Read Online Lovers in Their Fashion by S F Hopkins - Free Book Online
Authors: S F Hopkins
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educated Frenchmen, you know? He’s 35. A nice age, if you know what I mean.’
‘He’s single?’
‘Divorced. He’s a journalist. Covers the UK beat for one of the quality French papers. His ex got the Washington job. Word is, Michel was chagrined. Though no doubt he wouldn’t pronounce it the way I do.’
Alice laughed.
‘Do you want to meet him?’
‘Sure,’ Alice said. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ll take you over. But listen, honey, don’t fire all the shots in your locker if you know what I mean. If this one doesn’t light your fire, there’s others here who will. Tony Frejus for starters.’
‘That’s an interesting name.’
‘For an interesting guy. I’d introduce you to him before Michel, but he seems to have a heavy conversation going with my husband. Ed doesn’t like it if I interrupt something that might mean business.’
‘How’s Merrill doing?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about her,’ Bernice said. ‘Merrill is going to make out fine. In every sense of the word. You do know why she’s doing this?’
‘I guess she wants a man in her life,’ said Alice.
‘She wants her mother off her back,’ Bernice replied. ‘The old girl’s starting to wonder when she’s going to see grandchildren. She’s been at Merrill to go home to LA so she can introduce her to some eligible men. Merrill likes it here, so she needs to find some British guy to take back there and show off. Reduce the pressure.’
Both women laughed as they crossed the floor towards Michel LeGrand. Bernice made the introductions and left. Alice, noticing that he was standing alone, had wondered whether he was intimidated by lack of facility in the language, but she soon found that Michel’s English, though charmingly accented, was impeccable.
‘You’re not drinking,’ she said, noticing the still mineral water in his glass. The last thing she wanted was to be paired off with an alcoholic.
‘I may have to drive,’ he said. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll be called back to London. A story I’m covering could break tonight.’
‘You live in London?’
‘Hammersmith. And you?’
Alice told him where she lived. His eyes dilated for a moment. ‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘A good job? Or lots of alimony?
‘I think I’ve just been insulted,’ Alice bridled. ‘I’ve never been married. Everything I have I’ve worked for.’
‘Pardon,’ said Michel. ‘In France it would not be considered an insult to suggest you screwed your ex to the max.’
‘I’m not convinced. But I accept your apology. Don’t do it again.’
‘So,’ drawled the Frenchman. ‘What is it that you do to earn all this money?’
‘Something fascinating in the doing but boring to talk about.’
‘Nothing bores a journalist. We store information the way a squirrel stores nuts. Tell me.’
‘Very well. I’m in the fashion business.’
‘Ah. At the top? I mean, for a French house?’
‘At the top, yes. For a French house, no.’
Michel’s eyebrows rose perceptibly. ‘C’est pas possible, n’est ce pas?’ He smiled to show that this was a joke. Or could have been.
‘These crazy English,’ he went on. ‘They leave a woman like you unmarried while they fly their model airplanes on Hampstead Heath or drive their silly little go-karts round dead aerodromes.’
Alice let this go over her head. She had been wooed by French men before and could probably have written Michel’s speech for him. In French, at that – though she had decided not to make clear her command of his language just yet. French men needed to feel that it was they who were in control.
‘Perhaps I’m better out of it,’ she said. ‘Marriage was not a happy experience for you.’
Michel’s face darkened. ‘That bitch,’ he murmured. Alice noticed that anger made him more French: it came out as zat beesh and could almost have been charming had the thought behind it not been so unpleasant. She laughed.
‘Oh,’ said Michel. ‘You think it is funny
‘He’s single?’
‘Divorced. He’s a journalist. Covers the UK beat for one of the quality French papers. His ex got the Washington job. Word is, Michel was chagrined. Though no doubt he wouldn’t pronounce it the way I do.’
Alice laughed.
‘Do you want to meet him?’
‘Sure,’ Alice said. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ll take you over. But listen, honey, don’t fire all the shots in your locker if you know what I mean. If this one doesn’t light your fire, there’s others here who will. Tony Frejus for starters.’
‘That’s an interesting name.’
‘For an interesting guy. I’d introduce you to him before Michel, but he seems to have a heavy conversation going with my husband. Ed doesn’t like it if I interrupt something that might mean business.’
‘How’s Merrill doing?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about her,’ Bernice said. ‘Merrill is going to make out fine. In every sense of the word. You do know why she’s doing this?’
‘I guess she wants a man in her life,’ said Alice.
‘She wants her mother off her back,’ Bernice replied. ‘The old girl’s starting to wonder when she’s going to see grandchildren. She’s been at Merrill to go home to LA so she can introduce her to some eligible men. Merrill likes it here, so she needs to find some British guy to take back there and show off. Reduce the pressure.’
Both women laughed as they crossed the floor towards Michel LeGrand. Bernice made the introductions and left. Alice, noticing that he was standing alone, had wondered whether he was intimidated by lack of facility in the language, but she soon found that Michel’s English, though charmingly accented, was impeccable.
‘You’re not drinking,’ she said, noticing the still mineral water in his glass. The last thing she wanted was to be paired off with an alcoholic.
‘I may have to drive,’ he said. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll be called back to London. A story I’m covering could break tonight.’
‘You live in London?’
‘Hammersmith. And you?’
Alice told him where she lived. His eyes dilated for a moment. ‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘A good job? Or lots of alimony?
‘I think I’ve just been insulted,’ Alice bridled. ‘I’ve never been married. Everything I have I’ve worked for.’
‘Pardon,’ said Michel. ‘In France it would not be considered an insult to suggest you screwed your ex to the max.’
‘I’m not convinced. But I accept your apology. Don’t do it again.’
‘So,’ drawled the Frenchman. ‘What is it that you do to earn all this money?’
‘Something fascinating in the doing but boring to talk about.’
‘Nothing bores a journalist. We store information the way a squirrel stores nuts. Tell me.’
‘Very well. I’m in the fashion business.’
‘Ah. At the top? I mean, for a French house?’
‘At the top, yes. For a French house, no.’
Michel’s eyebrows rose perceptibly. ‘C’est pas possible, n’est ce pas?’ He smiled to show that this was a joke. Or could have been.
‘These crazy English,’ he went on. ‘They leave a woman like you unmarried while they fly their model airplanes on Hampstead Heath or drive their silly little go-karts round dead aerodromes.’
Alice let this go over her head. She had been wooed by French men before and could probably have written Michel’s speech for him. In French, at that – though she had decided not to make clear her command of his language just yet. French men needed to feel that it was they who were in control.
‘Perhaps I’m better out of it,’ she said. ‘Marriage was not a happy experience for you.’
Michel’s face darkened. ‘That bitch,’ he murmured. Alice noticed that anger made him more French: it came out as zat beesh and could almost have been charming had the thought behind it not been so unpleasant. She laughed.
‘Oh,’ said Michel. ‘You think it is funny
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