Fashion

This is a continuation of the series of stories of Peter Banks and his family. It started with Country Life, continued with Up T'Smoke and A Surface Problem. The characters are the same; while it helps to have read the earlier stories, it is not necessary to have done so to understand this one.

Nobody under the age of 18 is involved in sexual activity

Hello, I am Marcus de Vere. I have always been interested in photography.

In senior school we had a 'Camera Club'. It was run by the physics teacher who explained the basics of cameras and the fundamentals of black and white film processing. He taught us every Thursday for an hour after school. I was fascinated.

There were maybe a dozen or fifteen of us in the club and we practiced using the simple equipment. It belonged to the school and we used it mainly in the little darkroom off the physics lab, often during the lunch break. The club had been going for several years and had accumulated bits of equipment. We were able to load cut film into casettes, in the dark of course. Then after taking pictures we would transfer the film into a tank for developing and fixing, followed by contact prints and some enlargements.

One Easter my Dad gave me his old Leica M3. I didn't realize at the time how good a camera it was. In the following two years I became reasonably proficient and ended up taking pictures for the school magazine, mainly team photos and sports day activities. A friend took some of the squash and swim teams that I was in but I missed the fencing photo.

More about sports at school. At 5' 11" and 175 lb I was not competitive for the First XV Rugby so I played on the wing in the seconds. Only 'The Firsts' got their picture in the magazine. Cricket and field hockey were not to my taste: I swam - distance - moderately well, and played on the school 'second-6' squash team. I enjoyed fencing and was quite good, but I could never beat Christophe: he went on to represent France in the Olympics!

So I was a competitor but not in team sports. Not like my sister Sophie's husband Peter: we were at Junior School together for a year before I was sent to Prep School. Peter was 6' 2" and 210 lb and played on the national schoolboys' rugby team. A hard man!

Up at Oxford I messed about for a while, finding my feet. I read PPE in college and took a joint Architecture degree at Oxford Brookes. I started a D.Phil. in Architectural History but decided on the practical side with an ARIBA, all the while keeping an interest in photography. I got a job in architecture with Sir Thomas Percival Partnership - apparently Sir Tom was in The Guards with Dad - and for a while I enjoyed the architecture work. But I found myself taking evening courses in photography. In the end I asked Sir Thomas for a leave of absence to get the photography out of my blood. I was a 'loner' with no commitments. I went out occasionally with a crowd of guys and girls, usually pals from Oxford who chose to go out as a group. Sometimes to a show, sometimes just for a drink and dancing. Anywhere from half a dozen of is to maybe 15 or so, but it got a bit expensive without independent funding and Dad was having some difficulties. So I had no serious girlfriend, and I needed to know if I could make a living doing what I really wanted to do: photography.

So I set up shop and advertised locally, also spreading the word through my, admittedly small, group of friends. While I was still with Sir Tom I started doing weddings and some free-lance work, hawking my shots to newspapers and anyone who would buy. I had a reasonable computer with CadCam for building work and I learned Adobe Photoshop quite quickly. Colour work I sent off for professional printing but I had a small darkroom in my spare room for black and white 'wet chemistry' work: my 'artsy' stuff.

Interest was slow taking off. I was saved by the number of wedding albums I covered, from March through to October. It was good work, quite lucrative, but in time it became bit repetitive. Then one day the daughter of one of Dad's friends asked if I could do an 'artistic folio' for her: nudes and some suggestive poses. I was hesitant: was I risking my reputation before I had made it? I agreed but I quoted an exorbitant price. She agreed - she wasn't paying!

Slowly my client base grew and along with it, my reputation. I did more and more commercial work and some fashion stills for famous skin-care products. Some models were friendly, some aloof, and some totally ignored me. Occasionally I got some positive feedback from the company artistic director that my work was good or what they were looking for. But that really only made sense if I got a call-back or another contract. I was beginning to get a feel for how that world worked.

Milan and Paris fashion weeks are always the major shows on the European fashion circuit. London comes much further down the list but the fashion houses usually show up to give a preview of what to expect later in the season in North America. Of course, the major attraction is on the runway where the models strut the newest of the designer's imagination, but there were fashion shoots, TV clips, interviews, cocktail parties and a host of other social gatherings.

The social life is busy but the performers all know each other. Property managers, designers, make-up people, models, seamstresses all mix freely though there is a hierarchy with designers and models at the top. Occasionally someone new arrives and people retire, gracefully or otherwise. The new arrivals take time to get to know the others and find their place in the hierarchy. The major houses have their primary models and any number of freelancers who fill in, depending on the number of outfits in the show and how long it takes to change clothing.

Many of the models are married, often with children, and lead normal family lives. They are well organized and will travel to the fashion week locales in good time to complete their assignments, then return home to their families. Single models may share accommodation, often at hotels or apartments owned or paid for by their fashion house. Sometimes models from different houses will share: there are no hard-and-fast rule. They can organize themselves and of course their companies pick up the charges.

Katya Ulsen is one of the top two models for Yves St Laurent. She had been signed as a 17-year-old when in Paris, living with her cousin Anna, then a student teacher at the Sorbonne. They were single daughters of single sisters who were translators originally from Chisinau, Moldova. One worked for the NATO, then the UN, the other for the EU.

Anna was attractive, about 5' 6", and very bright. Over the years she had acquired a teaching degree (Sorbonne), a nursing diploma, an MB, ChB (Guy's Hospital) and a specialty in Medical Genetics in Internal Medicine (Stanford). She and Katya shared an apartment in Palo Alta near San Jose. Anna lives there and works in the Stanford University Hospital while Katya travels about three weeks of each month. Even though Anna is well paid as a medical specialist, YSL still pays for the apartment.

Katya was a classical beauty: about 5' 9" and long platinum blonde hair, slim, high cheekbones with a small nose, slightly almond-shaped eyes and generous lips. Quite kissable I thought, in fact a real beauty.

The major houses have their in-house photographers who follow the circus during the season. Phillippe Marchant had been with Yves St Laurent for many years. He was admired and respected for his insight into the designers' interpretations and his careful, though sometimes no longer avant-garde, work.

Recently Phillippe had been at odds with his younger companion Henri, who decided he did not wish to leave Paris so often. After several arguments the older man gave in and cancelled his week in London, arranging for me as a back-up photographer to do the work in the English-speaking countries, basically the London and New York shows, and perhaps the West Coast.

I was busy setting up in the London photo studio in place of Phillippe. The Canon Eos was on one tripod the Rolleiflex on another: one with colour film, the other with slow black and white. I had spent some time beforehand arranging the lighting to my satisfaction. I had recently completed a course on lighting and was keen to try out some new ideas. Back lighting was arranged along one wall with soft floods bounced off the ceiling. The back wall was a pale blue.

Katya knocked and walked in, pulling a rack of clothes beside her. She was just stunning. As an 11-year veteran she knew the procedures but she was surprised to find a 'new' photographer, not Phillippe. We introduced ourselves and Katya moved behind a screen to adjust her makeup.

I had a Nikon Pro in my hand as I directed the model how I wanted her to stand and then to move, explaining the new lighting and how it might change the poses. She was wearing the Yves St Laurent piece, direct from the runway fitter she had just left. The studio was professional in every way and of course models were familiar with the procedures and directions.

For some reason I thought she looked familiar, but then, everyone had seen advertisements showing the top models. No doubt I had seen one of hers for YSL.

"Can you throw your head back, shake your hair and wave an arm in the air please?" I asked. Katya obliged and I moved quickly to catch as many poses as I could.

"How many other outfits do you have? I have scheduled you in for 45 minutes to an hour, if that is OK with you. I don't normally do fashions shots, as you may have gathered, but Phillippe is away this week and I agreed to step in" I explained. "I can ask for another 15 or 30 minutes of studio time if you think we need it."

In fact Phillippe had asked me to be the English-speaking official photographer for YSL at least in London. I knew the models were familiar with Phillippe as photographer and I wanted to introduce myself slowly, initially for 'just the week'.

Katya smiled. "I have two other outfits beside this one. Hmmm, I knew you weren't Phillippe. He and I are old friends. What is he doing, spending a few days with Henri?"

"Oh, you do know him well! Their arrangement is common knowledge then?" I asked.

"Oh, no. I've known Phillippe a long time. I tried to seduce him once, but he laughed and introduced me to Henri... So, do you have a friend hidden away that I should know about before I embarrass myself again?" Katya taunted me.

It is as well to get some idea of the lie of the land in case I try to make a move on this one she thought. He really is good looking and has such a gentle manner...

"No, I'm not that way inclined," I replied, moving around the set and changing my position. I took several dozen views before previewing the shots I had just taken.

"Come and have a look at these," I said, changing the subject. I didn't know what to make of Katya's comment: was she coming on to me? She was so obviously beautiful and so well established as one of YSL's top two models, I cannot afford to make a gauche move here. But it is an intriguing thought!

Katya walked over to where I was connecting the camera to a TV screen. I scrolled quickly through most of the shots, then slowed down for 4 pictures: "I rather like these. What do you think?" I asked.

"Beautiful... and brilliant. You really have a nice touch," Kaya replied, standing beside me and resting her fingers on my forearm. I was very aware of her closeness and her distinctive perfume. I was beginning to react to her presence

"It's you who is brilliant ... and beautiful, Katya. You exude such youthful charm and sexual energy at the same time: that's quite a rare combination. You are so easy to photograph: I could do this all day." I said, looking not at her but at the screen. I felt I was speaking honestly and in a straightforward way, not simple flattery. Most beautiful women could tell: flattery they were familiar with every day in their profession, honesty a little less so.

Katya looked at me, smiling, but with a quizzical look. She paused, ready to say something, then turned away.

"Marc, do you have somewhere to be right away?" she asked. "You see I need, well, want really, a portfolio of photos for my personal use. I love your shots. Would you be able to take some for me now? I will pay you separately of course."

"Thank you for the compliment: I don't see why not. Let me check the bookings for the studio. I think we have it for the afternoon. And don't worry about paying me, I'm happy to help out and it's good experience for me." I checked the booking schedule on my mobile: it was free for the rest of the day.

The session continued for another 45 minutes. Marc took between 200 to 300 shots of Katya in the three outfits, including some videos which he intended to review frame-by-frame. At Katya's request he also took some rather risqué shots showing partly-exposed breasts and nipples. He felt himself becoming excited at Katya's poses and was grateful for the baggy chinos he was wearing. Was she deliberately teasing him? They moved about the set, chatting and joking, while Marc altered the lighting and set. Then after an hour he put the lens hoods on his cameras and began to tidy up.

"Thank you for the session, Katya. Up to now I haven't had many modelling shoots so I am grateful for the work. My other job is kind of quiet right now. Perhaps I will get more if Phillippe decides to stay on the continent."

"I think I have more than enough material for a folio for you. I'll make sheets of contact prints from the black and white, and select a few dozen ten by eights for you to choose from. Or I can send all of it to Phillippe for you to look at in Paris. Which would you prefer?"

"Thank you Marc, it has been a pleasure working with you, too. Can you send me the pictures directly at Yves St Laurent in Bond Street? I think you have the address. I'm confident from what I have seen this morning that you will have some very good shots for the upcoming ads and promos. Perhaps we can discuss the portfolio later? If it's possible I would like to work with you again."

"I would like that too," Marc replied, "I will check with your office." Always tricky, taking over a customer from a colleague Marc thought, as he packed his cameras away and collected the cables from the monitors. But he knew Phillippe quite well and had the impression that the job was his unless he messed up.

Katya hung up the outfits and rolled them into a locked room for safety. This year's fashions were a prized commodity and were always kept locked away. She would phone the main office and they would be picked up by YSL guards the next day.

As they parted company Marc reached out for a handshake but Katya gave him a peck on the cheek instead. They both looked at each other for a moment, then Katya walked to waiting taxi while Marc pulled his rollaway case and shoulder bag towards his car. They both looked a little confused.

Marc knew it was Katya whom he had met briefly at his sister Sophie's wedding some time ago. He had been circulating among the guests, introducing himself, and he noted the extremely attractive and vivacious 'friend-of-a-friend.' Then he moved on, not wanting to interrupt the conversations, and now, if she recognized him, and he thought she had, she clearly did not want to make the first move. Was it up to him? Obviously yes! She was so obviously very attractive that she was sure to be in a relationship and Marc did not want to make a fool of himself and be rebuffed. Yet she gave him that 'come-on' phrase when talking about Phillippe and Henri. What was he to do?

Katya was not so sure, hence the quizzical expression. She was almost sure it was Sophie's brother Marcus but the meeting at the wedding was brief and she was deep in conversation with her aunt Alicja and her cousin Anna. It was also half way around the world; she could be wrong and it would be embarrassing if it was not him. She would call Sophie and ask about Marcus: where he lived, what he was doing, what was he like...?

Marc worked steadily on Katya's photographs. He shaded some, touched up a few but not many. The more he worked on the assignment the more beautiful she appeared. The advertising and promo shots were easy: YSL had outlined what they wanted. Marc spent a long time choosing 20 or so prints for her folio: he was unsure whether to deliver them by hand or post them.

He must tell her he knew her, but he didn't want to embarrass her, or himself. The question she had asked 'do you have a friend hidden away before I ask' sounded as though she might be interested in a further contact, or was he over-interpreting a friendly comment? And if there was a chance of another shoot, would he be jeopardizing his chance of more work if he asked for a date? So many questions.

These questions were swirling around in Marc's brain while he worked that evening.

Although he trained at Oxford as an architect and was proud of his ARIBA designation, his true love was photography. He earned a fair salary as an architect, working for Sir Thomas, enough for a comfortable life though not enough to pay off The Manor maintenance debt, yet he happily accepted a lower income to work as a photographer. He had had several fashion shoots subbing for Phillippe in the past: obviously the models, or their agents, were quite satisfied with Phillippe's work. How would they react to him as a replacement; was it a closed shop and would YSL management prefer someone else?

When the prints were ready, Marc delivered them himself to the YSL office. He hoped to deliver them to Katya in person but he was told the all the models were already in Paris for 10 days. Then some would return for a while and leave for Milan while others would go directly to Milan. The folio would be forwarded to Katya after her agent had seen it. So much for that, Marc thought, and he returned to a society wedding he had just shot.

"Hey Sophie!" Katya called, from Paris. "Its Katya here in London. Glad I could catch you: I'm between shows. I've got a question for you: does your brother work as a photographer in London, sometimes with the rag trade? I think he took some shots of me last week and I don't want to embarrass myself with him."

"Good to hear from you Katya. Marcus? Well, could be. You know he is an architect? But I know he prefers to be a freelance photographer than a full-time architect, so it's quite possible he's trying to get into the fashion business. Have you come across him?" Sophie replied, happy to hear any news of her 'little' brother. "Are you going to seduce him, you wanton woman, you?"

"Hmmm, the thought had passed through my mind. I had this handsome guy as a sub for my regular photo man and he looked just like your brother. Problem was I only met your brother for an instant at your reception when I was busy talking to Alicja: I just noticed how good-looking he was then he moved on. I wish I had paid more attention. I thought maybe as he was Best Man he was attached to your scottish cousin, you know: Fiona".

"I wish I could tell you more about him Katya but I really don't know him that well. Problem was we sort of split when he was about 6 or so and went to 'prep school', a kind of kid's boarding school to get boys ready for 'public school'. During school holidays, when he was young he came home to The Manor, but once he got to public school he spent his hols with Daddy in London. He has always been kind of quiet, at least around me. Mind you, I make enough noise for both of us! For all I know he is gay! Sorry, but it's a possibility: lot of it going around in the public schools you know. But he is certainly not with Fiona, she is married to a surgeon and has 2 kids already."

"Thanks for the 'heads-up'," Katya said, "still, I may encourage him, if only to find out about his tendencies. I kind of like him and he seemed to show a bit of interest but that may be because he thought he knew me. I noticed something when we worked together. Do you have a phone number or address?"