Madeleine was in her late forties at the time. Her daughters were teenagers; they needed less looking after. So she was able to throw herself into her work as never before. She enjoyed the excitement of the fashion shows, when the whole team would be caught up in the hysteria backstage. Lagerfeld’s muse in those years was the model Inès de La Fressange – a lovely, elegant woman, according to Madeleine. ‘She even came to my leaving party! She didn’t have to do that …’ Once again, Madeleine appeared emotional when talking about the past. For her, it all seemed so close. There are certain periods in the distant past that you feel you can almost reach out and touch.

She smiled as she described some of the excesses of the fashion business. Each collection took on crazy proportions, driven by the feeling that they could invent an era with a scrap of fabric. This sent everyone slightly mad. She remembered so many arguments that, with the benefit of hindsight, seemed pointless, trivial; idiots fighting over passing fads … Well, they were all equal now, under the ground. Talk of this feverish past brought Madeleine to the contemplation of her humdrum present. Perhaps my project would bring a different dimension to her days. In any case she seemed pleased by my enthusiasm.

Then, gradually, she began pausing more often, growing vaguer in her recollections, repeating the same anecdotes. It was probably just tiredness: she had been talking for more than two hours. I didn’t want to wear out my source. I suggested she have a rest but she pleaded with me to stay a little longer. Her daughter would be arriving soon.

1. 3. This is what is known as an aptronym: when a person’s name seems appropriate to their occupation. You can find a whole list of celebrity aptronyms online, such as the sprinter Usain Bolt, the novelist Francine Prose and the sanitary engineer Thomas Crapper.

9

Valérie was exactly how I’d imagined her. I hadn’t seen any photographs but, listening to Madeleine, I’d conjured up an image in my head which turned out to be close to the reality. She was quite an elegant woman, although I could sense a weariness in her appearance. Then again, her attitude towards me probably influenced my first impression. She was immediately suspicious of me and made no attempt to disguise her feelings. This was understandable: her mother had brought a stranger home and that man was now pestering her with questions. Valérie probably took me for a conman, which is perhaps not that far from an accurate description of a writer.

She asked me again: ‘So you met in the street, and my mother invited you to have tea in her apartment?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Do you do that often, going into old ladies’ homes?’

‘Allow me to explain. I’m a writer …’

Valérie went over to her mother.

‘Are you all right, Maman?’

‘I’m very well,’ replied Madeleine with a smile of such intensity that it seemed to surprise her daughter.