here for the duration, if you want me,” he announced gamely, which was news to her. Originally, they had discussed a day or two. “I don't want to be a nuisance, or get in your way. I don't have to go back to London. We wrapped it all up today, and I cleared the decks in New York. So you've got me if you want me, and if you don't, then just ship me off and I'll go home.” He sounded more philosophical than he felt. He had sensed her conflict and ambivalence about pursuing their attraction to each other and didn't want to scare her.
“Why don't you see how you feel about it after you get a taste of it?” she said vaguely. “You may be sick to death of haute couture in a day or two.” But he knew it would take longer than that to be sick of her, at least he hoped so, but he didn't say that to her.
“So what are our plans? When do you want me?”
“The Dior show is at seven. That's what the invitation says. If we're lucky, they'll start at nine. Dior is always a zoo, they never start on schedule, they're always late. They'll still be sewing beads on dresses and finishing hems at seven, but it's the best show. And they do it in crazy locations they announce at the last minute. We just found out it's at the train station, so it's not too far away. If we leave here at seven-thirty, we'll be fine. I don't want to sit there for two hours. And if by some miracle they start earlier than usual, we'll still be okay.”
“Coat and tie, I assume?” He had no point of reference, and Fiona laughed at the question.
“You can go naked if you want. At Dior, no one will notice.”
“I'm not sure if that's reassuring or insulting.” At least he hoped she would, but she had given him no indication that she was going to pursue, or even accept, a romantic liaison with him, particularly a physical one. He had sensed the magnetic pull between them from the beginning, but there were times when she was very cool. And despite the romantic surroundings in the most beautiful city in the world, here Fiona appeared to be all business. But that was, after all, why she was here, so he understood it. He wondered if they'd get any time alone before he left. But whether or not they did, he knew he would enjoy being with her, and it was fun for him to be immersed in a world that was so entirely different. This was a rare treat for him, and he was excited to share it with her. He suspected it would give him huge insights into her and the world she ate, slept, drank, and breathed. Fashion was the very fiber of her being.
“I'll meet you downstairs at seven-fifteen,” she said briskly. She had calls to return and things to do before she met up with him, and then suddenly her voice softened, and she sounded more human. “Thanks for coming, John,” she said gently, “I hope you have fun here. And if it gets to be too much, just come back to the hotel and swim in the pool.”
“Don't worry about me. I'm looking forward to it, Fiona.”
“Good. I'll see you downstairs.” She hung up quickly, and predictably it was seven-thirty when he saw her hurrying through the lobby. There were a million people milling around, or so it seemed, the usual summer tourists who stayed at the Ritz and came from everywhere and those who had come for the haute couture. There were models, photographers, editors, reporters, clients of haute couture wearing their prizes from the last shows in January, European, American, Arab, and Asian women, with their husbands in tow, and a crowd of gawkers staring at them all. And outside the hotel there were groupies and paparazzi waiting to snap photographs of anyone well known. According to the whispers in the crowd, Madonna had just cruised through moments before. Like most of the other stars staying in the hotel, they were going to the Dior show. Moments later Fiona and John slipped into the chauffeured car she'd hired for her stay, and they sped off toward the station. Adrian and both their assistants were following in a
“Why don't you see how you feel about it after you get a taste of it?” she said vaguely. “You may be sick to death of haute couture in a day or two.” But he knew it would take longer than that to be sick of her, at least he hoped so, but he didn't say that to her.
“So what are our plans? When do you want me?”
“The Dior show is at seven. That's what the invitation says. If we're lucky, they'll start at nine. Dior is always a zoo, they never start on schedule, they're always late. They'll still be sewing beads on dresses and finishing hems at seven, but it's the best show. And they do it in crazy locations they announce at the last minute. We just found out it's at the train station, so it's not too far away. If we leave here at seven-thirty, we'll be fine. I don't want to sit there for two hours. And if by some miracle they start earlier than usual, we'll still be okay.”
“Coat and tie, I assume?” He had no point of reference, and Fiona laughed at the question.
“You can go naked if you want. At Dior, no one will notice.”
“I'm not sure if that's reassuring or insulting.” At least he hoped she would, but she had given him no indication that she was going to pursue, or even accept, a romantic liaison with him, particularly a physical one. He had sensed the magnetic pull between them from the beginning, but there were times when she was very cool. And despite the romantic surroundings in the most beautiful city in the world, here Fiona appeared to be all business. But that was, after all, why she was here, so he understood it. He wondered if they'd get any time alone before he left. But whether or not they did, he knew he would enjoy being with her, and it was fun for him to be immersed in a world that was so entirely different. This was a rare treat for him, and he was excited to share it with her. He suspected it would give him huge insights into her and the world she ate, slept, drank, and breathed. Fashion was the very fiber of her being.
“I'll meet you downstairs at seven-fifteen,” she said briskly. She had calls to return and things to do before she met up with him, and then suddenly her voice softened, and she sounded more human. “Thanks for coming, John,” she said gently, “I hope you have fun here. And if it gets to be too much, just come back to the hotel and swim in the pool.”
“Don't worry about me. I'm looking forward to it, Fiona.”
“Good. I'll see you downstairs.” She hung up quickly, and predictably it was seven-thirty when he saw her hurrying through the lobby. There were a million people milling around, or so it seemed, the usual summer tourists who stayed at the Ritz and came from everywhere and those who had come for the haute couture. There were models, photographers, editors, reporters, clients of haute couture wearing their prizes from the last shows in January, European, American, Arab, and Asian women, with their husbands in tow, and a crowd of gawkers staring at them all. And outside the hotel there were groupies and paparazzi waiting to snap photographs of anyone well known. According to the whispers in the crowd, Madonna had just cruised through moments before. Like most of the other stars staying in the hotel, they were going to the Dior show. Moments later Fiona and John slipped into the chauffeured car she'd hired for her stay, and they sped off toward the station. Adrian and both their assistants were following in a
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