Chapter 6 - What a Name Can Cost

I carried the old production memo into the next meeting myself. The independent archivist had gathered draft patterns, original fittings, and the final technical sheets for the early coat. The materials told a clear story. I had designed its silhouette. Isabelle had solved the construction problems that allowed it to hang as I intended. We had worked together, and the finished garment depended on both contributions.

"The credits shouldn't claim she designed what you drew," the archivist said. "And they shouldn't claim you constructed what she developed."

It sounded simple when described that way. It had not been simple for the people whose livelihoods depended on using one famous name on every label.

Our counsel explained that some materials were company-owned production records while other notebooks remained Isabelle's personal property. The legal boundaries were not identical to the moral ones. Something could belong to the company without the company having told the whole truth about who created it.

I asked for the corrected credits to distinguish design direction from pattern development and construction. For new exhibitions, we would use the archivist's findings. For old printed material, we would maintain a documented correction rather than pretending those earlier publications had never existed.

"Some people will call this a confession," Helena warned.

"It is one. Just not the one they're expecting."

Word of the review had reached several distributors. A sponsor requested a private meeting and asked whether I was preparing to announce a reconciliation with my wife. I could hear how easily the company might sell that possibility if I allowed it. A wounded marriage could become a redemption campaign. A woman who had spent years helping me might once again be useful because of what I needed from her.

"There is no reconciliation announcement," I said. "We are reviewing work. That's all."

The sponsor asked whether Isabelle would appear at the retrospective. I answered that she had not agreed to attend and that no part of the event would depend on her personal appearance. I could not promise him anything else.

Afterward, Helena told me Isabelle's lawyer wanted a meeting about the terms of using her name. We arranged it with counsel present. Isabelle attended in person, carrying the sketchbook returned to her workroom. She looked stronger than she had at our conversation in the café, though I could see the fatigue in the way she took her seat.

I resisted the urge to ask about her health before anything else. That question would have made the meeting personal on my terms. If she wanted to discuss her recovery, she could choose to do so.

"I read the proposed credits," she said. "They're closer to what happened."

"The review is still ongoing."

"I understand. But I want a limit. You can acknowledge work I actually did. You cannot use the fact that we were married as a promotional story, and you cannot present me as a woman waiting to be reunited with you."

"Agreed."

"I also want written confirmation that the sketches I made independently are mine to use. I don't want someone from your legal department sending me a warning when I sell my first dress."

I felt the embarrassment of realizing why she needed that protection. A company of our size could intimidate someone without ever intending to go to court. The mere arrival of a letter on expensive stationery could make a smaller business abandon an idea.

Our lawyers discussed the categories of material: personal sketchbooks, shared drafts, production patterns, and designs developed under later company agreements. Isabelle did not ask for unrestricted ownership of everything she had touched. She asked for clear records and the right to work without being punished for having been involved in the brand's beginning.

We signed a provisional agreement covering the uncontested materials and set a timetable for reviewing the remainder. Isabelle read each clause carefully. I remembered her doing the same with apartment leases and fabric invoices when our combined savings were scarcely enough to survive another month.

"Are you angry that I didn't insist on credit years ago?" she asked me when the lawyers stepped aside to make copies.

"No. I'm angry that I made it necessary for you to insist now."

She considered that. "Back then, we were building something together. I thought having your name on the door meant we both knew what was inside."

I looked at the sketchbook between us. I had never understood that she could have trusted me enough not to protect herself from the company we were creating. Her trust had become one more resource I had used without counting its cost.

"I should have asked," I said.

"Yes."

Nothing in her answer suggested she wanted another apology. The discussion had given her something more useful than that: documents stating what she could take forward.

When the meeting ended, I walked with her as far as the elevator. She told me she had finished a first made-to-order garment for a paying customer. There was pride in her voice, quiet but unmistakable.

"That's good," I said.

"It is. The customer likes the fit."

I wanted to tell her I could send a hundred customers. Instead, I asked whether she had everything she needed from the archive. She said she did, apart from one early technical sheet still under review.

The elevator doors opened. I let her go without asking to visit the workroom again.

Later, Helena called with the sponsor's decision. The company financing the original retrospective concept would withdraw unless we restored the founder-only narrative. We would have to fund a smaller exhibition ourselves or abandon it.

I thought of the hundreds of people employed by Laurent. Their wages were not a price I could casually spend to ease my conscience. The board would need a revised budget, and some parts of the event would have to be canceled.

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But the central choice was no longer unclear. I could either preserve a flattering account of my past or finance a truthful one on terms the company could afford.

I asked Helena to prepare the smaller budget. For once, the limit was something I intended to respect.