Free Love in Vogue by Eve Bourton Page B

genius.’
    She raised her eyebrows quizzically, and Tex smiled. Eighteen years of marriage, and he still thought he was the luckiest man in the world. She had wafted into his life one sunny afternoon in London, walking with her daughters in Kensington Gardens. Nice kids, lovely mother. He had released Corinne’s kite which was caught in a tree and they had started talking. Just his luck to fall for a married woman. He had tried to forget about it. Good-looking, fit and almost forty, a bruising divorce had made him swear never to risk another trip up the aisle. His ex-wife had walked with his son, a Manhattan penthouse, their summer place in Maine, and his self-respect. She’d remarried within six months. Then he met Grace again. A formal introduction this time, at an American Embassy reception. Grosvenor Square hospitality, more talk, smiling dark eyes that seemed to understand what his were saying. He found out she too was a divorcee, and proposed to her two weeks later. They had been inseparable ever since.
    He moved around the table to her. ‘What are you doing for lunch?’
    ‘Is that an invitation?’
    ‘Yes. I should be through by one. Will you book somewhere?’
    They kissed lingeringly. Grace smoothed his hair. ‘You’re such an old romantic, darling.’
    ‘Is that so bad?’
    ‘No. In fact it’s a damn good thing for overpriced Manhattan restaurants.’
    ‘Well someone has to keep them going.’
    He was leaving, but she pulled him back by the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Tex, did you really mean it about Christmas?’
    ‘Sure. I thought we could meet the whole family. Either in France or England – or both. You fix it. I’ll make the time.’
    ‘Promise?’
    ‘On the book.’
    She kissed him again. When Tex Beidecker made a promise like that, it was rock solid. Christmas in Europe – the first for four years. She might be able to find out what those beautiful daughters of hers were really getting up to now they had no father – however indulgent – to keep an eye on them.

Chapter Five
    From the window of her office on the Avenue Montaigne, Corinne looked down wistfully at the street below; serried ranks of chestnut trees, just starting to turn an autumnal shade; purposeful taxis heading for the Hotel Plaza Athénée, ferrying serious shoppers with their seriously expensive designer bags, the sort she had spent her morning wooing with a new marketing campaign. Doubtless quite a few of them had visited the Hervy boutique below to snap up the latest must-have – the Hervy trenchcoat, based on the original wartime design by the great Hélène Hervy herself, but given a modern twist by that genius Franco Rivera, with daring colours and luxurious fabrics. Corinne had ordered a limited pre-release of stock ahead of the main prêt-à-porter launch, despite Paul Dupuy’s reservations. And as usual had been proved right – rave reviews in Vogue and Harpers , with a Vanity Fair spread to come. She sighed and returned to her desk.
    It was a lovely September day, and Corinne longed to be outdoors in jeans and a sweater with the wind in her hair and nowhere in particular that she had to be. She dragged her attention back to the latest company figures Georges Maury had just sent through. All profits were up for the month, and the trend for the year was very positive. Not a cloud dimmed the business horizon – so why was she so depressed? She didn’t need a shrink to spell it out. Too much work, no chance to recharge her batteries over the summer, not enough fun. And no time to grieve. There was her father’s estate to settle and her presence as the new head of Marchand to establish with the employees and the markets. People seemed to welcome Corinne’s personal approach, though her managerial style was somewhat different from Jean-Claude’s. He had always been a strategic head in the Paris head office, whereas she made a point of visiting all her managers to explain her ideas personally. Had Georges nursed