Paris was wonderful. Diana hadn’t enjoyed herself so much since her coming-out year. Of course it wasn’t all parties and fun; it was hard work. But she loved it.
Going to Paris to be photographed in haute-couture clothes sounded as if you wafted about from designer to designer, drinking a lot of champagne and eating wonderful Parisian food. But you saw very little of Paris, merely moved from studio to studio in a series of taxis, and as everyone was working and needed to stay fully alert, it was unwise to drink much. There was certainly no eating of Parisian food, except a few morsels here and there, lest a pound might creep onto one’s slender frame. And slender it had to be. There was only one example of each garment, and that was the one worn by models at the shows; if you didn’t fit into it – and they were all about the same size – you were useless and sent home. Diana only ate the equivalent of about three meals in the entire week she was there.
The real work took place at night, and very often until dawn. During the day, the fashion editors were at the shows, seated on tiny uncomfortable gilt chairs in appalling heat. They would arrive at whatever studio had been arranged, already exhausted. Photographs and even sketches were forbidden at the shows; there was a strict embargo of several weeks before anything visual could leave the showrooms. All that was permitted was descriptive copy, and perhaps a drawing of a hat or some gloves, as shown on the programme. This was the law laid down by the Chambre Syndicale, the all-powerful body that controlled the fashion business in Paris, lest the wholesalers, the stark enemy of couture, should rush out cheap copies and have them on the streets in days at a fraction of the cost. It was not for this that six months’ intense, expensive work had been done, by some of the most dedicated and brilliant designers, pattern and toile makers, dressmakers, shoemakers. And jewellers, for many of the evening and cocktail dresses were exquisitely embroidered with dazzling coloured and crystal jewellery. At the end of a show there would be a stampede by the editors to ‘reserve’ one or more dresses from the directrice that they could photograph; often to be told – unless they were near the front of the queue – that it was booked continuously for days. And so through the night, studios all over Paris were alive. Much of it was spent waiting, for taxis trundling across Paris, bearing a garment being photographed by another magazine, and the more popular the garment, the longer the wait for its release. Bargaining went on, as one fashion editor telephoned another in their respective studios: ‘I believe you’ve got Cardin 23 – if you send it over I’ll send you Balmain 48, which I know you’re waiting for.’
It was strictly forbidden to take a dress out of the building to photograph it, but some photographs where there were accessible roof spaces were taken in the lovely, early Parisian dawn. Diana found herself at five o’clock one morning climbing a fire escape ladder up to a studio roof, wearing a Balenciaga evening gown, its hem held up with Sellotape until she reached the top in safety; the result was glorious but the risk horrendous. As Blanche said cheerfully when they were safely back in the studio, drinking the black coffee that had become their staple diet, ‘I don’t know which would have been worse, Diana, if the dress had been damaged or you.’
There were a few parties; but for the most part attended by the fashion editors, not the models. Sometimes if you’d been working particularly hard or being creative you’d be taken along, or if you had an ‘in’ with the editor, but on the whole they were by invitation only. Diana managed to wangle her way into the party given by Sam White, the wonderfully charming American who ran the Paris press agency for the Evening Standard. She was told she was lucky because it was legendary and indeed it was: more like the traditional view of Paris week, held at the Ritz, with limitless champagne and dozens of famous faces.
Diana worked with some of the greatest names in fashion photography, including her beloved John French, and returned to England exhausted, happy and having learned a great deal. She felt she had been to some enchanted place, a wonderland to which she could return many times, should she so wish. It all rather depended on what she – and Johnathan – decided to do.
‘Jillie –’
It was only six in the morning, but Tom knew she wouldn’t mind being woken.
‘Yes. Tom, is something the matter with Alice . . .’
‘There is nothing the matter with Alice. She is very well and so is our son.’
‘Your son! But it’s almost three weeks until B Day!’
‘I know. But he started making his presence felt around seven last night. And was born half an hour ago.’
‘Oh, Tom, how lovely. What’s he called, and how much did he weigh, and when can I go and see them both?’
‘Not till visiting time,’ said Tom. ‘Six o’clock this evening. He’s called Christopher but to be known as Kit. No reason except we like it. He’s the jolliest little chap, six pounds twelve ounces, and Alice was just amazing, so brave, made no fuss at all. I was allowed in to see them about ten minutes after he was born, and the midwife said she wished all the mothers were like Alice. She was sitting up, all rosy and pleased with herself when I went in, and so happy, I’ve never seen her so happy. I can’t quite believe it’s over and he’s safely here. I know I kept saying I wasn’t worried, but of course I was.’
‘Of course,’ said Jillie. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet him.’
Alice sat in bed, cuddling Kit, and thought how lucky she was.
She had hoped so much for a boy so that there could be no question of competing with Hope’s memory, and here he was, born so quickly and comparatively easily.
Motherhood became her as much as pregnancy had not. She felt strong and well and amazed everybody by getting out of bed in the afternoon and walking to the bathroom. Her milk flowed, and while the other mothers struggled to get their babies latched onto the breast, she felt Kit clamp his small greedy mouth round her nipples and suck until he was replete. After which he slept, for up to four hours at a time. She was much envied for this, especially the night feeds when, summoned to the nursery where all the babies slept, she was only out of bed for about twenty minutes, after which they both went back to sleep.