Three Weeks in Paris by Barbara Taylor Bradford Read Free Book Online Page A

relatively soon. She would set everything in motion on Monday, ask to see him next month. And it did not matter what it cost.
    She put the invitation back in the envelope, placed this in the wooden box, dropped the lid, and turned the key. Then once more she sat back in the chair, her eyes becoming soft and faraway as she thought of Ian. The man she loved. Her husband … who must remain her husband at all costs.

CHAPTER FIVE
    EVEN AS A CHILD, GROWING UP IN THE SLUMS OF G LASGOW , Kay had always managed to escape simply by retreating into herself. When the cramped little flat where she lived with her mother and brother, Sandy, became overly oppressive, she would find a small corner where she could curl up, forget where she really was, and dream.
    A great deal of her childhood was spent dreaming, and she found solace in her dreams. She could escape the impoverished, gloomy world she occupied and go to another place, anyplace she wished. It made her young life more bearable.
    And she always dreamed of beauty … flower-filled gardens, picturesque country cottages with thatched roofs, grassy meadows awash with wildflowers, and grand open spaces with huge, canopied green trees where trilling bird-song came alive. And sometimes her dreams were of pretty clothes, and ribbons for her hair, and sturdy black shoes shining with boot polish for Sandy, and a beautiful silk dress for her mother … a pale blue dress to match her eyes.
    But as she grew older, Kay’s priorities changed, and she began to replace her dreams with a newfound focus andconcentration, and it was these two qualities, plus her unique talent, that helped to make her such a great success in the world of fashion.
    Now, as she sat at her desk, thoughts of Ian lingered, nagged at the back of her mind. But eventually she let go of her worries about her marriage and became totally engrossed in her work, as she usually did.
    In many ways, she loved this old day nursery at Lochcraigie more than her busy high-tech studio in Edinburgh, not the least because of its spaciousness, high ceiling, and clarity of light.
    After looking through a few sketches for her fall collection, which she had just finished, she rose and went over to the swatches of fabric hanging on brass hooks attached to the opposite wall. The vermilion wool she had focused on a short while before attracted her attention again, and she unclipped it and carried it over to the window, where she scrutinized it intently.
    Suddenly, a smile flickered in her eyes as she remembered Sophie’s comment a short while ago.
Smoochy
, she had called the color, as in a kiss, and Kay knew exactly what her assistant meant. It
was
a lovely lipstick shade, one that reminded her of the glamorous stars of those old movies from the 1950s.
    As often happened with Kay, inspiration suddenly struck out of the blue. In her mind’s eye she saw a series of outfits … each one in a different version of vivid vermilion red. She thought of cyclamen first, then deep pink the color of peonies, pale pinks borrowed from a bunch of sweet peas, bright red lifted from a pot of geraniums, and all of those other reds sharpened by a hint of blue. And mixed in with them she could see a selection of blues … cerulean, delphinium, and aquamarine, as well as deep violet and pansy hues, a softer lilac, and the lavender shade of hydrangeas.
    That’s it, she thought, instantly filling with excitement. A winter collection of clothes based on those two colors— red and blue—interspersed with other tones from these color spectrums. What a change from the beiges, browns, greens, taupes, and terra-cottas of her spring season.
    Turning away from the window where she still stood, Kay went over to the other fabric samples and searched through them quickly, looking for the colors she now wanted to use. She found a few of them and carried them back to her desk, where she spread them out. Then she began to match the color samples to the sketches she