Sep gave a small wave. He felt as if he’d just seen something he shouldn’t have, although he couldn’t say what. Something about the pointy-looking fellow made him feel very uncomfortable. He scurried back inside the hotel.
‘Bonjour.’ A tall, thickset man with glasses emerged from a door marked ‘Privé: Private’. He walked behind a woman sitting at the reception desk and out into the foyer. A small copper-coloured dog followed close at his heels.
‘Bonjour,’ Sep replied. He reached down and held out his hand to the dog. She sniffed it, put her nose in the air and trotted over to her master.
‘Don’t mind Lulu. She is a terrible snob. You must give her something to eat.’ The man spoke English with a thick French accent. ‘Then she will be your friend.’
‘What sort of dog is she?’ Sep replied.
‘Spoiled,’ said the woman.
‘Bonjour, madame,’ Sep greeted her.
‘Bonjour, young man. You are with the singers?’ she asked.
Sep nodded. ‘I’m Sep.’
‘Welcome, Sep. I hope you enjoy your stay,’ she said. ‘I am Madame Crabbe and he is Monsieur Crabbe. And that snooty creature there is his baby, Lulu. She is a miniature dachshund.’
‘The hotel is called Lulu, isn’t it?’ Sep asked.
‘Oui. Monsieur Crabbe is obsessed. Sometimes I think he loves that dog first and me second,’ said Madame Crabbe, pouting.
‘That is not true, my dear. I love Lulu, then I love my accordion and then I love you,’ Monsieur Crabbe said with a wink at Sep. ‘But this boy did not come to Paris to hear our bickering.’
‘At least there is always Monsieur Lawrence,’ said Madame Crabbe. She pulled a framed picture from the cabinet behind the counter. ‘See?’ She thrust it forward for Sep to look at.
Sep walked towards her and studied the photograph. Madame Crabbe was standing beside Lawrence Ridley with a beaming smile on her face.
‘I know him,’ Sep said.
‘You do not!’ Madame Crabbe exclaimed.
‘Yes, I really do. My best friend is his son and he’s married to the aunt of another of my friends. They’re both here in the hotel. My friends, I mean,’ Sep explained.
‘Sacré bleu, he is married and he has a son?’ Madame Crabbe frowned. ‘How did I not know this?’
‘They kept the wedding pretty quiet. It was on Aunty Gee’s ship, the Octavia. I couldn’t believe I got to go.’
Madame Crabbe sighed loudly.
Monsieur Crabbe tutted and shook his head. ‘You are a dreamer, my love.’
‘I know. And mostly I dream of Monsieur Lawrence, you big oaf.’ She turned her attention back to Sep. ‘I met him last year when he was filming just around the corner. I ran into him in the street and almost fainted. I was so overcome – he gave me his arm to steady myself and then he agreed to have his photograph taken with me. He is so handsome.’ Madame Crabbe sighed again.
Sep laughed. ‘You sound just like my friend Jacinta. She loves him too. I’ll get Lucas and Alice-Miranda to stop in and say hello when we go out later,’ Sep offered.
‘I can have a photograph with the children too, perhaps?’ asked Madame Crabbe. Her husband snorted. She reached up and pinched her husband’s cheek. ‘You must remind me again why I am married to you.’
‘Because I am handsome.’ Monsieur Crabbe ran his fingers down his neck. ‘And strong.’ He flexed his right arm. ‘And no one else would have you.’
Madame Crabbe rolled her eyes at Sep. ‘Don’t mind him. I know he loves me.’
Sep grinned. Madame and Monsieur Crabbe were funny and he had forgotten all about the pointy little man across the road.
That evening, Miss Grimm and Mr Grump led the children to a traditional French restaurant called Christophe, which was a short walk from the hotel. Jacinta and Sloane were horrified to find snails and frogs’ legs on the menu but relieved to learn that they could order whatever they liked. Both girls settled on the salmon and found it to be delicious.
The group was spread across four round tables with the teachers interspersed throughout. Miss Reedy had joined Alice-Miranda, Millie, Sep, Lucas, Jacinta and Sloane. She was indicating to Mr Plumpton that he should join them too when, out of nowhere, Mr Lipp appeared and slid into the vacant chair beside her. Mr Plumpton frowned but retreated silently to the table opposite with Mr Trout.
From where she sat, Alice-Miranda had a clear view of her Science teacher, and he hadn’t taken his eyes off Miss Reedy since they sat down.
‘So, Livinia.’ Harry Lipp leaned in towards Miss Reedy and twirled the end of his handlebar moustache. ‘Have you had any thoughts on our selection for next year’s joint play?’
Miss Reedy sat up straighter in her chair. ‘No, not yet. It’s still a long way off and I have all sorts of end-of-year celebrations to get through first.’
‘Well, I just thought we could spend some time together over the next week – you know what they say, two heads are better than one.’ Mr Lipp grinned at her and winked.
Livinia Reedy blushed. ‘No, I . . . I’m sure that we’re going to be very busy and I have a huge pile of marking to get through. I had to bring it with me. There won’t be any spare time at all.’
‘We’ll see.’ Mr Lipp picked up his napkin and accidentally brushed the side of Miss Reedy’s hand.
Her face turned the colour of an overripe tomato.
Millie had been watching the exchange too. ‘I think Hairy Lipp’s making moves on Miss Reedy,’ she whispered to Alice-Miranda behind her hand.
‘Oh no, poor Mr Plumpton,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘If he doesn’t hurry up and tell her how he feels, he might lose her.’
‘But not to Hairy Lipp. He’s weird,’ Millie said with a grimace.
‘Perhaps we should try to help Mr Lipp find someone more suitable,’ Alice-Miranda suggested, raising her eyebrows playfully.
Millie looked around at the rest of the group. ‘I don’t think Miss Grimm or Mrs Winterbottom will have the slightest interest.’
‘I didn’t mean them,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Perhaps he’ll meet a lovely French lady while we’re here.’
‘Like that waitress.’ Millie pointed at a very pretty young woman who was clearing the plates from the table opposite them. ‘She looks nice.’
‘I don’t suppose anyone ever knows where or when they might meet the love of their life,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘And Paris seems like the perfect place to fall in love.’
‘That’s so true,’ Jacinta sighed, while staring at Lucas.
Millie shook her head. ‘You’re a hopeless case, you know.’
‘I know.’ Jacinta nodded absently.
The children ate their meals with great gusto. They were just finishing their desserts when Cornelius Trout approached Miss Grimm and Mr Grump. He leaned down and spoke to Ophelia in hushed tones, gesturing towards a grand piano in the corner of the room.
‘I can’t see why not. Why don’t you ask the owner?’ said Miss Grimm.
Cornelius Trout headed over to the front desk and returned, nodding emphatically.
Miss Grimm stood up and looked around the group. ‘Children, Mr Trout has arranged an impromptu performance for you.’
The restaurant owner stepped forward and explained to the other patrons in French.
An elderly man and woman smiled broadly as Cornelius ushered the children into the space beside the piano. Mr Lipp took his position to conduct the choir.
The music teacher placed his hands on the keys and began an impressive introduction, which silenced the chatter in the room. The first song in their repertoire was a beautiful Rutter piece called ‘For the Beauty of the Earth’, followed by a snappy medley of songs from Sister Act that soon had the patrons humming along. Their final chorus for the night was a particularly animated version of the old Elton John classic ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’, in which Figgy and Susannah had solos. They both hammed it up, much to the delight of everyone watching.
As they finis
hed their last tune, the patrons clapped and cheered. The children took a bow just as Mr Lipp had taught them and Cornelius Trout stood up from the piano and acknowledged the applause.
‘That was fun,’ Jacinta whispered. ‘I hope all the shows are as good as that.’
‘We’ll rehearse your solo tomorrow, Jacinta,’ Mr Lipp said and smiled at her.
Jacinta nodded. She had been surprised to get the part in the first place. Now, after visiting Notre Dame that morning, she was terrified by the prospect of singing on her own in the cathedral, even if it was only one verse.
Sloane felt a twinge in her tummy. She had wanted that part but hadn’t been game enough to audition. It wasn’t fair. Jacinta was a gymnastics superstar and now she was going to be a singing sensation too. Sloane wondered if she’d ever get a chance to be in the spotlight – for something good.
‘Well done,’ Professor Winterbottom called as the children returned to their seats.
‘Yes, good work everyone,’ Miss Grimm added. ‘But I think we should be getting back to the hotel. It’s almost bedtime and we have a busy day of sightseeing tomorrow.’
‘Hopefully we won’t be walking everywhere,’ Sloane whispered.
‘And we’ll be travelling on foot, so please make sure that you wear appropriate shoes.’ Miss Grimm arched an eyebrow at Sloane. ‘If I were you, young lady, I’d bring a good supply of bandaids.’
‘Yes, Miss Grimm,’ Sloane muttered.
The group trotted back to the hotel in high spirits and assembled in the foyer.
‘We’ll see everyone down here for breakfast at half past seven,’ Professor Winterbottom informed the children. ‘And I expect all of you to have showers and wash properly, and brush your teeth. Yes, I’m looking at you, Rufus Pemberley.’ The headmaster glared at the lad, whose hair resembled a bird’s nest.
‘Tomorrow we will visit several historic sites . . .’ Miss Grimm began.
Miss Reedy was standing to the side fidgeting with her hands. ‘Oh dear me,’ she said.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Reedy?’ asked Alice-Miranda, who was standing next to her.
‘I think I’ve left my camera at the restaurant,’ the teacher explained. ‘I’d best pop back and get it before they close.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Mr Lipp offered. He hadn’t left the woman’s side since they’d departed from the restaurant.
Miss Reedy shook her head. ‘Oh, no, I’ll be fine.’
‘I insist,’ said Mr Lipp. ‘It’s not right for a lady to be out on her own at this time of night.’
‘Mr Lipp, it’s half past eight and it’s still daylight. I’m sure that I can walk a few hundred metres without finding myself in mortal danger,’ Miss Reedy rebuffed.
‘I’m sure you can, Miss Reedy. But I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t offer.’
The English teacher looked cornered.
‘Miss Reedy, may I speak with you in private?’ Alice-Miranda asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ Miss Reedy removed herself from Mr Lipp and wondered at the reason for her youngest student’s serious face.
‘Perhaps we could talk outside?’ The tiny child pointed at the glass doors that led from the foyer to the courtyard. Meanwhile, Miss Grimm was waxing lyrical about the Louvre Museum and the Eiffel Tower and myriad other landmarks on the tour list.
Miss Reedy looked puzzled. ‘Is everything all right, Alice-Miranda?’
‘Yes, I just thought you might like me to go with you to the restaurant. I’m sure that we can be there and back before anyone’s had time to miss us,’ she suggested.
‘Oh, sweet girl.’ Miss Reedy smiled. ‘That would be lovely.’
Inside, Harry Lipp craned his neck to see what was happening in the courtyard.
The headmistress interrupted his thoughts. ‘Mr Lipp, would you like to explain the rehearsal schedule before I give the full details for tomorrow’s activities.’
‘What?’ he grunted.
‘The rehearsal schedule, Mr Lipp. That is your domain, isn’t it?’ Ophelia Grimm sometimes wondered what planet Harry Lipp had descended from. And as for his choice of clothing! It was a constant source of wonder to her. Here in Paris, where one tried one’s best to blend in and look as chic as the locals, she could only hope that Harry had left his brightest ensembles at home.
Livinia Reedy and Alice-Miranda set off and, just as the child predicted, they were at the restaurant and back before Miss Grimm had finished outlining the next day’s tour.
Fabien Bouchard sat at the drawing board, tapping his pencil against the blank sheet of paper. Some days the ideas flowed like a river and others, such as today, there wasn’t even a trickle. A pile of unopened magazines sat stacked in the corner of the room. His uncle said that he should use them for inspiration but Fabien refused to look. The critics had said his first collection was wholly original. Fabien was scared that if he looked at what everyone else was doing he might be tempted, in difficult times, to follow their lead.
Right now he was stuck. He hopped down from the chair and pulled a small suitcase out from under the bed. He lifted it onto the bedclothes and snapped the locks, revealing a set of sketchpads. Drawing had always been the one thing he was good at. Even when he was very young and struggled to learn to read, he could always draw.
Then, a few years ago, he had started sketching dresses. He couldn’t even say why. They were just images that would come to him, often in dreams. After a while, he began to put them down on paper. It was his secret until one day Uncle Claude came to visit and saw them sitting on his desk. Everything changed after that. Sometimes Fabien wished he’d kept the drawings hidden. But it was much too late for regrets. And besides, he loved seeing his creations come to life, especially when sewn by his mother’s deft hands.
Last year, Uncle Claude had brought Fabien across for the first ever showing of his designs. Then, a few months ago, Uncle Claude said that the business was getting too big for him to trek back and forth between Paris and Guernsey. It would be far easier for everyone if Fabien and his mother moved to the city, at least for the time being.
After the quiet life he and his mother had led on the island in the middle of the English Channel, Fabien found the idea appealing. Fabien always knew that his mother struggled socially. He had never been allowed to bring friends home from school and she had always kept to herself in the village. Of course, it had been difficult for her because she had refused to learn more than a few words of English. She left the house only to go to the market and never made any friends. Fabien always thought she was just terribly shy. He hoped that moving to Paris would inspire her to get out more. Surely once she was back in France she would live a little, Fabien had thought.
But as soon as they had arrived in Paris, Sybilla refused to leave the house at all. Claude had taken Fabien aside and told him that his mother was unwell. She suffered terribly with a condition called agoraphobia and she was getting worse. Uncle Claude said that even the thought of going outside would make her ill and, to make matters worse, a kind of paranoia had overcome her. She had told Claude she was terrified that if Fabien left the house alone, something awful would happen to him. Uncle Claude promised Fabien that he would get the best doctors. He told the boy that she would not take her medication so it was up to him to help and make sure that when his uncle was away, Fabien mixed the medicine into her food. But she could not know – she was getting sicker and didn’t realise it.
Uncle Claude said that she would get better but for now, Fabien must stay at home with her at all times, or there might be an episode. His uncle told him not to ask her about it either – the mere mention of her health might be enough to tip Sybilla over the edge. Fabien loved his mother more than anyone in the world. His father had abandoned her when she was pregnant with him, so along with Uncle Claude they were the only family he had. He would do anything to keep her safe; even if it meant being imprisoned at home until she was well again. But he was finding it harder each day.
> His uncle had made his fortune selling exquisite handmade rugs from the Middle East. The townhouse floors were covered with them. Fabien’s mother always said that her brother was a clever businessman. He looked after them financially and made sure that they had everything they needed. But now he was obsessed with making Fabien a star, whether Fabien wanted it or not.
The young man exhaled deeply. Life could have been worse, he told himself. At least his mother was here with him and Uncle Claude, though sometimes demanding, only wanted what was best for them all. Fabien closed his eyes. An image of a beautiful gown with a voluminous skirt began to form. His pencil flew across the page. For now he must focus on his work and on helping his mother to get well.
Alice-Miranda and Millie had both slept soundly. They were up, showered and dressed long before the appointed breakfast time of half past seven.
Millie finished flicking through the mini guide to Paris that her grandfather had given her just before she left. She put it into her backpack and decided to go and see how Sloane and Jacinta were getting on.
Alice-Miranda was fiddling with her camera, making sure that the battery had charged properly.
‘I’ve got my key,’ Millie said.
Alice-Miranda laughed. ‘I’d let you in, you know.’
Millie grinned. ‘It’s fun being tourists, isn’t it? I feel so grown up having my own hotel key, even if it is just a white plastic card.’
Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘When we’re older, I think we should go on a huge adventure. We could hike in the Andes or study giant tortoises on the Galapagos Islands or walk the Great Wall of China.’
‘We could have a gap year like my cousin Amelia did,’ Millie agreed. ‘But you know, we’ll probably have to take Sloane and Jacinta too, or we’ll never hear the end of it.’
‘I’d love them to come,’ said Alice-Miranda.
‘I don’t think backpacking would be Sloane’s thing, though. We’d need to hire a whole village of Sherpas just to carry her suitcases,’ Millie commented. ‘And Jacinta isn’t exactly into camping either.’
Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 Page 3
