Lauren's Designs (2 page)

Still smiling, Lauren got Nella and Dani away from the photographers and onto the deck. She was just looking around for a steward to direct them to their cabins when Dani ran over to a tall, handsome man in a navy blazer, white slacks, and a white yachting cap. Putting her hand on his arm coaxingly, she pouted up into his amused face.

“Are you the captain?” she asked.

“No, miss, I’m not. Can I get you a steward?”

“I don’t know how to find my cabin,” Dani said, fluttering her long eyelashes at him.

Lauren set her teeth. This was all she needed: a model on the make! She came up to them with a smile pinned to her lips. “Dani, if you’ll come with me, I promise you we’ll find your stateroom. It’s right next to mine.” Then, when the model seemed reluctant to let go the man’s arm, she added more firmly, “Nella wants to lie down and you’ve got to change before dinner.”

With a final languishing smile, Dani turned to follow her employer into the lounge. Lauren’s exasperated glance caught the outrageous grin on the big man’s face. He saluted mockingly.

Lauren’s reaction to his grin surprised her. She felt as though she had been touched by a live wire. Her senses were aware of him, alert to every detail of his strong physique . . .

Hold it
. She caught herself up abruptly. You’ve got a job to do.

She found a courteous steward who led them to their suite. Dani prowled around while Lauren tipped and thanked the man and made sure the sealed clothes rack was safe in her stateroom. Nella had subsided into a comfortable chair, looking pale. Lauren checked out the accommodations the promoters had secured for them: a pleasant, small sitting room from either side of which opened a bedroom. The models’ cabin had twin beds and a special triple mirror.

Lauren firmly directed the two into their room. “Get ready for dinner,” she advised them. “It won’t be formal, since this is the first night, but you’ll find the other models will be very much on stage. Wear the dark-red velvet shift, Dani. It’s perfect with those pretty black curls of yours. Nella, wear the green silk A-line.”

“Green!” Nella groaned. She staggered over to her bed. “I’m not sure I’ll be up to it tonight, Ms. Rose,” she whimpered. “Oh, I think I’m going to be si-i-ick. . . .”

“You can’t be sick yet,” Dani argued with her. “We’re still tied up at the dock.”

“Can’t I?” asked Nella. Since she was obviously requesting information rather than issuing a challenge, Lauren was able to reassure her.

“I’ll get you some Dramamine and you’ll be in good shape. The
Queen Elizabeth II
has wonderful stabilizers that keep her steady even in a storm. There really is nothing to be afraid of—”

The words were barely out of her mouth when there was a heavy, blasting roar. Nella screamed and curled up on the bed in a tight huddle.

“It’s only the whistle, dopey,” Dani said, hanging up her black-and-white suit and sitting down at the dressing table to change her makeup. As Nella rose hesitantly to begin undressing, Lauren went back across the sitting room into her own bedroom. It was the same size as the other and as charmingly decorated and furnished, but it seemed larger because it held only a single bed. Sighing with pleasure, Lauren removed her small, smart cream hat and suit and put them away carefully in the wardrobe. The blue-violet scarf and her shoes came off next. She walked into the tiny bathroom and scrutinized her face in the generous mirror. Her soft, cream-gilt hair was a little crushed by the hat, but a quick brushing would restore its lustrous waves. One of each, she thought. Dani’s a roguish small brunette with a charming tangle of shining black curls. Nella is a statuesque redhead. And I am a middle-sized blonde. As she stared at her violet-blue eyes with their frame of black lashes, the neat nose, which just escaped being too small, and the wide, soft mouth, she suddenly saw, imposed between her and her image, the mocking smile of the dark man in the blazer.

She had never been so instantly aware of a man before. His half-teasing salute was a challenge that had sparked every nerve in her body to alert response. Even now, she was conscious of every detail of his splendid body: his broad shoulders, the strong, full column of his throat, the thick, shining dark hair, the amazing gray eyes that shone like silver. . . .

Cool off, she advised herself. Smiling wryly, she stepped into the shower, then dressed in the violet sheer wool she had chosen to wear for the first night’s dinner. The next half-hour was spent in coaxing her models into their dresses and soothing Nella’s fears. One thing she said made Lauren very angry. Apparently, Herbert Masen had given poor Nella dire warnings of the agonies and hazards to be expected upon the high seas. So he
had
been trying to sabotage her showing. A minute’s thought told Lauren why. If the show was a disaster, she would be more amenable to his offer of marriage and a sale of the boutique and the September Song name. Or so Herbert probably figured. Well, she’d show Mr. Masen. She praised the models lavishly enough to soothe their deep insecurities, then outlined the evening’s events clearly for them.

“First we are to go to the captain’s dayroom for cocktails. All the other designers and their models will be there, so we will have to keep very quiet about what
we
are going to show.”

Nella and Dani nodded solemnly; they knew more than she did about the rivalries and dirty tricks in the fashion business.

Lauren resumed, “Then we go to our own dining room for dinner. There are four dining rooms on the
QE II
, you know.” They hadn’t, but they nodded again, eyes bright with interest. “After dinner, we meet with the cruise director, who will tell us all the details we need to know about the different presentations, especially our own. Then he’ll take us to the lounge where we’ll be putting on our show and let us look at the dressing rooms, runway, and stage. They have some scenery if we wish it, also props.”

Dani sighed. “Wouldn’t it be super if that gorgeous officer we met on deck was the cruise director? I know he fell for me.”

In spite of Lauren’s fears, Nella and Dani behaved with perfect propriety during the cocktail hour, both nursing a Perrier as they had been instructed. The cruise director turned out to be a woman, to Dani’s disappointment. She seemed competent and friendly, and made clear and careful explanations. It was not too surprising to discover that the other six designers had assistants to deal with their models and with the mechanics of the presentations. One or two of them spoke to Lauren, but the rest either ignored her completely or accepted their introduction to her with a patronizing air.

“Who’s
she
?” she heard someone ask Carlos de Sevile, the dark, insolent Spaniard who was chief designer for the expensive, exclusive C. M. Landrill chain of department stores based in Los Angeles. Lauren had been introduced to Carlos on several occasions. She lingered behind the two, waiting to hear what de Sevile would say about her.

“Some cheap little dressmaker,” Carlos drawled with a heavy accent, which made Lauren smile because she knew he had been born and educated in Los Angeles. “No competition to us, I assure you.” The two men laughed as they accepted a drink from a passing steward.

Lauren walked away without anger. She knew that Landrill’s had tried twice to secure her own designing skill, to put September Song garments and accessories under contract exclusively for their chain of stores. Al had always refused, ranting about conglomerates and big business destroying the small, quality boutiques. Lauren had often wondered what his real reasons were.

She had never really understood Al. Her marriage had been a mistake, although she had tried very hard to make it work. Al had always preferred his nights out with the boys, his trips to Vegas or Mexico or Canada with his special male friends. He seemed to have some deep grudge against the world, and in the last few years his anger and resentment had turned against her also. But she must not waste time thinking of that now, she told herself. She collected Nella and Dani to take them to dinner.

They were seated in a spacious, elegant dining room by attentive, smiling stewards, and the models were well pleased. Lauren, who had done her homework, realized that this was not the most posh of the four restaurants, but it suited her very well to keep a low profile at the moment. The table, centered with fresh roses, seated eight. Lauren found their five table companions delightful. When the dining steward had noted everyone’s choices from the impressive menu, she introduced herself and her models.

The older of the two men, Derek Strange, presented his party. They were an English dance troupe, returning home after a five-week tour in the United States. Derek Strange and his wife, Violet, were obviously older than Lauren; Tony Carr, lean and handsome, was about her age; Polly and Dolly Darby, twins, were in their early twenties, Lauren judged. Their manners were charming, but Lauren sensed an underlying depression that even their determined, chins-up cheerfulness could not hide. Halfway through the meal, interrupting a debate on the differences between English and American humor, Nella clutched at Lauren’s arm.

“The ship is rolling. I can feel it.”

Everyone at the table stared at the statuesque redhead, who was very pale. The men glanced at each other, frowned, then shrugged.

“I don’t feel any motion,” Dani argued. “You’re imagining it.”

Lauren got up. “Let me see you to the cabin, Nella,” she said gently. “You’ve had no sleep for nearly thirty-six hours. I’m sure when you’re rested you’ll feel better.”

“I’ll stay with these people,” said Dani. “I’m not tired.”

Lauren glanced at Violet Strange. “Where will you be, later, Mrs. Strange?” she asked softly, helping Nella to her feet.

“Here or the pub on this deck,” the woman answered her with a friendly smile. “We’ll look after your mannequin as if she were a doll.”

“We’ve got a business meeting after dinner,” explained Lauren. “Dani will need to know the stage, dressing rooms—all sorts of details.”

“You’ll be back before we’ve finished dinner,” Mrs. Strange assured her. “Not to worry.”

Lauren got Nella comfortably settled in bed with a cold cloth on her forehead and then sent for a stewardess and requested some Dramamine. The Englishwoman came back in a remarkably short time with some tablets and a glass of water. “Doctor says give her these and she’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

“Thank you very much,” Lauren replied with real gratitude.

Nella accepted everything docilely. Then she sobbed, “I just know I’m going to be sick. I shouldn’t have come.”

Within ten minutes, however, she was sleeping peacefully. Lauren hurried back to the dining room. Dani and the dance troupe were still enjoying their dinner, which was superb and served with style. Lauren sat down at the table with relief. In response to their kind queries, she explained that Nella was a bit of a hypochondriac.

“She’s a nitwit,” Dani announced coldly. “Just because Mr. Masen told her all those stories about storms at sea, she’s sure that we’ll all drown or something.
Seasick
. It’s as calm as an oyster.”

The men chuckled. Dinner proceeded without any further problems, and Lauren enjoyed both the food and the service very much. The company of the dance troupe could, she felt, have been pleasant, had it not been for the unhappiness she sensed in them in spite of their attempts to be cheerful.

Finally she turned to Violet Strange. “Is something wrong? Can I help you in anyway?”

Violet gave her a wry look. “Is it that plain, then? We were trying to keep a stiff upper lip.”

There was a little pause as the waiter served their desserts. Dani had ordered a fruit-and-cream concoction, but Lauren hadn’t the heart to object. There had been enough trauma at the table already. When they were eating again, Violet smiled at Lauren. “We expected to be rejoicing at this point. Our tour of your country was most successful. Then yesterday our promoter disappeared with all the receipts from the trip. All he left us was our return tickets. So we’re going home broke.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” breathed Lauren. “What a rotten trick.”

Violet shrugged. “It’s happened before to dancers and it will again, I’ve no doubt. But we were good. We deserved our moment of celebration on the ship.”

It was time for Lauren and Dani to go to the Royal Court Lounge for their briefing, yet she really hated to leave Violet and the rest of the troupe. “Perhaps we might meet later, at the pub?” Lauren proposed. A vague idea was drifting around in her head. She wanted to think it through clearly before she made a move. So, with smiles exchanged, the dinner party broke up. Lauren was leading Dani out of the dining room when they ran into a stocky man in full evening dress.

“Herbert! What are you doing here?” Lauren demanded.

“Surprise!” Herbert smirked. “I decided you needed me to get you through this cruise.”

“You are the last person I need, you—you traitor,” snapped Lauren. “Thanks to you, Nella has gone to bed convinced she’s seasick, and we’ve got a show to put on. Just stay away from her, and from me, or I’ll—” She stopped for want of a dire-enough threat.

Herbert laughed. “Well, if she can’t do the show, you’ll make out just about as well as if she could. You can take her place, can’t you? You hadn’t a hope in hell of winning against the big guns they’ve got on the program, anyway. Why don’t we all just relax and enjoy the trip?”