8

I was happy with our first conversation. My book was progressing more quickly than I could have hoped. All the same, I am always slightly suspicious of anything that comes easily; it seems to foretell disaster. I am a pessimist by nature; I prefer to anticipate disappointment. I was desperately hoping Madeleine’s life would not end up as yet another unfinished novel.

For now, there was no reason to fear such an outcome. She opened up spontaneously and I let her drift through her memories, making no attempt to guide her. After quickly moving on from the subject of her daughters, she began to tell me about her professional life. She had worked as a dressmaker, notably for Karl Lagerfeld. I interrupted her: didn’t she think it was strange that she’d ended up in that line of work when her surname, Tricot, meant ‘knitting’? As if it was predestined …³ It quickly occurred to me that she must have had to put up with this kind of comment all her life, and that I was showing a sad lack of subtlety. But she explained that it was her husband’s surname and that she’d already begun her career before she met him. It was true, however, that René had said to her on their second date: ‘You’re a dressmaker and my name is Tricot. We’re made for each other.’ So he hadn’t been very subtle or inventive either. But Madeleine had smiled, and sometimes a whole life can begin with a smile.

I took advantage of this turn in our conversation to ask her what she thought of Karl Lagerfeld. ‘He was the simplest man imaginable,’ she replied. ‘No complexity at all. Completely transparent.’ This was not really the image I had of him. Surreptitiously I allowed myself a little mental digression: this information was good news for my book. If ever Madeleine became a little dull – from a literary point of view, I mean – I could always sprinkle the book with juicy details about the famous German designer. Lagerfeld could be my Get Out of Jail Free card.

In a voice filled with wonder, she described what seemed to have been the best years of her life: the Chanel years. She would never forget Lagerfeld’s arrival, at a moment when the fashion house had lost its prestige. There had even been talk of the company going bust. When the designer turned up for the first time, he silently walked through every floor of the building. To the Chanel employees, his wanderings seemed interminable. Nobody knew what he was going to do: would he agree to become the house’s chief designer? He looked attentively at the fabrics, soaked up the atmosphere of the place. Madeleine thought him very handsome. In contrast to what you might expect, he was not a fast man. He was a book lover and he walked at the leisurely pace of someone turning the pages of a novel. At last he came over to Madeleine and asked her a few questions: How long had she worked there? What did she think of the company? How did she see the future? It was this that she had never forgotten about him: how straightforward and direct he was; the way he took the time to think, and to listen to those around him. That evening he’d returned with a few sketches. He hadn’t said yes, but his agreement was implicit. And that was how Chanel was reborn.