Toute Allure (eBook)

I ROLL OFF the ferry to a moody spring morning in Le Havre. The sky is as many shades of grey as the Dior boutique in Paris (fifty-seven according to a recent press release) but a pale lemon sun is rising on the horizon. I'm back in the land of the illicit love affair and the fosse septique after a two-night trip to London for a work assignment. On paper it was an opportunity I couldn't refuse: the chance to interview world-famous fashion designer Rick Dorff about his new perfume. In reality, I drove over 500 kilometres and spent a total of fourteen hours on a ferry for precisely thirty minutes of the iconic designer's time. Gallingly, he wasted five of those precious minutes discussing the highly camp decor of his hotel suite, another fifteen minutes on pedestrian observations on the fragrance market and ten minutes rattling off minutiae about his new scent, Of The Night - all of which I had just read in the glossy dossier of marketing material I was handed before the interview. And just when it got interesting - he revealed that his favourite smell was cigarettes and Scotch on someone's breath - the American PR girl cleared her throat ostentatiously and called time on our meeting, declaring that Mr Dorff had to leave for his in-store appearance (despite the fact he wasn't scheduled to appear at the department store in question for at least five hours). Later, as I watched the darkly handsome designer - also known as 'Mr Raunch' because of his provocative ad campaigns - signing scent bottles and smoothly greeting his public, I chatted to the store's creative director, who had spent eight months preparing for today's thirty-minute appearance. (The designer's life is obviously parcelled out in half-hour slots.) I shuddered as she recounted the instructions dispensed by 'Mr Dorff's people' in New York. They included a constant supply of sushi and San Pellegrino mineral water served at room temperature - so far so predictable - as well as purple carpet for the public to queue upon and flattering amber lighting overhead. It was a sobering reminder of my former life as a fashion editor, in a surreal world where a football squad of people would deliberate over the size of the teaspoons to be used at a designer launch. I know, I know, that the devil is in the detail and that there is a lot to be said for being a perfectionist, but no one ever went to their deathbed wishing they'd used a different sized teaspoon. In rural France, people worry about more basic things such as: 'Will I make it to the supermarket/DIY store/post office before it closes for two hours in the middle of the day?', 'Will my roof hold up in the next vigorous Poitevin downpour?' and 'Should I open a bottle of red or white with dinner?' Still, it was a coup to have landed an exclusive interview with Dorff and the trip also gave me a much needed shopping fix, culminating in a forty-five-minute trolley dash around Sainsbury's in Portsmouth. As I accelerate past a Portuguese truck it gives me a warm glow to think of my car boot packed with cans of chopped organic tomatoes (very difficult to find in France and very expensive when you do), BRITA water filters (ditto), washing powder (also surprisingly expensive thanks to the dire exchange rate), as well as organic watercress, halloumi cheese, M&S chocolate ginger biscuits and several cans of Dulux undercoat.