Chapter Forty-Seven
The after-show party was in full swing. Clem was still locked away with the press pack, and Otto was doing her best to make herself uninteresting. Despite this, an old man was walking directly towards her. He was clearly foreign from the way he dressed and styled his hair. He was overweight and had a face that sagged with age and booze. From his shiny hair to his gold tooth, something about him screamed a warning, and Otto instinctively started looking for exits.
‘Hello, thief.’
Otto recoiled and looked about her. Thankfully, she had chosen a quiet spot to sip her water and there was no one close enough to overhear their conversation.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand you.’
‘Is it the accent, Otto? You never used to have any problem understanding in the past.’
Otto stared at him. That he knew her was appalling; she was now in no doubt that here was a criminal from her past – but which one?
‘I’m sorry, I don’t—’
‘Tony Spinelli. You used to know my old man. He died a few years ago. I’m in charge now.’
Otto looked at him with disdain. Tony Spinelli had been pompous and vain but he had never been a fool. His father had been a violent thug, but Tony had often managed to cut a deal or bribe a cop and sometimes he just simply got rid of any witnesses. Otto had made it a point never to do business with him.
‘My word, Tony, you used to be so handsome. I didn’t recognise you.’ Otto spotted some photographers over by the door; she knew that he would want to avoid them even more than she did. If she could just edge past him. He grabbed her arm.
‘No, I don’t think so. You have something I want.’ With his other hand he leant around her body and patted her back, where the small painting was resting discreetly, in a pouch hidden by her long cloak. He smiled wolfishly at her.
‘I thought so. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in that magazine. Call it professional curiosity from one old timer to another. I decided then and there to pop to London to see if you were still in the game. Imagine my surprise when I’m sitting in the audience and the lights go out. Everyone is watching the stage but not me. I’m watching the walls. And as the light starts to brighten, I notice someone small and dark walk away from one of the paintings, and I thought to myself, madon, she has stolen a painting from the VA and no alarms have gone off.’
Otto sipped her water. She was in trouble but she wasn’t sure what to do. The ball was in Tony’s court.
‘Nothing to say? Fair enough. Here’s what’s going to happen: you are going to give me the painting. If you don’t, I will alert your current patrons and the local police and bring it all down on your head. Do we have a deal?’
Otto needed time and space to think of a plan.
‘Not here.’
‘Of course not here, stupid. After all, you haven’t left the building yet. I’m looking forwards to seeing how you plan to pull that off. These paintings are alarmed, si? Tomorrow morning. If you haven’t been arrested in the meantime. Give me your number and I’ll call you, when and where.’
Otto glared at him.
‘I’ve worked years for this. If you think I’m just going to walk into your lair and hand over my prize, you’re insane.’
Tony laughed and then sneered at her as he knocked back his champagne and clicked his fingers for another glass. As the server left earshot Tony continued.
‘You will hand it over because you have no other option.’
‘And how do you know I won’t disappear as well?’
‘Since when where you such a coward?’
‘I choose the venue or you can go to hell.’
‘Somewhere public.’
‘Yes. I will text you the location in the morning.’
‘Very well. And don’t try to run. I’ll have no hesitation in breaking your legs if you do.’ He leant forward to kiss her on the cheeks and grinned as she tried to pull back. ‘What a wonderful evening this has turned out to be. Now I will leave; there are too many photographers for my comfort. Good luck leaving the building, and I’ll see you in the morning.’
Otto watched his departing back until he left the room, and she quickly moved to an empty chair. She was so close to saving the reputation of the Hivertons and at the same time destroying it. She had promised Clem that this would be straightforward and it would have been, except for that stupid magazine article. She put her head in her hands and was aware of someone sitting down next to her. She needed to pull herself together and fast, but these days nothing she did was fast and she seemed to be falling apart.
‘Are you all right?’
It was a softly accented French voice. Otto rather liked the cultured tones and decided to explain that she had a headache, but when she sat up to address the speaker, she was looking straight into the face of Louis Robespierre.
‘Mio Dio. Louis?’
For a moment, neither said anything; if anyone had looked across, they would have seen an old couple simply smiling at each other. They would not have seen the dashing young art detective who chased the elusive art forger across the European art markets. But Louis did and so did Otto.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ said Louis.
‘Well, you are still a flatterer.’
‘I meant it then and I mean it now; you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known.’
‘I am a foolish old woman, is what I am.’ She sighed. ‘Are you here to arrest me?’
Louis pulled back, surprised. He had been stunned when he had seen Otto earlier and had been eager to say hello. Initially, doubt and fear had waylaid him. Then he saw Tony Spinelli walk towards her and caution held him back as he observed the two together. Was it possible that she was involved in whatever Tony was up to?
‘After all these years? No, my dear, I didn’t arrest you when I had the chance and the statute of limitations has long since passed. Besides which I’ve retired.’
‘So why are you here then? I’ve just seen Tony Spinelli. I take it that seeing the two of you is not a coincidence.’
Louis looked at her face; there were a thousand more lines but her eyes were as sharp as ever and he could see that she was trying to work the connections and the angles, just as she had in the past. It was how she always escaped capture.
He no longer felt any desire to keep anything from her and explained how he kept tabs on certain individuals that had always evaded their rightful imprisonment.
‘So when Tony Spinelli suddenly decided to travel to London, having not left Malta in ten years, I wondered why. And now I wonder, having witnessed a rather tense conversation between the pair of you, if you are the reason why.’
Otto took in a deep breath; there were moments in life when you just had to jump and trust that fate would catch you. Years ago, when the mafia were chasing her, she could have thrown herself at Louis’s mercy. Instead, she had accepted Henry’s offer of a highland sanctuary. It had hurt her to accept help from the man who had jilted her, but by then Louis had disappeared to New York and she was running out of time. Now he was sitting beside her, holding her hand, and everything seemed to fall into place. She knew she was risking Clem’s big night and potentially shaming the entire family, but she decided to trust Louis, and so she told him the whole, messy story.
Half an hour later, Louis patted her hand. ‘You certainly don’t do things by half. Have you got a plan?’
‘I’ve been trying to think of one.’
‘Okay, I have an idea. How about this?’
***
Clem smiled at the journalists. To say the show was successful beyond her wildest dreams would be no exaggeration. Giles Buckley had kicked off the after-show press party, praising the exhibition and announcing that the VA was going to be discussing a collaboration with the House of Hiverton tomorrow. Buyers from Prêt-à-Porter and Harvey Nicks also said they were looking at carrying one or two designs. The press pack were also loving this; they had stories to carry from every angle, three of the Hiverton sisters together. Historic outfits brought to life, rare clothes rediscovered. A designer/model sister act. A phone call on the runway to a doting uncle. It just got better and better.
Clem had been happily sipping champagne and fielding questions from a pack of journalists. Which was exactly how Chloe Joy wanted things to remain. Chloe had gone solo with her own publicity agency just six months before and was anxious to make a good impression on Lady Nick de Foix. Nick had selected her because she said she had a good reputation and she liked working with people that had drive. Chloe thought that leaving her six-figure salary might have shown stupidity, but she wanted to be her own boss and build her own business. Chloe was grateful that Nick had seen that and now she wanted to prove her right. Beyond professional pride, this would be a great account to land if tonight was a success, and so far it had been plain sailing. She knew of only one potential issue and was busy making sure it didn’t trip things up.
The designer, Symeon Francesco, had dropped a bombshell. He had quietly put out a press release announcing that his previous collection was actually a collaboration with Clementine Byrne. In the same release, he also mentioned previous designers who had been ‘accidently’ left off the credits. The journalists smelled blood in the water and Chloe was aware that a feeding frenzy was a strong possibility. She didn’t know what the back story was but she knew it had the potential to derail the narrative. And that wasn’t happening on her watch.
Nick had warned Chloe that Clem could be volatile, but Chloe just saw that as a challenge. After pop stars and footballers, she thought she could handle a designer. Plus, so far, Clem had been sweetness and light.
Now, looking at her client and the press pack, she could sense that Clem was preparing to call it a day. She wanted to join her sisters and celebrate. Chloe breathed a sigh of relief. The press briefing had been plain sailing and she would be able to create lots of positive reviews about the collection over the next few months. Nodding to a journalist for one of the national papers, she decided that this would be the final question, happy to have dodged any dynamite.
‘Clem. What do you have to say about Symeon Francesco’s press release, saying his autumn collection last year was actually a collaboration with you? Is that why he’s here tonight?’
A second journalist tacked a question on the end.
‘Is there any truth to the rumour that you two are an item?’
‘Is this another Francesco Hiverton?’
The sharks pounced. Chloe smiled, the very model of serenity, and stepped forward, ready to switch off the mic. Like the reporters, Chloe had sensed there may have been a much bigger story behind Symeon’s press release. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Clem about the story yet and was ready to cut the interviews short, depending on Clem’s reaction.
‘What did you say?’ snapped Clem.
Chloe’s smile increased as Clem rounded on the journalist. Leaning forward, Chloe thanked everyone for attending and switched off the mic.
‘Where is he?’ said Clem, standing up and glaring out across the press pack. Looking at her, Chloe was convinced the younger girl was about to lose it.
‘Hang on. Let me explain.’
Turning her back on Clem, she addressed the press pack and shuddered. All those dead eyed grins reminded her of great whites circling. So much for an easy ride, thought Chloe.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, that’s it for this evening. If I can just remind you that this has been a historic evening featuring a unique collection of gowns from…’
A huge cheer from the reception room interrupted her speech and she discovered her docile client had not obeyed her instructions and wasn’t as domesticated as she thought. Well, she had been warned. Turning quickly, she dashed off after Clem.
Breaking free of the pack, Clem stormed out into the main party and was greeted by a loud round of applause and cheers. For the next five minutes, she was too busy shaking hands as her publicist was once again by her side and moving her towards people she considered important.
‘Just find me Symeon,’ hissed Clem, ‘or I’m leaving right now!’
‘But Julia represents—’
‘I don’t care who she represents. Find Symeon or get out of my way.’
Chloe looked around the room and suddenly spotted the gorgeous man from the catwalk who had stolen the show with his phone call. She was determined to sign him up, but for now she was hoping to bring the two of them together. She had spotted the way Clem had looked at him earlier. He might be the perfect diversion. Steering her client towards the centre of the room, she was pleased to see Rory peel away from the group of women and come over to greet Clem.
‘Rory!’ Clem was thrilled to see Rory. She knew he was in London to do something for Janet, but she didn’t care. He had been fabulous, if unorthodox, on the catwalk. Now that the pressure of the show was off, she was determined to convince him that Janet was in his past. She gave him a big hug and stepped back again. ‘You were fabulous! But look, I’ve just heard that my old boss has acknowledged my previous collection. Stay there, I just need to speak to him, and then I’ll be right back. I don’t know what his game is but if he’s trying to steal my thunder, he’s going to regret it.’
So far the evening had been a great success. Rory had been a complete hero and had wowed the audience. No alarms had gone off, Aster had given her the thumbs up, suggesting Otto was in the clear. The press had been enthusiastic and Lili Spears, Vogue’s Editor in Chief had suggested an exclusive feature in the following month’s edition. Clem had arrived.
And yet right at the height of her success, Symeon had crept out of the woodwork and was trying to muscle in on her achievement.
Promising to catch up with Rory as soon as she could she cut through the crowds to where Symeon was holding court over by the champagne stand. He had clearly been drinking and was now informing a pack of journalists about how he had discovered Clem.
‘And here she is, ladies and gentlemen, my protegee.’
Chloe had kept up with Clem and saw the look of fury flash across her face. Oh God, thought Chloe, don’t get fired on your first night. She should have pulled Clem to one side to find out the back story; instead, she quickly grabbed her arm.
‘Clem do you want me to get you out of this?’
‘Oh no. Trust me, I’ve got this.’
Breaking free of Chloe’s restraining arm, she strode towards the man who had devastated her dreams and made her feel small and pathetic.
‘Oi! Simon.’
Now that she was somehow free of his chains, there was no need for her to play nice. Simon Franks was a jumped-up talentless hack who liked to go by the name of Symeon Francesco to add glamour to his business and improve his professional profile. Clem was preparing to lend a fist to his profile.
As she stepped forward, Symeon lunged and pulled her towards him for a big hug and a kiss for the cameras, catching her off balance. As he spun her around for the cameras, Clem was ready to explode when she caught Chloe’s face in the crowd. She had a huge rictus grin on her face and kept jabbing two thumbs up to her. Standing beside her were Nick and Aster, looking grim, with fixed smiles and Aster was making a cutting hand gesture across her throat. The three of them were desperately signalling for Clem to keep her cool.
For a nanosecond, Clem toyed with kneeing Simon between the legs, then kicking him in the gut as he fell to the floor. Instead, she smiled at the cameras and Simon leant down and embraced her in another big hug.
‘Take your filthy hands off me,’ snarled Clem in his ear, ‘and do not give another interview or I will blast you off the fashion scene. If you are still here in five minutes, I will call the press pack over and tell them exactly what you did to me and all the other designers.’
Simon rapidly let go of Clem and went on to give a few words, toasting her incredible debut as he gradually inched away from her. Looking at him, Clem was at a loss as to how to respond. She loathed him, but in acknowledging her previous work, he had stepped up and done the right thing. She had no idea why though. She was torn; she wanted to crucify him but also thank him for braking the NDA. For now, it was probably safer if he stayed out of her line of sight. Especially as Nick and Aster looked ready to crown her. Instead, she decided to find Rory and celebrate with him.
***
From across the room, Rory watched as Bo had almost run towards Symeon. His stomach had turned as Symeon engulfed her in a big kiss and a huge cheer went up followed by lots of camera flashes. Rory handed his glass back to one of the servers and headed for the door.
‘Don’t walk away from her.’
Rory turned and looked in surprise at the elderly Frenchman whom Otto had introduced to him earlier.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said don’t leave her. I saw you watching the Lady Clementine.’
Rory paused. He didn’t want to be rude, but he wasn’t certain if he could watch the happiness on Bo’s face right now.
‘I’m not what she wants. I don’t belong here; this is her world not mine.’
‘Rubbish. She is your world. Believe me, I know something of her sort. She is pure energy; talent like hers burns through her. It will always come first, but if you accept that, then you will have the love and support of the most incredible woman.’
‘Is that how you view Otto?’
‘Ah, the things I can not tell you about Otto.’ Louis shook his head ruefully. ‘But I have spent decades being a young fool and then an old fool, and tomorrow I will ask her to be my wife and do the first sensible thing in years.’
‘Congratulations. I had no idea you had been in touch.’
‘I haven’t. Today is the first time I have seen her in over thirty or forty years. So take the advice of a foolish old man. Don’t walk away from that girl.’
Rory considered the old man’s words. He was tempted to stay and talk but he couldn’t bear to watch Bo and Symeon. He was delighted to see her so happy, but he was curiously reluctant to tell her that he and his brother had visited Symeon earlier in the day.
When Bo had had her meltdown in the ballroom, Otto had pulled him away and explained everything that she was going through.
Knowing that one of Rory’s brothers was a solicitor, Otto had asked if he could read through Bo’s contract and give his opinion. Rory had instantly obliged. His brother, Callum, was dyslexic and Rory had a lot of sympathy for her situation.
Otto had told him how embarrassed Bo was about the contract, and Rory didn’t want Bo to know that he knew. He didn’t know why, but it felt dishonourable. Better that Symeon take the credit; maybe they would get back together? He had given Bo the freedom to make her own choice and her decision was clear. With a polite smile to Louis he left the party.