PROLOGUE

 

Fabiana pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail before applying her makeup and smoothing moisturiser on her lovely face as she looked carefully at her translucent skin in the large mirror in front of her. It was so different to what she'd looked like when she was a teenager.

She glanced at her diamond Rolex watch on her left wrist which had been a gift from Antonio when she was twenty two at her coming out party and she always wore it. It would be one hour and twenty minutes until the limousine arrived.

In about six months' time this high pressure life style would be over. How glad she would be. Modelling had been very good to her, but only ever as a means to an end. At this moment in time, she was still the face of Donnetti, but soon she would own the entire company and all that went with it. She would most likely hand it over to her new managers she had chosen and then she could semi-retire and be a proper mother.

She stared dispassionately at the beautiful face in the mirror that had looked out from countless magazines and newspapers and been admired on the World's most famous catwalks for nearly twenty five years, a face envied all over the world by millions of women and adored by men.

When she had begun modelling all those years ago at the age of twenty two, she had been a worldwide trendsetter with her dramatic bone structure, her café-au-lait coloured Latin American skin, her turquoise eyes, waist length wavy black hair and her height of six foot two in bare feet. It was the right look at the right time and she owed it all to her guardian, Antonio Donnetti, who had adopted her and taken her out of Columbia and shown her a completely new life.

She conjured up in her mind a picture of Antonio. He was thirty eight years old when she first met him and her name then was Maria Emelia Ferrero. She lived in abject poverty and misery in Bogota, Columbia until she was twenty when her life changed dramatically and later her rise to fame all over the World as a renowned model, known as FABIANA.

Now nearly twenty five years later she was in London staying at her favourite hotel -The London Savoy, in the Strand - waiting for her limousine to arrive to take her to London Airport to board a plane bound for Paris France, there she would meet up with her ex-husband, Tristan, at Charles de Gaulle airport and they would fly on to Lyon-Saint-Exupéry International Airport and then travel by limousine to where the funeral of Antonio would take place at the Basilica of Notre-dame de Fourvière.

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER ONE - MEMORIES

 

The last time Fabiana had seen Antonio alive was just over six months ago when he phoned her and they met at the private clinic in Switzerland for the last time when he told her he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Antonio had come to her wedding to give her away when she was nearly twenty nine to see her marry one of the most famous and richest men in the world, Tristan Eves, once a very famous rock star, now the owner of a chain of extremely successful nightclubs in America and Europe and also the biggest recording company in the World - Eves Entertainment - his latest acquisition.

After two years of being married to Tristan she found out he was gay and she also found about the stream of young men that Tristan had indulged in during their time together before they were married. That of course had been a very a well-kept secret from the media. His agent made sure that he was always surrounded by beautiful young women for any shoot that he participated in, but she didn't really care, she was going to have the one thing she most wanted in her life, a child.

At last, a child of her own sired by the one man in her life that she had always really loved. In a few months' time her high-pressure life style would be over, she was expecting a baby after a year of IVF and was now pregnant. How glad she was. Modelling and everything that went with it had been very good to her, but only as a means to an end.

Once more she glanced at herself in the full-length mirror and patted her slight bump. She looked stunning in the elegant black silk Donnetti outfit that had been especially designed for her.

She glanced again at the small diamond watch on her left wrist. In approximately ten minutes the limousine would arrive at the hotel and whisk her away to Heathrow International Airport and then onto France, where she would meet up with her ex-husband, Tristan who had made up their differences, over the years.

They would make their way to the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière. She picked up her wide brimmed black veiled hat and black handbag and left her hotel room closing the door quietly and then walked quickly through the plush corridor of the Savoy towards the lift and pressed the button on the wall. Her luggage was already waiting for her in the foyer of the hotel.

***

The cortège came to a halt outside of the beautiful Cathedral in the town of Lyon, France.

Fabiana's ex-husband, Tristan, in his made to measure black suit, black silk shirt and black crocodile shoes, stepped out of the leading funeral limousine and smiled at her as he took hold of her left arm. He thought how beautiful she looked and a lump came in his throat as he guided her up the steps of the great building. Motherhood would suit her he knew. He still loved her in his own strange way and they still kept in touch after they divorced.

They were followed by their two bodyguards and just a few of Antonio's close friends and some of the models he had made famous over the years. Several of the French paparazzi were hovering around along with two from Italy and America and three from England.

As they entered the great building a tall priest came forward and shook their hands and led them down to an empty pew at the front of the church facing the altar and coffin.

As they walked down the aisle Fabiana could hear the strains of one of Antonio's favourite pieces of music - La Cathédrale Engloutie by Claude Debussy...(The Sunken Cathedral), being piped through the Cathedral.

Fabiana paused and looked into the carved wooden, open coffin before they took their seats in the front pew. She noticed Antonio's shoulder length black hair had been combed back off his face and she hardly recognised him. His face was gaunt and grey looking and he looked so old. She held back her tears and turned away.

Antonio's open coffin, lined with white satin, had already been placed on a catafalque...(a decorated wooden frame supporting the coffin of a distinguished deceased person), in front of the impressive altar and it was surrounded with white Arum Lilies and red and yellow roses with gypsophilia and asparagus fern draping elegantly over the sides of it.

Fabiana had chosen the flowers that he had loved so much. She remembered that he always had an abundance of flowers everywhere in his homes in different parts of the World.

The service was conducted by the Bishop of Lyon, and the prayers read by the resident priest. There was only one hymn, Jesu, Dulcis Memoria...(Jesus the very thought of you)...a very celebrated 12^th century hymn.

Fabiana had followed Antonio's instructions for his funeral which he had arranged some months before he died, with his Advocate in France.

Antonio's close friend, Dr Martinez, from Columbia gave the address and spoke about Antonio's life and how much he would be missed by Fabiana, himself, his close friends and of course by those in the fashion world.

Behind her, Fabiana heard several of the young, as well as older models weeping. She had no tears left. She had wept in private and was determined to keep a strong face, but, her heart was broken. Antonio had been like a father to her as well as her confidant and later in life her lover and business partner.

***

After the blessing, Fabiana once more took the arm of her ex-husband and followed the pallbearers as they carried the closed coffin out of the Cathedral and towards the burial plot in the large old cemetery of the church.

"Cendres aux cendres et de la pousière à la pousière"...( ashes to ashes and dust to dust), intoned the Bishop in French as he made the sign of the cross and two of the altar boys waved their incense burners over the closed heavy oak casket being lowered into the ground.

Fabiana looked down seriously as the coffin was lowered into the ground and threw three red roses on top of it. A little silent prayer passed over her lips and she crossed herself. She knew that Antonio would always be by her side watching and guiding her. She believed in the hereafter as he had. She knew she would write her book now, Antonio had told her so many times in the past to do so. Now she belonged to no one, only herself and the child who was growing inside of her.

The small sad crowd also came forward and looked down at the coffin in the gaping hole, paying their respects. One of the French paparazzi pushed his way forward and took several shots of the grave and the mourners and especially Fabiana.

As Fabiana looked down into the grave she felt a slight stirring of the child inside of her and she placed a protective hand on her stomach and smiled knowing that she was safe now.

After the Bishop had made the sign of the cross again, she turned and walked away from the grave and stood on the river bank and looked down at the small stream that was running through the cemetery.

One cannot go back in life, one has to go forward and that is what she had done, she told herself as she walked slowly back to the graveside to join Tristan and the other mourners.

The gravediggers had started to shovel sods of earth on top of Antonio's coffin. There was also a small Bobcat nearby ready to smooth out the surface of the earth on the grave ready for the headstone to be placed at a later date.

Fabiana had made all the arrangements and would return to Lyon shortly after her child was born to check that the funeral directors had dressed the grave properly according to her instructions.

Tristan her ex-husband led her back slowly to the waiting limousine that would take them back to his private aeroplane at Lyon, but not before stopping at Antonio's solicitor's office in Lyon for an hour or two. Antonio's advocate had mentioned something about a will and properties to Fabiana.

She leaned back into the comfortable rear seat of the large black funeral limousine and thought about her past.

When did her story really begin?