Page 19 of All the Drama from New York

She grabbed two coffees en route, and by the time her fabric dealer answered the buzzer on his door, Camille had somehow managed to find her smile. Karl had no tolerance for grumpy people. You never showed up to his doorstep without a smile on your dial.

He took the coffee tray from Camille’s hands. “Fabulous, just what I need.” His gaze went briefly to her other hand, then he sighed. “I was half hoping you might have picked up a cookie or two.”

Camille could just imagine how that particular conversation would have gone.

Oh you shouldn’t have. I’m on a diet. I can’t eat sweet treats.

Well ok, I won’t offer them to you. I will take the cookies home.

Like hell you are keeping them all to yourself my girl.

“I didn’t buy any food, because if you don’t look stunning in your photoshoot you will look for someone to blame. And I have more than enough problems on my plate this morning,” she replied.

She followed a grumbling Karl into the back of his fabric warehouse. Every time he took a sip of his bitter black coffee, he muttered something about how it tasted like dirt without sweetener.

Camille had visited many fabric suppliers over the years, but no one else came close to being able to capture the magic contained in this out-of-the-way fabric emporium. Karl Thomas was somehow able to source unique designs that no other company could offer.

He stopped at a large silver metal cutting table, setting his coffee cup down with yet another dramatic sigh. “I’ll be so glad when I can get off this diet, and go back to having my daily donut. My wife says I shouldn’t be crying over sweet treats, and I know she is right. But I do miss the joy of the glaze.”

Camille grinned at him. “I’m sure you’ll survive the diet, but if it gets really tough just think of how gorgeous you will look in your Alexander McQueen suit on the fashion week website.”

“Speaking of how I will look in my photographs. What do you think about me having my hair dyed?”

Karl’s short black hair, had a salt and pepper thing happening. A natural part of him being on the other side of forty.

“I’m going to have to go with a no vote on that one Karl. I like a man who looks his age. Not tired, just—experienced.”

“Yeah. My wife said that Millennials needed honest representation.”

“Besides, you rock the silver fox look,” said Camille.

Her gaze shifted from Karl to the piles of fabric which sat in the middle of the cutting table. She’d been waiting months forthese special prints to arrive from the textile company in North Carolina.

Karl lifted the top piece off the pile and spread it out on the table. The fabric which was a mix of midnight blue shot with gold thread was beyond Camille’s wildest dreams.

One dark winter’s night earlier this year, when she’d been feeling low and more than a little homesick, Camille had designed this fabric. Now seeing her vision come to life, emotion clogged her throat. This fabric had been born out of her isolation and heartache—an embodiment of her loneliness. Unexpectedly overwhelmed Camille fought back tears.

“It is stunning,” muttered Karl.

“Almost too perfect.”

She would have to create a garment worthy of the material. Camille stepped forward and picked up the edge of the light cotton fabric. She gasped. “Oh.”

It was so delicate in her hands. For a moment she was suddenly gripped with doubt. Could she actually do this piece of cloth justice?

As if reading her thoughts, Karl gave a reassuring nod. “You know how to work with all the different qualities of materials, Camille. There are few designers in New York who could cut this fabric and make real magic with it, and you are one of them. Your father might well be a pain in your ass, but he trained you well.”

A brief shrug was all she could manage this morning. One day she might be able to talk to her father and thank him for having taught her the fine art of tailoring, but until François accepted that her choice of design career was as worthy as his inhaute couture, they would remain at odds.

This beautiful piece of divine fabric was at her disposal. But Camille sensed that the time to create something with it wasn’t now. She would wait for the inspiration to come find her.

Camille stirred from her thoughts as Karl pointed to the other items on the cutting table. “Now the rest of the samples are in these two canvas tote bags, and I have wrapped the bigger swatches in brown paper, and string as instructed,” said Karl. He gave her a look which she understood only too well.

Paper and string was considered seriously old school in NYC, but those in the Royal family who dealt in suiting and tailoring had always worked this way with fabric. She was simply carrying on the family tradition.

Karl picked up the large bundles and Camille the tote bags. He nodded at the clearly heavy fabric pile in his arms. “Do you have a car waiting for you outside?”

Camille shook her head. She hadn’t realized the stack would be so big.

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