Page 79 of The Last Resort
“I see. In France you pick up the phone and call your family and friends. Or in the case of our extended family, yousuddenly find that your personal diary has been blocked out by your mother, and you don’t get to ask why,” replied Camille.
Rachel was sorely tempted to ask Camille as to who was getting married on the Sunday, but she held her tongue.Must not ask. Must not ask.
Ohhh, but the suspense is killing me! All this secrecy.
The door of the private fitting salon opened and a sales assistant dragging a fully laden garment rack behind her, entered. Camille pointed to where she wanted the rack to be placed. “Over there, merci.”
Rachel glanced at the clothes, and her heart sank. She loved shopping as much as the next woman, but this trip had turned into a full-scale cross-continent expedition.
Camille took a step back from Rachel and gave her a slow looking up and down. “Turn for me, s'il vous plaît.”
Rachel’s private school French might be a bit rusty, but she was keen to speak it. Anything to get out of having to try on all those clothes. “Vas-tu me faire essayer tous ces vêtements?”
A huff of disgust escaped the designer lips. “Oui, I had planned to make you try them all on, but …” Hands on hips, she glared at Vivian. “Have you dragged this poor girl to every major fashion store in New York this morning?”
Vivian nodded, she was not the least bit contrite. “Yes, and we still have more to go after this store.” She held up two fingers. “I was given strict instructions bytwoRoyal males that I was to take Rachel shopping today. The credit card bill will be checked long before we get home.”
Camille laughed and clapped her hands together. “The American Royals do love to spoil their women. But perhaps I can take pity on poor Rachel, and just take her measurements. That will dramatically cut down the amount of outfits she has to try on.”
She produced a measuring tape from out of her pants pocket and Rachel wasted no time in removing her coat and sweater.
“I’m sorry, I meant no offence, Vivian” offered Rachel.
“None taken,” replied Vivian, dropping into a nearby comfy chair. “My old roommate Grace, who is a dedicated follower of fashion, refuses to go to more than three stores with me before she starts demanding we stop for lunch.”
The coffee and cookie I inhaled in the town car might just see me through to two o’clock.
“Take off your clothes but leave your undergarments on. Then come stand over here while I take your measurements.” Camille pointed to a spot in the middle of the room. “I promise to make this as painless as possible.”
Vivian and Rachel exchanged grins while Camille flicked hurriedly through the rack of garments, all the while muttering a long string of inaudible words in French. Every so often she stopped and pulled something from the stand and dropped it on the floor. Each time she did this, her assistant gasped in horror and quickly bent to pick it up.
When she reached the end of the clothes rack, Camille bundled the remaining pieces up in her arms and carried them over to Rachel.
“Are there any colors you don’t wear?”
Rachel shook her head. There wasn’t a chance of her offering any sort of opinion at this point. In the presence of such designing greatness she would wear whatever she was told to wear.
Camille now sorted the rest of the clothes into two neat piles. She pointed at the smallest of them. “Try those on.”
In response to some secret-coded cue, the assistant collected up the larger pile of clothes. “All of these Camille?”
“Oui. And if these other final pieces fit, they will also come.”
There had to be at least twenty pieces in the small pile, and heavens knew how many in the bigger one.
We can’t be buying all of this. No. Oh, boy. Matthew will have a fit.
Vivian got to her feet and casually made her way over to Rachel’s purse. She reached in and pulled out Matthew’s credit card, then handed it to the assistant. “Matthew was most insistent that everything went onhiscard.”
Where am I going to put all this stuff?
“I don’t think my suitcase can fit this amount of clothes,” said Rachel taking the first dress from out of Camille’s hand.
The French designer gave her a comforting pat on the arm. “It’s all right, mon ami, I’ve already arranged for a trunk-style suitcase to go on dear cousin Matthew’s credit card. If you are going to date a wealthy man, you must have matching luggage.”
This really was Planet Billionaire.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
