THE PARIS MODEL

Alexandra Joel is the former editor of Harper’s Bazaar and of Portfolio, Australia’s first magazine for working women. She has also been a regular contributor to The Australian and The Sydney Morning Herald Good Weekend Magazine. Alexandra has two children and lives in Sydney with her husband. She ensures that she visits Paris on a regular basis.

“This debut historical novel is a stellar debut…. With twists and turns, the story keeps the reader engaged throughout.”  — Red Carpet Crash

“Captivating and evocative.”  — Tania Blanchard, author of The Girl from Munich

“A charming tale rich with family and fashion.”  — Belinda Alexandra, internationally bestselling author of The Mystery Woman

“A wonderful, immersive historical novel.” — New Idea (Australia)

“The cracking plot and the general glamour carry the reader along.” — Sydney Morning Herald (Australia)

“This gorgeous historical is the perfect summer escape. Post-World War 2 Paris literally drips from the page. Grace is a wonderful protagonist and surrounded by well-drawn and often fabulous characters, and Joel’s prose is rich and descriptive. Highly enjoyable.” — Better Reading (Australia)

Sydney, September 1, 1922

If anyone had asked her who she was, the woman would have been unable to tell them. Nor could she have determined whether it was night or day. She existed in another realm, one in which identity had been extinguished and time itself was marked solely by the ebb and flow of relentless, inner waves.

She glimpsed faces stilled by concentration; they meant nothing to her. She was in a jurisdiction of her own. Her mind, her very being, was fixed upon a single resolution. No matter the hour, nor the exquisite agony, she would continue until her child was born—healthy, safe, whole.

At last, her body surrendered its possession. Only then did she experience a sweet release. Happiness was her narcotic; she felt intoxicated with pleasure and relief.

“It’s a girl,” a voice said. “What a pretty little thing.”

Then another voice, more urgent. “My God, come quickly. I need help!”

That was when the woman raised her head. She saw that she was in a place of soft, tumbling snow and swansdown, for everything was white. It was the color of the walls, the nurses’ uniforms, the doctor’s coat, the towels, the linen on the bed. But as she looked around her, this impression changed. Her bleached world had become a pale sky at sunrise, one that was now streaked with red.

The woman heard her baby cry then. Just once, but it was enough. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Let all be well.” It was her most fervent hope.