can be ordered in, Mr. Hirsch is waiting in my office.” She said good-bye to Zoya too, and the two women conferred at length with the assistant, and ordered the coat in red, black, and a dove gray that Zoya particularly liked. She always seemed to favor the more muted colors, just as she did in her own clothes. She was wearing a delicate mauve dress designed by Madame Gros that Axelle had let her buy at an enormous discount.
As they left the shop an hour later, they were followed by a tall, rugged-looking man with a shock of dark hair, and a face that looked as though it had been carved from marble by a master. They saw him again in the elevator of their hotel.
“I'm not following you. I live here too,” he said, smiling at Zoya with a boyish look on his face. Then he reached out and offered a hand to Axelle. “I think you've bought a few things from my line. I'm Simon Hirsch.”
“Of course,” she smiled, seeming very French again now that she was here. Her accent even seemed to have gotten thicker. “I'm Axelle Dupuis,” and she quickly remembered Zoya. “May I introduce the Countess Ossupov, my assistant.” It was the first time in a long time that Zoya had been embarrassed by her title. He looked like such a straightforward, pleasant man that she felt foolish putting on airs as she shook his hand. He had the powerful handshake of a man who ran an empire of his own, and he looked straight into Zoya's green eyes with gentle brown ones.
“Are you Russian?” he inquired as the elevator stopped on their floor, and she nodded, blushing faintly, a failing she had decided was destined to plague her for a lifetime.
“Yes,” she spoke in a soft voice, admiring the way he walked. His room seemed to be right next to theirs, and he strode along the ample corridors, suddenly making them seem too narrow. He had the shoulders of a football player, and the energy of a boy as he walked beside them.
“So am I. My family is anyway. I was born in New York.” He smiled, and the two women stopped at Zoya's room. “Have a good time with your shopping. Bonne chancel” He spoke in heavily accented French as he disappeared into his own room.
Axelle commented as they walked into Zoya's room, and they took their shoes off, “God, my feet hurt … I'm glad we met him. He has a good line. I wanted to take a look at it again when we go back. We need more coats for next fall, and if we don't get everything here, we can buy a few models from him, if he gives us a decent price.” She smiled and Zoya ordered tea as, once again, they went over the day's orders. They only had four more days in town, before they sailed back to New York on the Queen Mary.
“We really ought to be thinking more about hats and shoes,” Zoya said pensively, as she closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “We have to give them more than just dresses and evening gowns and suits … that's always been our strength. The whole look they love so much.”
“That's what you're so good at.” And then out of the blue, as she looked at the pretty woman in the mauve dress, her hair unleashed from its knot and cascading down her back like a child's, “Handsome, isn't he?”
“Who?” Zoya opened her eyes in obvious confusion. She had been trying to decide if they should order their hats from Chanel to go with the suits, and if they should order some of her fabulous costume jewelry. Their clients had so many jewels of their own, she wasn't sure they'd understand the chic of what Chanel was doing.
“The coat man from New York of course. If I were twenty years younger, I'd have grabbed him.” Zoya laughed at the image of the ladylike Axelle grabbing anyone. She could almost see the man flying into the room, tackled by Axelle, and she laughed at the thought again.
“I'd like to see you do it.”
“He's so rugged-looking, and he has a nice face. I like men like that.” He had been almost as tall as Clayton but much broader, but Zoya hadn't given him a thought since they'd left him. “I'll take you with me when I go to his showroom. Maybe he'll invite you out