Rachel Lindsay - DESIGNING MAN 1451

They were fighting for fame,fortune and love
Hired as a publicist for the Duval salon, Alix Smithwas caught up in the rivalry between aging couturier Henri Duval and his son,Paul, a brilliant new designer.
Alix was strangely disturbed when the father-sonrivalry extended beyond business to the courting of a beautiful actress. Thenshe realized she had fallen in love with Paul herself.
The situation spelled trouble for everyone. And when events reached theirterrifying climax, Alix knew that she would have torisk her life for the sake of her love.

AlixSmith put down the receiver and sat for a moment staring at it. Then she jumpedup and ran to the glass- paneled door that led to the outer office. Flinging itopen, she called out excitedly to her secretary.

"From this day on, Willie,you're never to tell me that miracles don't happen! Do you realize who justcalled me?"

Miss Wilkinson tossed her neatlywaved gray head. "I'm not a fashion plate but even I've heard of HenriDuval. I was astonished when he gave me his name."

"So was I," Alix admitted and leaned against the door lintel.

Her mischievous smile was atvariance with her appearance, which was dark and dramatic. Raven-black hair wasswept from a center parting to fall in a glossy wing alongside either cheek.She was pale-skinned without looking anemic and had almond-shaped eyes of anunusual blue violet, either color of which could be emphasized by her clothes.Today the violet predominated, the irises echoing the violet in the eleganttweed suit.

"The great HenriDuval," she murmured. "Prince of couturiers andcouturier to princesses! It's amazing to think how many years he's beenat the top. He was dressing royalty and film stars when today's pop starsweren't even born.'"

"And now he wants to dressthe pop stars, too," Miss Wilkinson added, collecting a handful of lettersfrom her "In" tray and beginning to open them.

"Maybehe's young at heart."

"Not only heart," thesecretary sniffed. "You know what Frenchmen are like."

"Actually I don't," Alix said, straight-faced, "but I'd love to findout!" Even white teeth nibbled at her delicately shaped mouth. "Hestill has a heavy accent, you know, even though he's been living here foryears."

"He probably listens toFrench tapes! It's all part of maintaining the Gallic charm."

"I'll let you know howstrong the charm is once I've seen him. He's asked me to go to his salon thisafternoon."

"Did he, indeed?" MissWilkinson permitted herself a smile. "Let's hope he wants some properpublicity."

"As opposed toimproper publicity?" Alix teased.

"Asopposed to those gimmicky music clients of yours. A few more big accounts on our books and we could get rid of Hot LipsCharlie."

"At the moment it's HotLips who's paying our wages," Alix said firmly,"and even if I had ten big clients I wouldn't get rid of him. He's mymascot."

"I'd rather have Mr. Duval for amascot."

"You're old-fashioned,Willie." Taking hold of the letters her secretary was holding out to her, Alix returned to her own office.

Seated at her desk, she ponderedon her forthcoming meeting with the great couturier and wondered what he wouldsay if she told him that until a couple of years ago she, too, had been adesigner. Not of clothes, it was true, but of stage scenery. But some quirk inher temperament had made her dissatisfied with a career thatthe moresuccessful it becamemeant more concentration at the drawing board and lessinvolvement with people. She had been at a crossroads in her life when Dina Lloydayoung actress whom she had met while working as scenic designer on the play thegirl was inhad unexpectedly supplied the signpost.

She and Dina had gone out as part ofa foursome, and

Alix,imbued with the confidence that came from an excellent Burgundy, had humorouslyinvented a highly improbable romance between Dina and a current rich youngplayboy. Alix's escorta young man with a nose fornews that would make moneyhad passed it on to a gossip columnist who hadprinted it the following morning.

The playboydelighted at beinglinked with so pretty an actress, albeit an unknown onehad immediately invitedDina to spend a weekend at his country home. A large burglarytherefortuitously occurring at the same timeonce more put Dina in theheadlines.

A week later Dina's play hadfolded, but the actress herself was offered an excellent part in a comedy.

"The director said it wasbecause he saw pictures of me in the papers," Dina had told Alix. "Otherwise he'd never have known who Iwas."

"Then I'll expect two freetickets to the first night," Alix had joked."It's the least you can do."

"The very least," Dinahad agreed. "But I'll happily do more if you'll handle my publicity."

"I know nothing aboutpublicity."

"If what you did for mecame through ignorance," Dina had chuckled, "I can't wait to see whatyou'll do when you've had some experience. Give it a try, Alix.You've got nothing to Lose."

Because this was true, Alix had taken Dina as her first client, though she hadrefused to take any fee until she was sure she could repeat her first publicitycoup. Success had followed swiftly. Dina sang Alix'spraises wherever she went and Alix soon hadsufficient theatrical clients to put away her drawing board for good.

"Daydreaming, Alix? That's not a bit like you. Or were you thinking ofyour loved one?"

With a start Alixlooked up to see her assistant, Peter North, standing in front of her. A tall,loose-limbed young man, he affected dandified clothes and a lackadaisicalmanner that was at variance with his watchful blue eyes and thin, cynicalmouth. Alix still did not know if the cynicism wasreal and frequently wondered what lay behind his mask of studied indifference.Peter had studied history at Oxford and, after a brief spell in the city, hadleft the world of learning for the more lucrative one of marketing.

"My loved one's too faraway for me to enjoy thinking of him," she retorted with a smile. "Inhis last letter he said he was going into the Brazilian jungle."

"What a topsy-turvy worldwe live in," Peter muttered. "Explorers give lectures sitting in atelevision studio and studious architects hack their way through the jungle tobring semidetacheds to the natives!"

Alix'slaughter was wry, for Peter's description of Mark Watson was all too true; anarchitect whose ability could procure him any number of jobs in England, henonetheless preferred to work in the most uncomfortable parts of the world.

"I'll tell Mark what you'vesaid when I next write to him," she promised. "But I wish you'd showthe same sort of humor when you write your press handouts. They're so dull,Peter!"

"How can one be funny abouta combine harvester? I wish you'd put me back on stage clients."

"I can't. This is the bestaccount I've got, so far, and it definitely needs a man's touch."

"Prejudice," he saidwith pseudo bitterness. "I'll report you for sexual discrimination."He rummaged on the desk. "I can't find the photographs I took last week. The ones with ye olde farmstead in thebackground and ye olde harvester in the front."

"Maybe Willie has them."

"She says they're on yourdesk." He ferreted about among the papers and with an "Aha" oftriumph, extracted a large manilla envelope."Care to come to the Exhibition?" he asked. "There are tractorson every stand and our little darling has a stage to itself!"

"I'll come and see itanother time," she promised. "I've an important appointment thisafternoon."

"Business orpleasure?"

"Business,of course. And if it goes the way I hope, it'll make all the differencein the world to us."

Shortly before half-past three Alix parked her red Fiesta outside a Regency house nearBerkeley Square and went up a short flight of steps into a mirror-lined hall.