Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 (9 page)

The girls explored all corners of the secret section of the park. Apart from an expanse of lawn and some mature trees, there wasn’t much to it.

‘Do you want to sit down for a minute?’ Alice-Miranda asked as she spied a bench ahead.

‘Yes,’ Sloane groaned. ‘I’ve still got blisters.’

‘Isn’t it wonderful to be in Paris?’ Alice-Miranda looked around before plonking down onto the seat. ‘I just love it here.’

‘I can’t believe that we’re opening shows for Fashion Week – it seems a bit ridiculous really,’ said Millie, grinning.

‘That’s not ridiculous,’ Sloane said. ‘My mother is soooo jealous.’

‘But you said that she hated Paris,’ Millie challenged her.

‘She does, but she loves fashion. It’s killing her that I’ll get to see all these amazing shows.’

‘Amazing could be one word for them,’ Millie said. ‘From what I’ve seen on the TV, weird is more like it.’

‘No one says that you have to wear the clothes,’ Alice-Miranda giggled. ‘I wonder if the models feel silly sometimes.’

‘Well, I would, wearing a set of ram’s horns on my head, a bathing suit and skyscraper heels,’ said Millie.

‘No, my mother wears that sort of thing to the supermarket all the time.’ Sloane kept a straight face. ‘It’s what everyone’s wearing in Barcelona.’

‘Really?’ Millie tried to suppress a giggle. ‘Well, come to think of it, my mother was wearing a sleeping cat around her shoulders last time I was home. And I’m sure she had some very fetching crab claw boots too.’

The girls’ clothing claims became more and more ridiculous and soon they were all laughing so hard there were tears streaming down their cheeks.

Lulu had been sitting under the seat, dozing, when suddenly she began to growl. She scrambled to her feet and rushed out, pushing her nose against the nearby fence. It was the section covered in black fabric. Fortunately, she was still on her lead and could go no further.

‘What’s the matter, Lulu?’ Alice-Miranda walked over to see if she could find the source of the dog’s distress. ‘Is there a cat teasing you over there?’

Lulu’s growling stopped and she began to bark. Her nose was jammed hard against the fabric and no amount of cajoling could tear her away.

Millie and Sloane scurried around to join Alice-Miranda. Millie pushed her face against the fence too and closed one eye, trying to see through the thick black fabric.

‘I can’t see anything,’ Millie observed. ‘It’s just an empty courtyard.’

Lulu’s barking grew louder and more urgent.

‘Lulu, please calm down,’ Alice-Miranda begged.

The dog stopped momentarily.

‘Did you hear something?’ Alice-Miranda turned to Millie and Sloane.

‘What?’ Millie asked.

‘I can hear birds and the kids playing basketball,’ Sloane said.

‘No, it’s not that. I don’t know exactly.’ Alice-Miranda listened again but Lulu started to bark even more fiercely than before.

‘Come on,’ Millie said. ‘We should go.’

Just as the girls turned to leave, a dark shadow loomed over the top of the fence. A key jangled in a lock and a man burst out of the gate, closing it swiftly behind him.

‘
Que faites-vous?
What are you doing?’ he snarled.

Millie shot into the air. Sloane wasn’t far behind her. Lulu raced forward and began to bark at the man.

‘
Bonjour
, monsieur,’ Alice-Miranda said as she strained against Lulu’s lead. ‘Something upset the dog so we were trying to see what it was. Probably just a cat.’

‘Take that mutt and get out of here.’ The man’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. ‘Or I will . . . I will call the police.’

‘Please, monsieur, we were just taking Lulu for a walk,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘I’m sure there’s no need to involve the police.’

Alice-Miranda wondered why he was so irate. It was not as if the girls had been trespassing and Lulu had only been barking for a few minutes at most.

‘How dare you?’ The man’s grey hair seemed to stand on end as if charged with an electric current. ‘You need to stop spying on people.’

Lulu’s high-pitched woofs were replaced by a low growl.

‘Oh, monsieur, I can assure you that we weren’t spying at all,’ Alice-Miranda explained. ‘We don’t really look like secret agents, do we?’

The man inched closer to the children. He smelt like smoke and beer.

Millie gulped. She pulled on Alice-Miranda’s sleeve. ‘Come on, I think we should go,’ she whispered. ‘Now!’

‘Monsieur, I have no idea why you’re so cross but it’s not terribly friendly, you know,’ Alice-Miranda began.

In the distance, Miss Reedy was calling Alice-Miranda’s name.

Millie once again tugged at her friend’s sleeve. ‘We’d better go. Miss Reedy’s looking for us.’

‘Yeah, come on,’ Sloane agreed.

‘Your friends, they are much smarter than you are, little one,’ said the man, curling his lip. He strode back to the gate, pushed it open and disappeared. The slide of a bolt and the jangling of keys followed.

Lulu rushed forward and barked with all her might.

‘Great, turn into a rottweiler now, Lulu.’ Millie rolled her eyes at the dog. ‘You could have taken a bite out of him a minute ago.’

‘Come on, girl,’ said Alice-Miranda. She reached down and picked up the little dog, who wasn’t going to be distracted easily from her barking. Alice-Miranda had a strange feeling about the angry man.

The children jogged back to the main section of the park. Up ahead, the rest of the group was assembled and it was clear that they were the last to arrive.

‘Oh, there you are. I was about to call the police,’ said Miss Reedy, looking relieved.

‘Not you too,’ Sloane snipped. Miss Reedy frowned, puzzled.

‘Sorry, Miss Reedy. We were just talking to one of the neighbours,’ Alice-Miranda explained.

‘Yes, and he already threatened to call the police,’ Millie added.

‘Why on earth would he say that?’ the teacher asked, wondering what the girls had been up to.

‘It’s all right, Miss Reedy. He was just a cranky old guy,’ Sloane said, ‘but Alice-Miranda stood up to him.’

‘Oh dear, young lady,’ said the teacher, smiling at her smallest student. ‘I hope you haven’t been upsetting the locals.’

Alice-Miranda shook her head. ‘Not on purpose. But I don’t think the man was very fond of children, or dogs.’

Charlotte Highton-Smith fiddled with the piece of paper in her hand and wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder.

‘Could you take a message, please?’ Charlotte said. ‘Could you ask her to call me as soon as she gets in. I’d like to arrange a time that we can meet. Today, if possible. Thank you.’

She hung up the phone and frowned. ‘Honestly, that woman is harder to find than a comfortable pair of slingbacks.’

Her sister emerged from the bedroom. ‘Are you all right?’ Cecelia asked.

‘Yes, I’m just having trouble getting hold of Rosie Hunter,’ Charlotte replied.

‘You’ll have to tell me more about her. How did you find her in the first place?’

‘She found me, actually, and made me an offer that was too good to refuse. She certainly knows her stuff but she seems to have appeared from nowhere,’ Charlotte explained.

‘And she’s going to write about the shows from Paris?’ said Cecelia.

‘Yes, that’s the plan. We’ll publish some of the articles in the store magazine too. Her writing is very funny and I think she’ll put a much more human spin on some of the ridiculous nonsense that goes on at Fashion Week,’ Charlotte replied.

‘I’d love to meet her,’ Cecelia nodded, ‘but not quite as much as I’d like to meet that mysterious Dux LaBelle.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Charlotte asked.

‘I’ve made an appointment for a preview of the LaBelle collection later in the week but it was very strange. When I said that I was looking forward to meeting Monsieur LaBelle, the fellow on the phone told me that Dux is far too busy to meet clients. I suppose Dux is new and the clothes speak for themselves but if he wants to make it in this town, he’s going to have to do at least some of his own PR.’

Dux LaBelle had burst onto the Paris fashion stage a year ago with his first collection of evening wear. His designs were stunning, featuring beadwork and fine lace that were second to none; critics were in awe of his workmanship. His designs had instantly become firm favourites with the celebrity set too. Women loved his work and journalists were desperate to know more about him. But Dux did not give interviews or talk to the press. During his one and only public appearance at his show last year he had worn a mask. It was as if he had come and gone in a puff of smoke.

‘I was hoping you were going to sign him up. Actually, I think Ambrosia Headlington-Bear wore one of his gowns to the FFATAS, didn’t she? Not that I saw her in person, but there was a lovely shot of her on the cover of
Gloss and Goss
,’ said Charlotte.

Cecelia nodded. ‘Yes, I saw that too.’

‘Well, you might not get to meet Rosie Hunter either at the rate I’m going. She’s not answering her telephone at the hotel and I didn’t ever get a mobile number for her. I’ll try her email.’

Charlotte sat down at the gilded Louis XIV desk in front of her open laptop just as a message arrived in her inbox. ‘Oh, here she is now.’

Cecelia picked up a magazine from the coffee table and sank into the overstuffed couch.

‘Oh dear,’ Charlotte said. ‘She says she’s just returned from the doctor. She’s not well but she doesn’t go into any details other than to say that she doesn’t want me to catch anything so we should postpone the meeting for a few days.’

Cecelia looked up and said, ‘Well, I think she’s right. You don’t want to risk catching something in your condition.’

‘Gosh, Cee, you make it sound like I’ve got the plague,’ said Charlotte, grinning. ‘You’re right, though. I hope she can still get to some of the shows.’

‘Do you want to come with me to see the LaBelle collection?’ Cecelia asked.

‘Why not? I’m intrigued.’

‘Good. That’s enough business for now. Would you like some tea? Or a lie down?’ Cecelia enquired.

‘No, I’d quite like to go for a walk, if you’re interested,’ Charlotte replied.

‘Come on, then.’ Cecelia picked up her handbag.

Charlotte retrieved hers and they headed for the lift.

‘Where shall we go?’ Cecelia enquired as they stepped out of the lift and walked across the elegant foyer.

‘What about a stroll along the river? It’s such a lovely afternoon. Then we can find somewhere for coffee, or hot chocolate?’ Charlotte suggested.

Cecelia was about to reply when she spotted someone familiar. Perched in one of the large armchairs beside a potted fern, and hidden behind an obscenely enormous pair of sunglasses, a well-dressed woman was typing on a laptop.

Cecelia walked towards her. ‘Ambrosia, is that you?’

The woman flinched and looked up. She put her laptop aside and pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head. ‘Hello, Cecelia.’

Cecelia leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks, then said, ‘You remember my sister, Charlotte?’

‘Yes, of course, the beautiful bride. How could I forget?’ She smiled and stood to kiss Charlotte’s cheeks too.

‘Are you here for the shows?’ Cecelia enquired.

‘Yes, you know what it’s like. I thought I’d get in a couple of days before the real chaos begins,’ Ambrosia replied. ‘See some of the designers. Catch up with everyone.’

‘Is Jacinta here with the school group?’ Cecelia asked.

‘Yes, yes, she is. What about Alice-Miranda?’

Cecelia nodded. ‘Mmm, I can’t imagine them getting away with leaving her at home. But she has no idea we’re here, so if you happen to see them before we do, would you mind keeping it a secret? I want her to get a surprise when we catch them at the first show.’

‘Of course. Actually, could you do me a favour and keep my being here between us as well? I have so much to do and I’d hate for Jacinta to be disappointed,’ Ambrosia explained.

‘But you will see her at the shows, of course?’ asked Cecelia carefully. She knew of Ambrosia Headlington-Bear’s rather poor reputation for looking after her daughter.

‘Yes, of course. I . . . I hope to,’ Ambrosia fumbled.

‘Well, we should be going. We thought we’d make the most of this glorious sunshine.’ Cecelia linked her arm through Charlotte’s. ‘I’m sure we’ll see you again. Perhaps we could have dinner one evening.’

Ambrosia smiled thinly. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘By the way, have you ever heard of a fashion writer called Rosie Hunter?’ Charlotte enquired.

Ambrosia shook her head. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I just thought she might have popped up on your radar. Rosie seems to know everything about the industry and yet I can’t find a thing about her.’

‘If I hear anything I’ll let you know,’ said Ambrosia.

Charlotte and Cecelia walked out of the hotel and onto the footpath.

Back in the hotel foyer, Ambrosia Headlington-Bear closed her laptop. She packed her things into her oversized tote bag, put her glasses back on and wrapped a silk scarf around her head. She crossed the foyer and scurried down the steps. Ambrosia was glad to have worn her ballet flats for the walk back to her hotel. She should have known that being in Paris during Fashion Week was going to be difficult. But she quite enjoyed a challenge these days.