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Authors: Mary Burchell

Tags: #Harlequin Romance 1964

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BOOK: The Wedding Dress
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Monsieur, I promise you that not the smallest hint shall escape me,

Loraine declared earnestly, and only with difficulty did she keep herself from crossing her heart, so impressive did the occasion seem.


Bon!

He smiled at her, suddenly and brilliantly.

And, in return,
I
will promise
you
that every man

but every one

who attends the opening show will see in you the perfect, the inevitable bride.


Oh!

She laughed and colored.

That could be rather embarrassing, though, couldn’t it?


Not,

Florian assured her drily,

if you keep your head. See only that Monsieur Philippe accompanies his admirable maman on this occasion.


Oh!

she said again, and this time she went scarlet, for she suddenly realized what Florian meant.

But

but, Monsieur Florian, his
fiancée
will be coming too.


Yes, I remember. You told me as much. And, as I told you, we will try to find something to please her. But not the wedding dress,
chérie
.
Not the wedding dress.

And, on that, Florian smilingly dismissed her.

Loraine walked home in a mood of jubilation. Of faintly guilty jubilation perhaps, for she kept on reminding herself that it was both mean and paltry to have designs

even in thought

on another girl’s
fiancé
.

But then it was not as though she were called on to take any sort of action, one way or the other. All she had to do was to wear the Florian wedding dress

in all probability the wedding dress of the year

and if the results were indeed as sensational as Florian had prophesied, what possible reason would she have to reproach herself?

True, she was by no means out of the wood with regard to the telephone incident the previous evening. A cloud fell on her spirits when she recalled this, and reluctantly she faced the fact that Philip might, even now, be thinking of her as a secretive, oddly deceitful young person who had inexplicably withheld a tricky piece of personal information.

She felt scared all over again at that thought. But the interview with Florian must have bolstered up her morale even more than she had realized. For, when she readied home, she suddenly decided that, rather than wait for the blow to fall, she would boldly telephone Philip herself and judge from his attitude whether or not Elinor had chosen to say anything.

No sooner had she dialled his number than her courage deserted her and she would have replaced the receiver if Philip’s voice had not almost immediately sounded in her ear.


Hallo. It’s Loraine,

she said, on a little gasp of mingled fright and excitement.


Loraine, dear! How nice to hear from you. Are you at Florian’s?


No, I’m

at home.

She actually gulped in her relief for

there was no doubt of it

his interest was as affectionate and undisturbed as ever.

I just wanted to ring and thank you once more for a perfectly lovely evening.


It was lovely for me too,

he assured her.

We must do it again, my dear. Don’t let Florian work you so hard that there’s no time to play.


I won’t.

She laughed gaily

although, of course, there was not the slightest prospect of her affecting Florian’s plan of work one way or the other, and they knew it.

Give my love to your mother, won’t you?


Of course. And keep some evenings free for me

for us. How are you fixed for next week-end?


There’s

nothing at the moment.


Then we’ll arrange something,

he declared.

I’ll call you up in a day or two, dear.

And then he bade her goodbye, and Loraine, glowing with happiness and breathless with relief, replaced the receiver. Either Elinor had, for her own reasons, said nothing to him about that curious business of the telephone number. Or else

even pleasanter possibility

he attached no importance to it, in any case.

She sat there for a minute or two longer, lost in pleasant reflection. Then, just as she rose to go and get ready for dinner, the telephone bell rang again.

Immediately there flashed into her mind the delightful possibility that it was Philip ringing with some new and enchanting suggestion, and she leaned forward and snatched up the receiver once more.

But it was not Philip’s warm, friendly voice which sounded in her ear. It was Elinor’s cool, well-pitched tones which said:


Is that Loraine Darnell?

All Loraine’s instinct was to say it was not and replace the receiver. But she knew instinctively that Elinor had already recognized her when she said

Hallo

. So, although her heart began to beat heavily, she replied, as brightly as she could:


Why, yes. Is that Elinor?


It is.

Very slight pause. Then


I expect you know why I’m contacting you.


N-no. Is it something special?


It may not be my business. But I should very much like to know why you’re living in Paul Cardine’s apartment,

Elinor’s voice stated calmly and categorically.


Oh!

Something in the wording made Loraine feel so indignant that she blurted out the truth immediately.

He’s my guardian.


Paul
is?

For a moment even Elinor seemed put off her stroke.

But why doesn’t anyone know about it? Philip hasn’t the faintest idea, has he?


No!

In spite of all her efforts, that sounded sharp and anxious.

I thought it would be more

comfortable all round if I didn’t enlarge on the position.


But you must have gone to quite a lot of invention and

deceit to keep the fact hidden. It hardly seems worth while.


I thought it was,

Loraine stated, more calmly now because she was beginning to recover herself.


Yes

I see you might,

was the thoughtful reply, and immediately Loraine felt terribly anxious again, because of the odd note in the other girl’s voice.

Once more there was a slight pause. Then Elinor said, deliberately and distinctly:


I don’t believe in a lot of plain speaking, usually. But there are occasions when it’s essential, and I think this is one of them. You’re very keen to marry Philip yourself, aren’t you? No, don’t bother to answer. I know, simply by watching you. And of course his mother is on your side because she knows she can manage you, whereas
I would stand no nonsense



Please don’t say such things! It isn’t as though



Just a moment. Let me finish. You didn’t tell Philip you were Paul’s ward because it would have made meetings very difficult, perhaps impossible. I don’t blame you. I’d have done the same in your place. But I’m not in your place, Loraine, and I’m looking after
my
side of things. I have enough stacked against me with Mrs. Otway to handle. I don’t intend to have you around too. Make what excuses and explanations you like

but keep out of Philip’s way for the time being.


Keep out of Philip’s way? How dare you say anything so

so silly and impertinent to me!

exclaimed Loraine indignantly.


Because I hold the trump card,

was the cool and literal reply, made in such a matter-of-fact tone that it carried complete conviction.

You’d better be so busy at Florian’s during the coming weeks that you have no time
or energy for seeing people. Or else



Or else

what?

Loraine was fascinated into asking.


Or else I shall explain to Philip that I find you’re living in Paul Cardine’s flat, in circumstances you’re anxious to keep hidden from your closest friends,

replied Elinor.

Then the line went dead, and Loraine was left staring in front of her, the silent receiver still in her hand.

 

CHAPTER
SIX

FOR a whole minute Loraine remained absolutely still. Then she slowly replaced the receiver and said out loud:


But that’s ridiculous! My position here is perfectly clear and straightforward. She knows it. And she knows it would be simple enough to explain that fact to Philip. At least


Loraine passed her hands over her face and smoothed back her hair in sudden fresh perplexity.

It was true there was little question of any actual damage to her reputation. Elinor knew, as well as she did, that the unpleasant way of putting things merely served to highlight the peculiar secrecy of her behavior. But, once the subject had been broached

and broached in that startling and distasteful manner

Philip would be in no mood to take an indulgent view of her extraordinary lack of candor.

Her whole conduct in concealing the position would appear questionable, just when she most wanted to stand well with him. And Philip might even

prompted by Elinor

take the view that her curious behavior was all part of some joint scheming with his mother.

Her cheeks began to burn at the very thought of trying to explain things to him, in the certain knowledge that Elinor intended to put her in as bad a light as possible. Unless, that was, Loraine accepted her terms and merely kept out of the picture for the time being.

To do so would, she knew, be little better than yielding to moral blackmail. And, somehow, the fact that Elinor appeared so cool and civilized made these tooth-and-claw methods seem all the more shocking.

On the other hand, deep down inside her, Loraine felt a curious pang of reluctant sympathy for her adversary. As Elinor had said, with devastating candor, she had enough to contend with in Mrs. Otway, without having Loraine to confuse the issue. And, for good or ill

whether one liked it or not

she
was
the girl P
hili
p had asked to be his wife, and that did entitle her to some sort of prior
r
ights.

One might justify one’s inmost hopes with the specious arguments that Elinor had been ruthless over her engagement, that she would not really make Philip happy, even that his own mother thought the whole thing a mistake. But one could not justify any active interference.


I wasn’t really going to attempt that, anyway,

Loraine thought defensively.

But then she was not to know that. She probably thinks of me as more or less hand-in-glove with Mrs. Otway. Or does she not think about my attitude at all? Is it just that she knows in her heart that if Philip saw too much of me he might well change his mind about marrying her?

She got up with a sigh, as Mimi looked in to say rather severely that her dinner was ready. And then, for the third time that evening, the telephone bell rang and, half-scared, half eager, Loraine picked up the receiver and said breathlessly:


This is Loraine Darnell speaking.


Loraine, dear!

It was Mrs. Otway’s clear, well
-
pitched voice which answered.

How fortunate that I caught you in. I’ve just been talking to Philip and he tells me you’ll be free at the week-end. I thought it would be so nice if we went into the country on Sunday and—


Mrs. Otway, I’m so sorry!

She had no idea just what was prompting her to say this.

But I remembered after I spoke to Philip that I shan’t be free, after all.


You won’t be free?

Disappointment sounded in Mrs. Otway’s voice, but, even more, the note of one who was irritated by fresh opposition to some cherished plan.

But couldn’t you
make
yourself free?


I’m

afraid not.


How disappointing!

She could almost see Mrs. Otway frowning and biting her lip.

Then I wonder what about
Saturday. Perhaps we could



I’m almost sure I shall have to be at Florian’s on Saturday,

Loraine explained quickly. And, before Mrs. Otway could query that, she hurried on:

At present, you know, it’s difficult to say
when
we shall be free. These are very important weeks, as you know.


Yes, of course.

The sharpness in Mrs
.
Otway’s tone suggested that no one need think she required instruction on the self-evident facts of fashion-house life.

Dear me! how vexing. Philip will be extremely disappointed, Loraine. You’re quite sure you couldn’t rearrange Sunday’s plans?


I don’t see how I can. I’m so very sorry.

It was quite true. She was sorry. Desperately sorry. But something stronger than herself

whether it was conscience or fear she could not say

stiffened her resolution.

There was a slight pause. Then Mrs. Otway said, in a
significant
sort of voice:


Loraine dear, I think you’ll understand me when I say that it could be a very
important
occasion. If I may put it quite crudely

you have made an impression it would be wise to follow up. Can’t you really do anything about making Sunday free?


I'm very sorry, but

no.

There was a slight catch in her voice, but she held firmly to her original purpose.


Well, then

there’s nothing to do about it.

It was obvious that Mrs. Otway found the greatest difficulty in realizing that she was not going to carry her point, after all.

We’ll have to see what else

but it’s a pity. Timing is so important in these things.

Loraine was tempted to ask shortly,

What things?

But she felt this might involve her in even more difficult conversation. And so she repeated once again

rather inadequately

how sorry she was, and the telephone call ended in an atmosphere of mutual dissatisfaction.


It isn’t
only
because I’m afraid of Elinor’s threats,

Loraine assured herself, as she sat alone later in Paul’s charming dining-room, doing less than justice to Mimi’s admirable dinner.

It’s partly the inner conviction that I have no special right to thrust myself into the picture, anyway.

If she had been there, naturally and passively, it would have been a different matter. But, by a stroke of luck, Philip’s
fiancée
had managed to make an issue of the whole thing. She had thrust the onus of aggressive action on Loraine. And aggressive action in this case was simply not justified.


It isn’t even as though she’s demanding that I do something. She just demands that I do nothing,

thought Loraine.

And if she were a nice girl and Mrs. Otway hadn’t put ideas into my head, she wouldn’t even have had to tell me. I’d have kept out of the way anyway, and tried not to make mischief.

As an academic argument this was splendid. Applied to Philip

and what seemed dangerously like an entanglement with the wrong girl

it had a hollow ring. And for the rest of that evening, and quite far into the night, Loraine swung to and fro between the two extremes of argument.

But she always came back to the fact that, when she had acted on impulse, she had put off that next meeting with Philip either from fear of Elinor’s threats or some instinctive feeling that this was the right thing to do.

The next few days were not happy ones for Loraine. She heard nothing from either Philip or his mother, and, in spite of all the assurances she had given her guardian about being quite happy on her own, she did feel extremely isolated and forlorn.

At work, fortunately, there was little time to think about personal problems. Tension and excitement were now rising to fever pitch and would, Madame Moisant assured her in a moment of cynical candor, presently verge on hysteria.


Do you mind, madame?

Loraine asked, with sympathetic curiosity.


Mind?

repeated the Frenchwoman.

Mind? Why should I mind?


Well, you know

I thought you might find it a great strain to have so many excited people to manage. After all, you too must have some nerves, I suppose.


But of steel wire,
petite,

the directrice assured her drily.

Of what good would I be to Monsieur Florian if I sulked and cried and panicked like these others?

The thought of a weeping and panic-stricken Madame Moisant was so formidable that Loraine shook her head wordlessly.


I tell you,
ma
chère
,
I am the only one

but the only one, not excepting Monsieur Florian himself

who must not indulge in emotional crises at this time.


Does Monsieur Florian
...
panic sometimes?

inquired Loraine, feeling that she could not suggest that he either sulked or wept.


No. To say that he panics would be to go too far,

Madame Moisant conceded.

But he is a great artist, and, like all great artists, he is entitled to a temperamental outburst or two in times of stress. This one must appreciate if one is to deal with a genius.


I suppose that’s true,

Loraine agreed thoughtfully.


But of course! It is very proper that the mediocre and worthy should have the day-to-day virtues which make for comfortable relationships,

Madame Moisant explained with unashamed snobbishness.

But the qualities which make a genius almost inevitably include some which are not easy to live with or work with. One must accept them or, quite simply, go elsewhere. For myself, I would rather work for an interesting fiend than a boring archangel.
Voila tout.


Bravo, Suzanne,

said Florian, coming in at that moment.

Something tells me you must be talking about me. But whether as the archangel or the fiend, I’m not sure.


Monsieur knows very well he is not boring,

replied Madame Moisant cryptically, which made Florian laugh a good deal and direct a glance of genuine affection at his waspish but devoted directrice.


You must not frighten the little Loraine,

he declared.

She and I have to co-operate very amiably during the next couple of weeks. Isn’t that so,
petite
?”


Yes, monsieur,

said Loraine obediently.


Good. Then I hope you will accept with good grace the fact that I shall require you here during most of the weekend.


Oh, monsieur, willingly!

She was almost glad to have the fictitious excuse she had given Mrs. Otway turned into a real one. And she felt something of a fraud when Madame Moisant observed that she was a good child, with a very proper attitude towards her work.

In point of fact, the week-end hours of work at the salon proved to be the most exciting she had yet spent, for they were devoted exclusively to the wedding dress and, for the first time, Loraine took the full measure of her employer’s genius.

Even as early as Marianne’s wedding she had already realized that he was a supreme showman and, during the time he had been designing other models for her, she had sensed the real artist at work. But now she began to absorb, almost through the pores of her skin, the subtle awareness of what the wedding dress really meant.

BOOK: The Wedding Dress
13.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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