The Cherry Blossoms Read online

  The Cherry Blossoms

  By

  Denise Irwin

  Other Books by Denise Irwin

  The Pink Chestnut

  Johnny

  Alison

  Bartholomew

  Cassandra

  Dedicated to Tina Kitchen

  Chapter One

  Paris, France

  Daniella was tapping her pen onto her design table staring at the Eifel Tower off in the distance. There were people in Paris who would give their right arm for the view from her office. She’d worked hard and felt she deserved that view. Her shop was two stories tall. The lobby on the first floor was immense with four conversational areas set on a beige marble floor. The flooring alone drained her wallet, but in her mind it was worth every cent she had spent on it. A reception area was created to sit facing the shop’s main entrance. Two hallways flanked the lobby. Daniella referred to them as the wings of her building. The south wing led to the seamstress’ rooms, where her designs were transformed from the sketchpad illustrations to clothing for her customers. The north wing contained six fitting rooms where her clients were measured and fitted.

  Along with her private office, the second floor contained a reasonably sized conference room, with a table large enough to seat twelve comfortably. Her manager, Grant Beauchamp had an office on the other side of the conference room, and beyond that was the shop’s kitchen.

  As she gazed out the window, Daniella grew anxious. This was the first time that the House of Daniella was invited to show her work at the Spring Fashion Show. Only six houses would participate and her house would be up against some very stiff competitors. The five other houses had strong reputations in the fashion industry.

  This was not the time to go through a designer’s block. Thus far, she had one design that she felt was more than inadequate. If her task were to design a clown’s costume, she’d plunk down a buck or two that hers was a contender for first place. Unfortunately, for Daniella, this was Paris’ premier event, the results of which could make or break her in the world of designers. If she failed to put together an outstanding collection, she would most likely head home to her grandfather’s horse ranch in Colorado with her tail between her legs. In harmony with the pen, her toe tapped the floor.

  She’d been sitting at the table for over two hours searching for some inspirational thought. As she sat waiting for something, anything that would start her pencil moving on the page, she realized that her Design God must have missed the train to Paris. All she needed were four designs. That’s it. The show required original designs, in four specific areas: business attire, beachwear, a cocktail dress and last an evening gown. If Daniella were going to make it to the top of the fashion design industry, she needed four astounding outfit designs. While she’d done well with her designs, she wanted to claim the top of the mountain. She yearned to achieve that status at the Paris Spring Fashion Show, held in mid-April each year. It was already mid-February and she had nothing. She couldn’t even come up with a bad idea. A bad idea would be better than no idea, for heaven’s sake.

  Daniella told her hand to draw something, anything, just draw a rough draft. Relief washed over her when her hand listened and started to sketch a woman’s business suit. The pencil in Daniella’s hand as though of its own accord, started drawing a simple straight skirt that would fall to the knee. As she looked at the sketch, she urged her pencil to continue. Her pencil sketched a slight slit on the left seam with the zipper in the back.

  The pencil moved on to the jacket. The sketch showed a full jacket the same length as the skirt. A number of designers were moving toward a fitted jacket to accentuate a woman’s waist, so the pencil drew a full jacket that hung loosely to the skirt’s hemline showing off the skirt’s tailored waist.

  The suit needed a blouse. Daniella thought a minute. She drew a low cut silk blouse. The collar fanned out onto the jacket just below the shoulders. She closed her eyes and was able to see the suit in her mind. The suit cloth would be soft tan summer wool, with a cream colored silk blouse. Since this was a business suit, low-heeled leather tan shoes finished it off. She’d address accessories later.

  Daniella set the business suit sketches aside to work on the casual beach outfit. She assumed that most designers would choose the ever-popular bikini, so she decided to do a one piece. Her pencil understood what she wanted and went to work on a one piece. She watched as the pencil sketched a one piece with two panels that crossed in front at the midriff to the opposite shoulder to tie behind the neck. The back was open to the top of the hip. The sides rose high on the hip to show off a woman’s thighs. Rather than a total cover up, Daniella designed a skirt that tied just under the breasts, with the skirt ending just below the knee. She chose maroon velvet for the cloth. A pair of leather sandals came into her vision along with a pale maroon straw hat.

  She was in the groove, so she moved on and sketched a cocktail dress. The dress would be strapless. The top would fold out over the bosom in a rectangular shape showing off a woman’s cleavage. A four-inch band of cloth would tightly wrap around the waist to accentuate the cleavage. The skirt would be straight to the knee. While satin was not her first choice, Daniella’s intuition told her to go with teal satin and matching satin heels.

  Someone knocked on her office door. Daniella yelled out, “Not now. Whatever it is will need to wait.” Whoever it had been must have heard her because the knocking stopped.

  Pondering the gown, she thought there were a number of designs that were old standbys, but she wanted a fresh classy look. The gown needed to emit mystery, feminine mystery. The design needed to hide more than it showed. The gown would hint at the body beneath, enticing a man’s desire to see more. Her pencil drew a high cow neck where the sides of the collar flowed over the shoulders to the back of the gown. The back of the gown would be open to just above the hips. The skirt of the gown would flow to the floor. As Daniella visualized her gown, she saw a myriad of pastel colored silk scarves sewn together to make the dress. Pastel blue silk shoes would set off the blue in the scarves.

  Daniella had completed her designs and chosen the fabrics. She looked at the clock and saw it was late in the evening. She’d promised Michal she’d be on time for once and she was already a half hour late. She rushed to get to the restaurant.

  When Daniella arrived, now over an hour late, she found her boyfriend waiting patiently at a table. How could a woman not love a man who waited patiently for her when she was over an hour late for dinner? Michal Bagot stood just an inch taller than Daniella. He was slender while she was buxom in stature. Michal was born in a small village in Southern France. He’d attended college in the States and returned to France to become the chief editor of a fashion magazine. He’d interviewed Daniella a year ago about her design house. He extended the interview through dinner and dancing. He asked her to join him for dinner the following evening and told Daniella, that his invitation was not an extension of her interview.

  When she arrived at the restaurant, Michal stood to pull Daniella’s chair out as she approached the table. Once she sat, he acknowledged the lateness of her arrival, “Mademoiselle, I believe you just set a new record for being late.”

  He took the chair across the table and poured her a glass of wine, as she chided him, “Am I not a woman worth waiting for?”

  She’d just beat him at his own game, “Oui Madame Vous valent attente sur n'importe quel jour.”

  “Then why are you pouting at me.”

  “What can I do, but pout, when you do not show up on time?”

  Daniella had lived in Paris for several years; however, she never quite got the hang of the language. If she listened closely, she found that she could pick up part of what was being said. “Monsieur,
would you pout less, if I told you that my designs are complete for the Spring Fashion Show?”

  He filled her wine glass and chuckled, “Daniella, the show is still two months away.”

  She picked up one of the menus from the table. She avoided his statement as she read the menu to pick out her dinner entrée. Michal laughed and took the menu out of her hand.

  “Daniella, you cannot speak French, so what makes you think you can read it?”

  Daniella sat tall in her chair, “What makes you think I can’t? Give me back my menu. I might need you to tell the waiter what I want, but I’ll pick out my meal and show you.”

  Michal handed her the menu. “Daniella, I will be happy to tell the waiter what you want for dinner. Show me the entrée for your dinner.”

  Daniella indignantly pointed to the entrée, “This is what I want.” Her finger pointed to Tripe à la mode de Caen.

  He swallowed his laughter, “Very well. If that is what you want, that’s exactly what you shall have.” Michal signaled to their waiter to let him know they were ready to order.

  “Ce qui allons nous être ayant ce soir ?”

  “La Dame auront la Tripe à la mode de Caen, et j'aurai la Coquilles St. Jacques.”

  The waiter shot a questioning look to Michal, who returned the look with a smile. In his desire to earn a good tip, he told Michal they were delightful choices.

  Michal poured Daniella another glass of wine, “Now tell me, my love, about your designs.”

  “I was stuck sitting at my design table and nothing, I tell you, nothing, came to mind. Then, out of nowhere, my pencil started designing the business outfit on my sketchpad. Michal, it was amazing. It felt like my pencil had a will of its own. Michal, are you going to be at the show?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Then I can’t talk to you about my designs.”

  “May I ask why? It was my intention to go as your guest. I have assigned one of our photographers and a journalist to cover the show.”

  “I still don’t want to talk about them.”

  Michal laughed, “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  “At this point I don’t trust anyone. Since you intend to be my guest, you’ll get to see them first hand since you will have a front row seat.”

  Michal lifted his glass to her, “I’m sure your designs will be spectacular.”

  She timidly answered, “I hope so.”

  The waiter lay her entrée on the table, and said to her, “Madame la Présidente, j'espère que vous apprécierez votre diner.”

  Daniella didn’t understand one word he’d just said, so she smiled sweetly and responded, “Merci beaucoup.”

  She saw that he shook his head as he set Michal’s plate down. She also saw that Michal was close to laughing, when he told the waiter, “Merci beaucoup.”

  “Michal what did he say?”

  “Only that he hoped you enjoyed your dinner. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just trying to brush up on my French.”

  “Daniella, you are much too stressed. You need to slow down or you will believe the entire world is talking behind your back. Now that your designs are complete please promise me you will take some time off and rest.”

  “Michal, are you mad? I need to find the right cloth, then I need to have the patterns made, then I need to make sure my staff sews them properly and oh my God, I need to find models. There is still so much to do before my spring collection walks down the runway.”

  Michal put his hand up, “Okay, then please promise me that when this show is complete that you will spend two weeks with me on the Riviera for some fresh air and sunshine.”

  Daniella flashed him a smile, “If I do well in the show, I promise that I will join you for two weeks on the Riviera.”

  “What happens if you do not do well?”

  Before she answered him, she put her fork into her dinner and lifted the fork to her mouth. She took a mouthful and swallowed it hard, “Michal my food is cold.”

  “That’s the way it is served. If you don’t like it, I can order you something else.”

  She defiantly told him, “No, I chose it, so I’ll eat it just tell me what’s in it.”

  “What does it taste like to you?”

  “I can taste apple cider and some liquor. It appears to be a layered dish of vegetables and some sort of meat.” She dug her fork into the food and it hit something quite hard. Once she uncovered it, Daniella let out a gasp. “Michal, is this thing what I think it is?”

  “Daniella, since I do not know what you think it is I do not have a reasonable answer for you.”

  “This looks like some cow’s hoof cut in half. Is that what it is?”

  “Yes my dear that is exactly what it is.”

  Daggers shot from her eyes. “You let me order some cow’s hoof for dinner. You could have said something.”

  “Daniella, I offered to order for you, but you insisted that you order for yourself. Here take my dinner. You will enjoy the scallops. Hand me your dish, I will finish your dinner. I grew up eating this dish. It’s a delicacy in France.”

  “And it can just stay that way.” She took his plate of scallops and enjoyed each and every one of them.

  Later that evening, Daniella was still fuming about dinner. She stormed around the house like a white tornado.

  “Daniella that Irish temper is going to get you into trouble one day.”

  She laughed, “It has on more than one occasion gotten me into trouble, but you could have warned me about what I had ordered.”

  “I offered and you declined. You made your own bed.”

  “Michal, you know me only too well. How do you put up with me?”

  “There are days Mon chéri, when I ask myself that question.”

  Indignantly she asked, “Are you asking me to leave?”

  He chuckled, “Never.”

  Daniella met Michal at her first fashion show in Paris. He was there representing Magazine de mode. In his review, he wrote that Daniella’s designs were fresh and invigorating. When she called to thank him for his positive review of her choices, he’d asked her to join him for dinner. Michal was like no other man she’d dated. He understood her aggressive work integrity, even when his own was casual. She enjoyed his humor, he laughed easily and often. In her mind, Michal was the perfect man.

  Daniella kissed Michal as she slid out of bed 5:30 in the morning. She made it a habit of arriving to her office by 6:30 while Michal set a goal of 9:00 each morning. Daniella sat at her design table reviewing her sketches. When she was satisfied with them, she made lists for her staff. Her assistant, Grant Beauchamp, would conduct first interviews with models. Daniella would interview those that he referred to her. Michele D’Aubigne would take charge of finding the perfect cloth. She would task Annette Cheney to help with shoes and accessories. Daniella smiled when she wrote Annette’s name down. Annette was fun and upbeat, everyone in the designer’s staff adored her. This was the largest job that Daniella had tasked Annette with, but she was optimistic that Annette was the correct choice.

  There was no one finer in all of France than Charlene Laroque, Daniella’s head seamstress; it was as if she could see inside Daniella’s mind, since her patterns were always cut perfectly to Daniella’s specifications.

  Now that her task list was complete and ready for her manager, she went into the shop’s kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Tempted to review her designs once more, she told herself to wait for the coffee. A glance to the kitchen clock indicated that Grant would be at work in just a few minutes. Grant was always the second person to arrive each morning, giving Daniella and him some quiet business time before the rest of the staff arrived.

  When Grant entered the kitchen, he greeted Daniella, “Bonjour Mademoiselle.”

  “Grant, your timing is perfect. I’ve already made the coffee, so grab a cup, and please join me in my office.”

  Once inside her office, she whispered to him as if she was sharing top secret news wit
h him, “The designs are complete.”

  “Daniella, that is just marvelous, I’m dying to get a peek at them.” Grant pressed the palms of his hands together as if he were praying. “Mademoiselle, when may I get the chance to see them?”

  As if the two were involved in a far-fetched conspiracy, Daniella held onto the folder as long as she could before revealing the contents. Even though they were the only two people in the building, she whispered to him. “Here, take a look and tell me what you think.” She then cautiously handed him the folder containing her sketches.

  She watched his face as Grant reviewed her designs. He went through them one by one without saying a word. He took a sip of his coffee and started his review again, with the first design, which was the business suit. He studied it in detail as if someone would test his memory of the design later in the day. Grant moved on to the beachwear outfit. Again, after taking a sip of coffee, he studied the design as if he were engraving it into his memory bank. After working through all four designs, he handed the folder back to his boss and sat back to finish his coffee.

  Daniella jumped from her chair, “Grant, the suspense is killing me. Tell me something. Tell me anything. You’re just sitting there staring at your coffee cup. You’re making me crazy!”

  “Mademoiselle, Il s'agit de perfection absolue.”

  Daniella’s blood pressure rose, “Grant, you know perfectly well that my French is limited so I have no damn idea what you just said.”

  “Daniella, Je Sui désolé; I said your designs were absolute perfection.”

  Daniella clapped her hands together as a child does when presented the gift she was hoping to receive on her birthday. “Do you really like them or are you just saying that because I’m your boss?”

  “Would I tell my boss a lie? I most certainly would not.”

  “Then we’re ready to move forward if you believe them to be perfect.”

  “Daniella, we have plenty of time to prepare for the show. What has caused that worried look on your face?”