Francois Du Benet, handsome as he was in life, proved a more bizarre individual than his associates realized after his demise.
As a fashion designer, he counted many famous haute couture houses as his clients. A man with such talent for creating women's fashion designs would not be deemed reclusive, particularly not when surrounded by world famous runway models.
Yet, here was Francois, standing all five feet and ten inches of himself, hunched over a drawing board in a room large enough to be the closet of high fashion apparel for ten women, oblivious to human activity and the outside world.
His mother, Aurelie DuTois, was herself a fashion plate in her youth. Never one to be seen in public without lip rouge, jewelry and white lace gloves, her attire was noticed more for her ability to coordinate with colors others dare not emulate.
Her fanciful nature was a thrill to her son. Add a touch of ostrich feathers dyed a deep aubergine and a wide, melon-colored grosgrain ribbon above the huge brim, and Aurelie could not be missed when off she strayed for her morning croissant at Cafe Richelieu on Rue de Richelieu in the city of Paris.
In the secrecy of his free time, Francois was motivated by the fashion sense of Aurelie, to draw clothing he hoped she would one day wear. By the time Francois passed puberty, his portfolio of fashion designs was quite full. A testament ala recherche du temps perdu (remembrance of things of the past).
Without realizing his extraordinary talent and flair for fashion design, he settled into a job on Rue Richelieu in an open air produce stand selling the wares of one, Monsieur Verdoux and his wife, Madeleine. Francois loathed Madeleine. Her husband was a rotund lover of all things female. She, on the other hand, was cross, snarling and had an air about her of militancy that was unmistakable. Francois went about his duties without incident to the annoyance of Madeleine and the convenience of her spouse.
On his free days, he spent his time in the park, weather permitting, or in his mother's apartment drawing and dreaming of a career he hoped to build selling his designs. Luck was about to change his entire life.
As he was hurrying across the rue, he dropped his treasured portfolio, sending designs into the gutter and onto the sidewalk. A distinguished looking gentleman stopped to pick them up, before an ambitious wind carried them off. He wore a stylish, well-cut long coat, over a stiffly starched white shirt with a black satin waistcoat, deeply embroidered with red, gold and green silk threaded designs.
He helped Francois to his feet.
"Mon Dieu! But, these are wonderful!" the man said, studying Francois's designs.
"Mai oui bien sur," Francois replied, curtly, still smarting from his embarrassing fall in public.
"My name is Monsieur Jacques Courare, of the House of Bonet," the older man replied.
Francois brushed the soil off his clothing and stood erect, when suddenly the words of his rescuer struck him...
"House of Bonet?" Francois asked with an expression of awe.
"Oui! I have not seen such grace and unique style in designs. Do these belong to you?" the man asked.
"Mai oui. Bien sur. I am the artiste who drew them," Francois said, shyly.
"I give you my card. You must come to our shop. I must see more of your work. I am off to a fashion show just now. I would love to have the opportunity to study your designs more closely. Will you come?" Monsieur Courare asked.
"Certainement!" Francois replied, with a deep, low bow from the waist.
Francois's heart felt lighter than it had in long time. The House of Bonet? Excellente!
He fairly danced all the way home, clutching Courare's card tightly in his hand.
He would hasten to House of Bonet the very next morning. He didn't want Monsieur Courare to forget his face. When he reached his mother's apartment, he hurried to his armoire to find just the right ensemble for his meeting tomorrow.
He chose a more conservative white shirt, grey serge trousers and matching tailored jacket. He polished his only pair of shoes until he saw his image in the tips of the toes.
A hat? Should I consider a hat? The only hat he owned was a black, brushed felt beret. That would not do at all. He decided against a hat. He ran to the full length mirror in his mother's boudoir.
How plain, he thought, as he saw his reflection. Ma Ma would be coming home from her job as a seamstress any moment. He still had not prepared their evening meal. Soon, he would afford a place of his own and prepare meals only for himself.
Aurelie called out to her son.
"Ma Ma? I have great news you will not believe!" Francois said, breathlessly.
"Oui?"
"On crossing the rue earlier, I dropped my design portfolio. A nice gentleman picked it, and me, from the curb. Then, he retrieved my designs. He is Monsieur Jacques Courare of House of Bonet! What luck, Ma Ma!"
Aurelie was thrilled for her only child. So long had she wished for better for him. The fates had proven to be with Francois after all. His goodness and kindness was to pay off finally, she thought.
The Parisian sun shone brightly as Francois brushed sleep from his eyes. It was six o'clock. He rose from his bed and stretched, long and exuberantly. He hurried to the kitchen. Mama was already at the stove.
"Francois, I prepared coffee, some juice, bread and jam. Will you have some before you go?" she asked.
"I am not hungry Ma Ma. I am too excited to eat," he replied.
Seeing the look of disappointment on her face, he grabbed for the juice and took a large draft. Then, he reached for the coffee cup, while Ma Ma slathered raspberry jam on a large slice of bread she baked, probably at the first light of dawn.
"You need fortitude to impress House of Bonet," she advised.
Francois ate and hurried off to his prepare his morning toilette. He dressed carefully, making certain everything was impeccable.
When he prepared to leave, Ma Ma stood at the door with a grey felt hat in her hands.
"This is for good luck. It belonged to your father. He was always such a dapper man," she said.
It was the perfect finish to his ensemble. The hat had a wide black ribbon and a tiny gold fleur de lis pin attached at the seam of the ribbon. Just the right touch!
He was met at the door of House of Bonet by none other than Dominique Forant, the owner of the establishment. Behind him stood Jacques Courare.
"Monsieur Francois Du Benet, I presume?"
Francois nodded.
"Welcome, Monsieur Du Benet. I understand you are interested in creating designs for House of Bonet?" Monsieur Forant said.
"Oui. I am most interested."
That was the beginning of Francois's formal entrance into the world of fashion design. He began as an intern, working very closely with Monsieur Courare, a wonderful mentor and after a time, great friend.
Francois loved his job and everything about it. Only one thing unnerved him, as always it had: mannequins. He knew they were a necessary part of the fashion world. Still, he hated the painted faces staring at him whenever he worked on late into the night to complete designs for the next fashion show.
The only other annoyance was the fashion models. Their constant chattering, complaining and whining, in addition to massive egos and battles for top runway position, were distracting to Francois. He often wished he could motorize the mannequins to end the fashion models presence in the salon where he worked.
One model in particular irked Francois, Josette Mimeaux, nearly six feet tall, as thin as a river reed in the Thames and an excessively painted face that could be mistaken for those of mannequins.
Francois couldn't figure out whether it was the overly drawn eye liner, black as coal, or lips painted blood red and further outlined by dark mocha lip liner.
If it wasn't for the fashions she modeled on House of Bonet runway, she could be mistaken for a gaunt, underfed street urchin easily. When she came into the salon, she wore ankle length dresses that reminded Francois of Elizabethan costumes of the 1600s. These dresses cinched at the upper torso so tightly that Josette appeared even thinner than her actual weight. Her raven hair was almost never combed.
There were two other fashion models Francois would love to never see again: Cosine Clairoux and Regine Rivenet. Though not as statuesque as Josette, Cosine and Regine were still taller than Francois. Cosine had flame red hair and covered her equally florid skin with thick face make up to cover a profusion of acne.
It was fortunate that House of Bonet chose to keep Cosine's spindly legs covered in long gowns on the runway. Her perfectly squared torso atop such spindly legs would have brought gales of laughter as she sashayed down the long runway.
Regine was a blonde, who further enhanced the color with regular doses of peroxide, to bring it to the platinum hue it was. She was a former ballerina with the Corp de Ballet. Having aged out of the corps, she made the runway her next career.
Regine's antics on the runway amused Francois. Clearly, it was her wish to incorporate ballet into modeling or, at the very least, remind the fashion lovers who attended House of Bonet shows that she, Regine, had once been a featured corps ballerina. She had a habit of accentuating arms and twirls as if she was a swan queen in Swan Lake ballet.
Most of the time, the antics of the models were of little distraction to the busy Francois, who designs were now well known all over Paris. In fact, Monsieurs Forant and Courare decided his designs were so lucrative that they planned to market them at coming fashion shows in Spain, Italy and Germany.
The two Frenchmen took along their top models, Josette, Cosine and Regine and several others. The party from House of Bonet boarded a train for Florence, Italy, their first stop. In just two hours, they would present Francois du Benet's designs on Florence's largest fashion runway. The designs were so well received that Monsieur Forant personally called Francois to congratulate him. The next fashion show was in Barcelona, Spain. Here again, Francois's designs were the talk of the city.
Monsieurs Forant and Courare made plans to have the fashions ready for shipment before they reached Germany.
In Bonn, Germany, the fashion designs were met with lukewarm enthusiasm. Monsieur Forant was not deterred. He knew German women were not always so very eager to make changes to fashion, preferring to retain their own style.
Monsieurs Forant and Courare returned to Paris delighted with the results of their travel. Thanks to their ingenue Francois du Benet, House of Bonet was Paris's number one fashion house with certainty.
Francois was thrilled at the reception his designs received. The only downside to this was that the peace and quiet of the salon in which he worked was again broken by models.
Monsieurs Forant and Courare were to meet with business men from several other fashion houses, at Le Cygnets du Blanc, Paris's most upscale dining place. Francois watched from the salon windows as the two men entered the sleek black limousine at six o'clock that evening.
Less than one hour later, the phone in the salon rang. Francois noted the ferocity of the jangling sound.
"Bonsoir," he answered.
"Francois du Benet? Monsieur, I have news for you to report to your staff," the male voice said.
"Oui?"
"A most tragic accident on Rue de Passy...Monsieurs Forant and Courare...they have been killed this very evening," the voice said.
"Killed? Both of them? Morte?" he asked, in disbelief.
"Oui. Their families have been contacted. Please express our condolences to all your staff," the voice said.
Francois stood stock still for more than five minutes. Both men? Dead?
He was sure no announcement to the rest of House of Bonet would be necessary. All of the morning newspapers would be full of the story of the two men.
Weeks after their deaths, House of Bonet was in a virtual state of turmoil. Madame Forant was abroad with her two daughters recovering from the shock. Monsieur Courare had been a widower whose wife, Juliette, passed away early in their marriage. They had no children.
Francois wondered what would become of House of Bonet. The timing of death is never in accord with the time of business success. Always La Morte strikes without reservation at his own convenience.
Madame Forant returned to Paris and called for a meeting of the staff of House of Bonet.
"Mes amis, I wish to thank all of you for your kindness and condolences in the loss of my husband. I know he would wish House of Bonet to continue on as before. After much consideration and in his many past discussions with Monsieur Forant, I know my decision is one he would choose himself.
I am appointing Francois du Benet as the new head of House of Bonet," she said, nodding toward Francois.
"Francois, I know from my conversations with my husband, he would want you to take over the reins. I did not discuss this with you prior, which you will come to understand later," she added.
Francois could not believe his ears! He realized Madame Forant's daughters were too young to own a manage such a large and well known haute couture establishment. He wasn't even certain he was up to the task.
Quickly, he called together the other designers, accountants and financiers in a meeting. He found it amusing that the models he so disliked were abuzz with concerns of whether they might be sacked now that Francois was in charge.
After the meeting, he was besieged by daily phone calls that distracted him from his design work.
I must have quiet and solace. My designs will suffer if I do not, he thought.
He devised a plan of management that allowed regular weekly meetings that separated business transactions from the fashion business. Still, he felt overwhelmed.
About four months after Francois was placed in charge, he was thrilled by a surprise visit from his Ma Ma. As always, Aurelie made her grand entrance to the shock and awe of everyone at House of Bonet. Speaking in her usual whispery voice, Aurelie requested to speak with her son.
As she gracefully made her way to the designing room, eying what appeared to be such massive disorganization she could fairly suffocate from it. Tables were loaded with fabrics here and there, aisles were littered with scraps from sewing machines pushing out apparel and people seemed to be in constant motion, particularly the fashion models.
"Francois? A moment?" she said.
"Ma Ma, how delightful it is to see you here. I am sorry I have been so busy and have not had time to visit properly with you," Francois said.
"You Ma Ma understands, son," she replied.
"Tea? Ma Ma?" he asked.
"Oui, tea would be wonderful," Aurelie said.
Francois poured tea from a metal pot on a heating plate into a china cup and handed it to his mother.
"Creme?"
"Non...This is fine," Aurelie answered.
"Ma Ma, you look well. Is this anything you need?" he asked.
"I miss my son. But, I have read in the papers of the untimely deaths of Forant and Courare. Do express my condolences to the families, Francois," she said.
Francois nodded.
The telephone jangled several times, interrupting Francois lovely visit with his Ma Ma. Annoyed, he snarled at the callers and said he would return their call.
"Juliette! Juliette!" he called, to the receptionist.
"Please hold all callers. I do not wish to be disturbed!" Francois bellowed.
Aurelie saw quickly the great pressure her son was under.
"You are management of House of Bonet, now?" she asked.
"Oui. Ma Ma, I need your counsel. I want to design. I do not want to deal with business, vendors and the rest of the rabble biting every day at my heels," he said.
"Yes? And how can I counsel you on this?" Aurelie asked.
"Would you consider assisting me?" he asked.
"Assist you? In what way?"
"You always managed our finances so very well on so little. I can afford now to pay you to manage the part of this business I have no taste for," Francois said.
"Son, are you sure? You know families work together in Parisian businesses all the time. I will need for your people to understand clearly the duties you charge me with," Aurelie said.
"Ma Ma anything you can do to help...I will bless," Francois said.
Aurelie was overjoyed by her son's offer. She knew precisely what her first duties would be: organize the entire establishment.
True to his word, Francois called a meeting of his staff and models. He formally introduced Aurelie. From the expressions on their faces, it seemed all present looked at Aurelie Du Benet as a refreshing change from Francois's insularity and need to work in solitude.
Each day, Aurelie arrived precisely at her appointed time, bearing fresh croissants and freshly prepared framboise preserved to a luscious sweetness. She placed these on a large silver tray near the coffee press and bid the staff help themselves to these wonderful treats.
The change in attitude was amazing. Where before the staff trod on soft ground around Francois, now they felt they could simply go to Aurelie if there was a question or a dilemma. Aurelie, of course, enjoyed this immensely.
From that pointe on, Francois closeted himself with designs while Aurelie saw to the daily running of the business. She even took to lunching with some of his clients on his behalf. Francois was glad for that. He was not the man to waste time lunching with clients or people in general. He had no interest in women, a fact that often gave Aurelie pause. Was it possible her son preferred men?
Midweek of a fairly hot September in Paris, Aurelie saw to the delivery of an order of mannequins. Each had faces so similar that Francois was disgusted.
"Such lack of creativity! Could they not, at least, have made the faces more distinct? All are brunettes. What am I to do? Design only in colors suited to brunettes? Especially now when all the rage in women's hair color is blonde?"
Aurelie ordered the staff to place the mannequins out of the view of Francois. Some were placed near the front of the shop, others along side walls. As one entered from the front door, the mannequins looked almost as if they were about to spring at customers. Aurelie saw now why Francois was offended by them. Still, mannequins are the only way to display his newest designer frocks. His very name depended on how the frocks were displayed.
Francois hated the sight of them. There had to be something far better. He decided to experiment after Aurelie and the others were finished their jobs for the day.
"Are you not coming home for supper, my son?"
"Non. Ma Ma, I have a lot of work to finish. The collection is due to be shown on the runway next week. Did you remind the models of the date?"
"Certainement. Josette Mimeaux, Cosine Clairoux and Regine Rivenet have all been given notice of the date," Aurelie said.
Francois noticed the expression on Aurelie's face.
"Something wrong, Ma Ma?"
"You know I do not like telling tales," she said.
"Yes? What tale is there to tell?"
"Josette...she has been talking about your designs."
"Oui? And...?"
"She has been making "remarks" about your designs for her."
"Ma Ma, I have no time for Josette's silly remarks."
"She said she thinks your designs do not please her figure."
"That is because her figure is as gaunt as a reed's and I cannot make flattering designs for a reed."
"No. She says you deliberately put her in colors you know she loathes."
"I put her in the colors and designs I hope will appeal to the ladies who spend their husband's money to buy," Francois said.
Aurelie shrugged and started for the door at the back of the shop. She turned briefly.
"Francois, pay no mind to a silly fashion model. Why is this mannequin back here by the exit?" she asked.
"I am going to remodel it. I want to change the hair color and maybe add rouge to the cheeks. It is as pale a face as your white face powder Ma Ma," Francois said.
Aurelie left her son to his duties.
Francois did have plans to remodel the mannequin. He'd bought a bit of paint, wax and lacquer and after he finished the fashion show designs, he planned to work on the mannequin.
Francois had always had one quirky facet to his personality: He was unable to endure things in his presence he considered "ugly." Aurelie was likely the reason. Her colorful flamboyance created Francois' keen eye for beauty, or at least, things he considered to be true beauty.
He heard the door to the shop open. He thought he'd locked it for the night. He poked his head around the drawings on the table in front of him and called out:
"Who is there?"
"It is just I...Josette, Monsieur. I have left my purse behind. Foolish me," Josette said.
The very sound of her voice grated on Francois nerves. He was still inwardly fuming over the comments she made to Cosine and Regine.
"Mademoiselle Mimeaux, one moment if you please."
"Oui?"
"Before you leave, I would like a word with you," Francois said.
Josette stood halfway between the open shop doors. She closed it and turned toward Francois who now walked toward her.
"It is my understanding that you have certain problems with my designs?"
Josette knew that Aurelie had taken the trouble to tell Francois what she'd said to Cosine and Regine. She stiffened in her place.
"Oui. May I speak openly?" she asked.
"You may speak openly; but I may choose not to accept what you say," Francois replied.
Josette shrugged her bony shoulders. Instantly, they reminded Francois of the wings of la poulet.
"First, your Ma Ma has overheard a private conversation between Cosine and Regine, has she not?"
Francois didn't respond. Rather, his coal black eyes narrowed to tiny slits and he felt his blood rising in his veins. He felt Josette was mocking him.
"I do not design for tawdry runway models. You are fortunate to still have employment here. I can dispense with you easily," Francois said.
"You can, but you won't. We both know your Ma Ma is rather mercenary about overpaying models. Your designs...they are...How shall I say?...Tres vielle dame?"
"Vielle dame! Vielle dame? This was the phrase for "old lady."
Francois would have exploded had it not been for his refusal to dignify Josette's remarks.
"So. My designs do not suit you?"
"Non. Pas du tout!" Josette said.
"Not at all! And your expertise as a designer at a Paris house of couture is greater than mine?"
"I am just saying that your designs do not at all suit my figure. They suit old ladies, not the youth of Paree."
Francois felt a roiling fury that seemed to begin at his feet. By the time it reached his brain, he felt as if he would explode.
He grabbed for the letter opener on the reception desk and plunged it into Josette's chest.
"Mon Dieu! What have I done?" he exclaimed.
Josette slumped over in a coiled mass on the floor of the shop. Francois quickly ran to pull the window shades down and dragged the woman's body into his workshop.
As he did, her blood made a narrow trail from the front of the shop to the rear.
He closed the door to the workshop and locked it. Next, he ponder what he could do to hide the body. He remembered the wax. He grabbed for the bucket and set it atop the warming stove. It began to melt quickly. He removed her clothing and poured the wax over Josette's body and began to reshape the wax around her forehead, cheekbones and chin. He had to cover her facial features so the body would look like an ordinary mannequin and less like Josette. He'd seen enough wax figures in museums in Paris to know how to do this.
He wondered though how he would explain Josette's absence. His angular face contorted until it resembled a twisted croissant. He hurried to clean up the trail of blood.
He lifted Josette's body onto a mannequin stand. The body seemed to lean forward. He poured more wax over it and reworked the facial features. He brought a small fan near to the now waxed body to dry it. He realized that it had to dry quickly in order for it to remained fully upright. He hurried to finish work on several other mannequins Aurelie had positioned near the front of the shop and along the walls. He painted new rouge on their lips and cheeks and added brightly colored eye makeup.
He had to make certain it appeared Josette's body was just one of several he worked on.
It was nearly three in the morning by the time he finished his work. He placed the body on its stand in the closet where he kept the smocks he wore for work. He locked the closet door and tucked the key into his pocket. He hurried home.
"Francois? It is so late. You are just home at this hour?" Aurelie called down to him.
He climbed the stairs to his room.
"Go back to sleep Ma Ma. I will be late in the morning. You go on without me."
Francois slept fitfully. He awoke several times wet and damp. He changed his nightshirt and crawled back to bed. Suddenly, he felt as cold as ice. He pulled his quilt over his head and tried to sleep. When finally he did find sleep, he had a nightmare that woke him. He dreamed that Josette was chasing him with a letter opener. He shook the sleep from his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was already nine in the morning. He usually arrived at the shop by seven. He hurried to dress and walked briskly to the shop, not stopping for his morning coffee.
"Good morning, Francois," Aurelie said, cheerfully.
"Good morning Ma Ma."
He rushed past her to his work table. He glanced at the closet. The door was open!
"Who unlocked the closet without MY permission!" he demanded.
"Why son, I did. Today is the first showing of your designs. I merely thought you would want all of the mannequins readied," Aurelie said.
"Where is the mannequin that was in my closet?"
"It's already out there in the shop. We will roll out the carpet for the runway. We are just waiting for Josette. She is late getting here," Aurelie said.
Francois had completely forgotten the date. Mon Dieu! He forgot that fashion show was at two this very afternoon.
"Francois? You seem overwrought. Perhaps, we should cancel the fashion show?" Aurelie said.
"Non! The fashion show will proceed as planned!" he barked.
Aurelie knew her son was not himself. A mother knows these things instinctively.
"Should we wait for Josette then?" she asked.
"I fired her last night. Besides, we do not need her. She doesn't like my designs? She doesn't need to wear them!" Francois said.
"You fired her? But, Francois, we will have one less model on the runway," Aurelie said.
"Ma Ma, I do not have time to discuss this now. We will have to be creative and use mannequins where we must," Francois said.
He toned down the anger in his voice. He knew his mother was too sensitive to his nature and he refused to allow anyone to become suspicious.
The House of Bonet had a floor plan that was designed to allow only invited guests to attend fashion shows. The former owners had engaged carpenters to build mobile runways to show the newest designs on models. Aurelie directed the hired help to set up the runway in the usual center of the room.
The shop had four double display windows at the front for regular displays. The doors at the entrance were heavy oak with lead glass panes in a fleur de lis design framed by etched ivy. Velveteen chairs with white and gilt violin backs were placed for customers' convenience. Today, more chairs would be added.
Aurelie had seen to the guest list. In addition to several chanteuses of Parisian renown, there were to be several wives of provincial government dignitaries. Aurelie herself would greet them at the door, offer wine, cheeses and patisserie, supplied by Paris's top caterers. Francois normally frowned on such extravagances. But after reviewing the guest list for today's showing, he knew only the best impression would encourage these women to buy.
Mannequins were staged at the head of the runway entrance where a large curtain was opened to allow the models to show his designs to best advantage. Cosine and Regine buzzed about the missing Josette. Francois kept his eyes on both of them. He couldn't afford to arouse their suspicions.
The entire runway programme would take not longer than one hour and a half.
"Ma Ma? Where is the mannequin that was in my closet?" he asked.
"It is in the display window. See it for yourself."
Francois took note it was dressed in the fashions for autumn but was directly in the sun.
"Ma Ma, that mannequin has to be moved. It is not quite ready to be used. I only late last evening painted and waxed it. In the sun, the wax will begin to melt," Francois said.
"It will be just fine, Francois. Stop worrying about such minor details. Your guests are arriving already and they are nearly all here. See to the models and your designs," Aurelie said.
Francois was not accepting his mother's mild chastisement. He hurried to remove the mannequin and replaced it with another. Aurelie shrugged and felt bewildered.
He decided to place the mannequin at the head of the runway. He could keep his eye on its condition better from there. He forgot that the large overhead lights shone directly upon it.
Nervously, he went about the programme. He became thoroughly distracted from his vigilance of the mannequin in his haste to get the models out on the runway.
Cosine noticed it first.
"Something is peculiar about that mannequin. Look Regine...the wax is beginning to melt from the heat of those overhead lights," Cosine said.
"What of it?" Regine said.
"It just looks odd. That's all," Cosine continued.
She headed down the runway in a brown tweed jacket and grey pencil skirt. As she turned to head back down the runway, she screamed.
"Mon Dieu! Look there! The mannequin!"
All of the customers seated in the audience screamed. The wax had melted from the face Francois had painted on and exposed Josette's face.
Aurelie looked closer. She saw what her son had done.
"Francois?"
She looked around but her son had escaped through the rear exit.
The body of Josette Mimeaux drooped forward on the stand and fell with a thud on the runway floor. Customers ran screaming from the shop.
"Your son...he murdered Josette," Cosine screamed.
"I will go for the gendarme," Regine said.
Tears filled Aurelie's eyes.
"My son, a most famous fashion designer. What has he done?" she muttered.
Regine returned with two uninformed police. They inspected the body on the floor
"Madame Du Benet? Where is your son?"
Aurelie choked as she tried to speak.
"He has run away."
The search for Francois du Benet ended when his body was found one month after the runway horror that had taken place. He had walked into the river and drowned. In all of Paris, the name, Francois du Benet, would never be forgotten. Nor, would his mother and associates ever forget the runway horror.
