to sabotage my fashion show? Surely not terrorists?’

‘Why not, monsieur? Why not hit a big show like yours? Extraordinary publicity ensues. A few hundred people are killed or injured. Success for the terrorists. Every public event is vulnerable these days, I am afraid.’ Inspector Letort’s eyes were sorrowful. ‘We live in bad times.’

Before Jean-Louis could respond, Philippe came hurrying over to them accompanied by two men. Inspector Letort greeted one of them. ‘Ah, there you are, Arnould,’ he said and, looking at Jean-Louis, he explained, ‘This is my colleague, Inspector Henri Arnould.’

Jean-Louis nodded. The two men shook hands and the designer greeted the other man next. He was the hotel manager, Thierry Marchand, and Jean-Louis now introduced him to Inspector Letort. Then he brought Philippe forward, explaining, ‘This is my brother, Inspector, Philippe Tremont.’

Once all of the introductions were over, Inspector Letort gathered the group in a far corner where it was totally quiet. They discussed the situation in detail. One thing was made clear. Inspector Arnould explained that the police had discovered that the metal underpinning of the wooden scaffold, the actual runway itself, had been tampered with. Extensively.

Inspector Arnould continued: ‘The bolts and nuts securing the metal parts that held the wooden platform up had been loosened, and many had been removed in certain strategic places. The weight of the models walking on it for over an hour and then the additional weight of the six men eventually brought the structure down.’

Letort turned to the hotel manager, Thierry Marchand, and asked, ‘When was the runway built, monsieur?’

‘Last night, Inspector, and I must point out that security is excellent in the hotel. When the construction company hired to do the job finished, they immediately left. The grand salon was locked. It was secure, Inspector Letort.’

‘But somebody entered that room,’ Arnould announced, sounding positive. ‘In my opinion it was a terrorist. Or a terrorist group.’

‘I agree,’ Inspector Letort said. ‘That seems the most likely explanation.’

At this moment Jean-Louis noticed Kate Morrell and Peter Addison walking towards him. Excusing himself, he hurried forward to meet them. At once he was appalled by Kate’s appearance. She had blood all over her clothes and face, and looked as distressed as he himself felt. Peter was also in a dishevelled state, and grim looking, his suit covered in dust and blood.

‘Kate, Peter. Thank you. It was good of you to go into the salon. You are not hurt in any way?’

‘We’re both fine,’ Kate answered, her voice slightly hoarse. ‘Which is more than I can say for a lot of other people. There have been many casualties, Jean-Louis.’

‘How many have been killed?’ the fashion designer asked in a worried and concerned voice. ‘I can’t bear to think about it.’

Kate was silent, shook her head.

‘How many people have been injured, Peter? How many are dead?’ he asked again, staring at the PR man.

‘We don’t know yet, J.-L. The ambulances took part of the audience away. And all of the models. Sophie has been injured, but she’s not been killed. It’s a catastrophic situation, a horrific day.’

Jean-Louis Tremont remained totally silent. He suddenly appeared beaten down, at the end of his strength.

Philippe came to join them, looking grey under his tan.

Kate filled him in, but he already knew most of it since he had been helping out at the other end of the salon. ‘It beggars belief, I don’t know how such a thing could happen in Paris,’ he said. ‘The fashion industry employs thousands and is a big money-maker. Also, the construction companies that specialize in building the runways are skilled and responsible. How could such an accident happen here?‘

‘You know the police don’t think it’s an accident,’ Jean-Louis finally said wearily. He looked at Kate, and told her, ‘The construction was tampered with; the metal underpinnings were weakened because nuts and bolts were removed.’

‘The police believe it’s an act of terrorism,’ Philippe interjected. ‘And perhaps it is.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Kate exclaimed, her face turning white.