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They promised her partner every help with her next collection. And yes, of course she could keep her name on the label and even use their PR service. More than that, HH would like to buy the brand and thus inject the necessary money into it to ensure that she got good coverage in the Italian, French, and British press.
There were two conditions. First, the matter had to be decided right there and then, so that they could send a note to the press before the newspapers were put to bed for the night.
Second, she would have to transfer her contract with Jasmine Tiger to Hamid Hussein, for whom Jasmine would then work exclusively. There was, after all, no shortage of models, and the Belgian designer would soon find someone to replace her. Besides, as Jasmine's agent, she would earn a lot of money.
"I agree to the transfer of contract," her partner said, "but we'll have to talk about the rest."
How could she agree so quickly, the woman who was responsible for everything that had happened in her life, and who now seemed perfectly happy to lose her? She was being stabbed in the back by the person she loved most in the world.
One of the men took out his BlackBerry.
"We'll send a press release now, in fact, we've written it already: 'I'm thrilled to have this opportunity...'"
"Just a minute. I'm not thrilled at all. I don't even know what you're talking about."
Her partner, however, started editing the text, changing "thrilled" to "happy" and "opportunity" to "invitation." She studied each word and phrase. She demanded that they mention some absurdly high salary. The men disagreed, saying that this might inflate the market. No deal then, came the reply. The two men left the room to make a phone call and returned almost at once. They would put something vague about a six-digit salary, without mentioning an exact sum. They all shook hands; the two men complimented both the collection and the model, put laptop and printer back in the bag, and asked the designer to record a formal agreement on one of their mobile phones as proof that their negotiations regarding Jasmine had been successful. They left as quickly as they came, both talking on their mobile phones and, at the same time, urging Jasmine to take no longer than fifteen minutes to get ready; her presence at tonight's party was part of the contract.
"You'd better get ready, then," said her companion.
"You don't have the power to decide what I do with my life. You know I don't agree, but I wasn't even asked my opinion. I'm not interested in working for anyone else."
The woman went over to the dresses scattered round the room and chose the most beautiful one--a white dress embroidered with butterflies. She spent a moment considering which shoes and handbag Jasmine should wear; there was no time to lose.
"They didn't say anything about you wearing a dress by HH tonight, which means we have a chance to show off something from my collection."
Jasmine couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Is that why you did it?"
"Yes, it is."
They were standing facing each and neither of them looked away.
"You're lying."
"Yes, I'm lying."
And they fell into each other's arms.
"Ever since that weekend on the beach, when we took those first photographs, I knew this day would come. It took a while, but you're nineteen now and old enough to accept a challenge. Other people have approached me before, but I've always said no, and I never knew whether it was just that I didn't want to lose you or because you weren't quite ready. Today, though, when I saw Hamid Hussein in the audience, I knew he wasn't there simply to pay tribute to Ann Salens and that he must have something else in mind, and that could only be you. Sure enough, I got a message saying he wanted to talk to us. I didn't know quite what to do, but I gave him the name of our hotel. It was no surprise when those two men arrived with the contract."
"But why did you accept?"
"If you love someone, you must be prepared to set them free. He can offer you far more than I can, and you have my blessing. I want you to have everything you deserve. We'll still be together because you have my heart, my body, and my soul. And I'll keep my independence, although I know how important sponsors can be in this world. If Hamid Hussein had come to me with a proposal to buy my label, I would have had no problem in selling it and going to work for him. However, the deal wasn't about me, it was about you. And if I accepted the part of the proposal involving me, that would mean being untrue to myself."
She kissed Jasmine.
"Well, I can't accept either," declared Jasmine. "I was just a frightened child when I met you, terrified because I'd perjured myself in court, wretched because I'd been responsible for letting criminals go free, and so depressed that I was seriously considering suicide. You're responsible for everything that's happened in my life."
Her partner asked her to sit down in front of the mirror and, before doing anything else, she tenderly stroked her hair.
"When I met you, I'd lost all my zest for life as well. My husband had left me for someone younger, better-looking, and richer, and I was forced to become a photographer to make a living, spending my weekends at home reading, surfing the Internet, or watching old films on TV. My
great dream of becoming a designer seemed to be moving ever farther off. I couldn't get the necessary financial backing, and I'd had enough of knocking on doors that never opened or talking to people who didn't listen to what I was saying.
"That's when you appeared. And that weekend, I have to confess, I was only thinking about myself. I knew I had a rare jewel in my hands, and could make a fortune if I could get you to sign an exclusive contract with me. I seem to remember that I even suggested I should become your agent. I didn't do that out of a desire to protect you from the world. My thoughts at the time were as selfish as Hamid Hussein's. I would know how to exploit my treasure. I would get rich on those photos."
She gave a few final touches to Jasmine's hair.
