‘Mr Lipp, I think my mother’s out there.’ Jacinta pointed towards the door.
‘I don’t care if Queen Georgiana is out there, young lady, we are in the middle of a rehearsal and you need to focus. As we’ve talked about many times in the past weeks, no matter if the ceiling caves in or a photographer sticks his camera lens in your face or one of the models falls off her ridiculous high heels, your eyes will be on me the whole time. Am I clear?’ he frothed.
Jacinta pouted. She was desperate to know if it really was her mother in the foyer. And if so, what on earth was she doing here and why hadn’t she said anything about coming to Paris? Jacinta hoped she wasn’t up to her old tricks again – gallivanting all over the place, spending money that she didn’t have.
‘Focus, children, focus.’ Harry Lipp made a ‘V’ with his forefinger and middle finger and pointed first at the children and then at his own eyes. ‘Good, good,’ he yelled as the chorus reached a crescendo. His arms rose into the air and the piece ended with a dramatic flourish.
Ophelia Grimm cringed. She couldn’t decide what she disliked the most. Cornelius Trout’s obsessive hand waving, Harry Lipp’s ‘look at me’ suits or both of them equally. And it seemed that Mr Lipp had been taking some of his conducting cues from Mr Trout too. His gesticulating was wilder than she’d ever seen it. At least the children sounded magnificent. They would no doubt do her and the professor proud. Ophelia glanced at Deidre Winterbottom, who was also frowning.
‘Do you think he could tone it down?’ she whispered to Miss Grimm.
‘Which one?’
The two ladies giggled like schoolgirls before Mr Lipp turned and gave them both his deadliest stare. They were silenced for a moment, until the music began again and they could barely contain themselves. In the end, Miss Grimm and Mrs Winterbottom decided they should leave the room. They held in their chortles until they reached the door and then howled like hyenas on the other side. Before long, Miss Reedy, the professor and Mr Plumpton headed outside too, leaving Mr Lipp and Mr Trout completely perplexed.
As soon as the rehearsal was over, Jacinta dashed to the door, scanning the foyer for any sign of her mother. But if she had been there, she was now gone.
‘Do you really think it was her?’ Millie asked.
‘I’m almost sure it was. No one walks as well on heels as my mother and that woman was like a gazelle,’ Jacinta replied.
‘Why don’t you go and ask someone?’ Alice-Miranda suggested.
Jacinta nodded. She walked over to the reception desk, where a pretty young woman with the most perfect blonde chignon leaned over and smiled at her.
‘Excuse me, do you have a guest here by the name of Ambrosia Headlington-Bear?’ Jacinta said confidently.
‘I’ll just check for you,’ said the woman. She looked down at the computer screen that was discreetly embedded into the countertop.
‘Non, mademoiselle, there is no one here by that name,’ she said kindly.
‘Merci,’ said Jacinta. She walked over to rejoin her friends. ‘No, it wasn’t her. But I could have sworn . . .’
‘Children, well done,’ Miss Grimm said as the teachers gathered the group together. It seemed that she and the others had recovered from their fit of giggles. ‘We’re off to visit the Tour de Eiffel.’ Miss Grimm was trying hard to perfect her French accent. ‘And Sloane, you will be relieved to know that we are taking the bus.’
Sloane nodded to acknowledge the headmistress.
‘Is that near the Eiffel Tower?’ Rufus asked.
‘It is the Eiffel Tower,’ Figgy replied, punching his friend playfully on the arm.
‘Oh,’ Rufus mouthed. ‘Sure.’
Lucas Nixon raised his hand in the air. ‘Excuse me, Miss Grimm, will we be having lunch up there?’
Some of the other children murmured too. They hadn’t realised that the rehearsal would go as long as it did and morning tea seemed a distant memory.
‘Yes. I’ve ordered some baguettes and pastries, which we will pick up when we get there. How does that sound?’
‘Good, thanks,’ he said, smiling.
Jacinta was gazing at Lucas. When he smiled she couldn’t help but sigh loudly.
The whole group stared at her.
‘What? What did I do?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘Never mind, Jacinta.’ Alice-Miranda reached across and grabbed her hand. ‘I don’t think you even do it on purpose, you know, but it keeps everyone entertained.’
After arriving back at the hotel around four o’clock, the teachers were more than ready for a cup of tea and a lie down. Unfortunately for them, the children were still bubbling with energy. Miss Grimm and Professor Winterbottom decided to send them all to their rooms for half an hour’s rest. In the meantime the adults would have their tea and decide who would take the children out for a run around in the park at the end of the street.
‘Is anyone up for a stroll?’ Professor Winterbottom asked the staff, who all lowered their eyes simultaneously. They sipped their tea and hoped that someone else would be the first to volunteer. After an uncomfortably long silence, Livinia Reedy looked up.
‘I will,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ Mr Plumpton and Mr Lipp chorused at the exact same moment.
Miss Grimm and Professor Winterbottom frowned at one another. Cornelius Trout looked positively wounded. ‘Harry, wouldn’t you rather spend some time going over the plans for tomorrow’s rehearsals?’ he asked.
‘No, I think I need some fresh air, my friend,’ Mr Lipp replied.
‘Thanks for offering, chaps, Miss Reedy,’ the professor smiled. ‘I’ll get on and start looking at the transport arrangements for the rest of the week. I can only imagine the traffic will be chaotic once Fashion Week starts in earnest.’
Mrs Winterbottom felt a tingle on her lips. She tried hard to stifle a grin.
Professor Winterbottom looked at his wife quizzically. ‘What’s the matter, dear?’
‘I never thought I’d hear you use the words “Fashion Week” in such an earnest manner,’ she smiled.
‘I’d have to agree with you there. I’ve never had much of a relationship with fashion. I’ve ignored her completely and she’s left me well alone. Unlike you, Mr Lipp. You seem to carry the mantle for all of us fellows.’
The English teacher beamed. ‘If you’d like some tips, professor, I’d be more than happy to assist.’
‘No Harry, I’ll be fine.’ The headmaster shook his head firmly.
For the second time that day Ophelia Grimm and Deidre Winterbottom were forced to contain their giggles. They were relieved when Mr Lipp scooted upstairs to round up the children for their games.
In their front room on the fifth floor, Sep Sykes was lying on his bed reading. Lucas Nixon was peering out the window at the townhouses opposite, admiring the French architecture. He scanned the windows. Quite a few had their curtains pulled back, revealing the occupants and their afternoon activities. There was a lady watching television in the townhouse to the right. She was stroking a ginger cat on her lap. An old man was watering pot plants on his tiny balcony a little further down the road to the left and upstairs two small children were in a sitting room playing with some large building blocks.
Lucas saw the curtains move in the window directly opposite. They were open and although he couldn’t see anyone, he was certain someone was there. And he suspected that person was watching him.
Lucas turned to his friend. ‘Hey Sep, come here.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Sep sat up and shuffled off the bed.
‘Can you see anyone – over there?’ Lucas pointed at the window.
Sep shook his head.
‘The curtains just moved. I think someone’s watching us.’ Lucas squinted. The afternoon sun was bouncing off the windowpane, creating a dazzling glare.
‘I think you’re imagining things,’ Sep said. He looked down to the street level. ‘Although, last night I saw a guy carrying some stuff into the basement over
there. He was a bit weird.’
‘How do you mean?’ Lucas asked as he shielded his eyes against the light and stared at the window.
‘I don’t know. He just gave me the creeps a bit.’
There was a sharp knock at the boys’ door.
‘Downstairs in five minutes, lads,’ Mr Lipp called from the other side.
‘Come on.’ Lucas turned away from the window. ‘Let’s go and see if Prof Winterbottom’s got that sports kit. I think I saw a basketball hoop down at the park, so I hope we’ve got a ball.’
Sep was about to turn around when he saw the curtain move. For just a moment there was a face. It was a young fellow and just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.
‘Hey, you’re right, someone is over there,’ Sep called to Lucas, but his friend was already halfway down the hall.
Cecelia Highton-Smith was in a particularly buoyant mood. It was a while since she had spent time alone with her sister. When Charlotte had called and suggested they meet in Paris and have a week together at the shows, she had been absolutely delighted by the prospect. It seemed they were hardly ever in the same place any more. Since Charlotte’s marriage earlier in the year to the dashing movie star Lawrence Ridley, it had been even harder to catch up. Cecelia had hoped for a family reunion in New York at the reopening of their department store, Highton’s on Fifth, but Lawrence had organised a belated honeymoon at the same time. And while Charlotte still oversaw public relations for the family business, Lawrence’s latest movie had taken them to live for an extended period in Los Angeles.
Cecelia hadn’t told Alice-Miranda she was coming to Paris yet. She didn’t want to get her hopes up in case there was a last-minute change of plans, which there frequently seemed to be. But when the jet touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport, Cecelia felt a flutter of excitement. She and Charlotte could surprise Alice-Miranda by being at the children’s first performance. Then perhaps Miss Grimm would give her permission to take her daughter out for a day. There were some designers she was hoping to see during the visit and one in particular, a new fellow that she wanted to sign on.
Of course the family department store, Highton’s, had their regular buying team in Paris for the shows, but Cecelia always found that it helped when the boss showed up too.
Charlotte was flying in from Los Angeles and planned to meet Cecelia at the Ritz. She had her own reasons for wanting to see her sister and she was also keen to meet Rosie Hunter, who she’d just employed to report on the fashion shows for the Highton’s website and magazine. Charlotte would prefer to have met the woman in person before taking her on, but she seemed to have an incredible knowledge of fashion and a wonderfully witty style of writing, even if Charlotte couldn’t find anything she’d published previously. When Rosie offered to get herself to Paris, providing Highton’s would pay her accommodation and an amount for each article, Charlotte felt there really wasn’t anything to lose.
When Charlotte’s plane landed not long after her sister’s, she couldn’t wait to get into the city. As the car sped along the motorway she rested a protective hand on her stomach. Other than Lawrence she hadn’t told anyone her news.
Charlotte’s telephone rang in her bag. She fished it out and and saw that it was her husband.
‘Hello darling, I’m just on my way into the city now,’ Charlotte said. ‘Yes, the flight was fine.’
There was a pause as she listened to Lawrence on the other end of the line.
‘I miss you too. Of course I’ll be careful.’ Lawrence was the most attentive husband. She hated leaving him but she was desperate to see Cecelia in person and this week was perfect as he was shooting scenes for his next movie in Colorado for a few days.
‘I’ll be home before you know it,’ she replied. ‘Love you, darling.’ Charlotte waited for her husband to hang up before she ended the call. As the black limousine pulled up outside the Ritz, Charlotte smiled to herself. She couldn’t remember ever being happier.
‘Good afternoon, Madame Highton-Smith,’ said the splendidly dressed valet as he opened the door. ‘Welcome back to the Hôtel Ritz.’
Charlotte stepped out of the vehicle into the warm summer sunshine.
‘Thank you, Michel, it’s lovely to be here, as always,’ she beamed.
The lobby thronged with people. Charlotte walked to the reception desk to check in. She waited while a rather pushy woman made all sorts of unreasonable demands, apparently on behalf of the celebrity she played publicist for. She was so loud that Charlotte was in no doubt about whom she was looking after. When the woman finally stalked off in her six-inch heels, the young staff member sighed in relief.
‘Tough day?’ Charlotte enquired.
The young woman looked sheepish. ‘Oh, no, madame. Not at all. People are just, how you say? Needy.’
‘Very, by the looks of that lot.’ Charlotte turned and surveyed the ever-increasing entourage milling about in the foyer.
‘How may I help you?’
‘I’d just like to check in, if I may? Charlotte Highton-Smith.’
‘Of course, madame. Your suite is on the top floor. I have a message from Madame Cecelia Highton-Smith who asked me to tell you that she is already in the hotel and is expecting you. Monsieur Michel will have one of the staff attend to your luggage.’ The woman handed over the key to the room.
Charlotte looked at the girl’s badge. ‘Thank you, Claudia.’
‘Enjoy your stay, madame,’ she smiled at Charlotte.
‘Merci, and I hope your day improves too,’ Charlotte replied. She grimaced as she caught sight of the publicist charging back towards the reception desk. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered.
Charlotte took the lift to the top floor. She swiped the key and entered the suite, dumping her bag in the bedroom before she walked to the door that led through to her sister’s room.
She knocked gently and turned the handle.
‘Hello Cee,’ she called.
Cecelia emerged from the bathroom. ‘Charlotte, darling, it’s so good to see you.’ The sisters embraced. ‘Gosh, I’ve missed you. Come and sit down. I’ve ordered tea and champagne. Should be here any minute.’
‘Tea, please,’ said Charlotte as she sank into the plush sofa.
‘So tell me, how are you? How’s Lawrence? Are you enjoying LA?’ Cecelia fired questions like bullets.
‘Good, good and yes, LA is lots of fun,’ Charlotte replied.
Cecelia looked at her. ‘You’re different, Cha. Have you done something to your hair?’
‘No, same as always. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m pregnant.’ Charlotte beamed.
Cecelia squealed. ‘Oh, darling, that’s wonderful.’ She hugged her sister again and began to sniffle.
‘Cee, why are you crying?’ Charlotte admonished.
‘You know I always cry when I’m happy and this is just the best news,’ said Cecelia.
‘I’m afraid there’s more.’ Charlotte took her sister’s hands.
‘What?’ Cecelia looked concerned.
‘It’s not just one,’ Charlotte announced.
‘Oh my goodness, you’re having twins!’ Cecelia gasped. ‘Can you imagine how excited Alice-Miranda is going to be? She’s always wanted a brother or sister, and you know Hugh and I would have loved that too, but it wasn’t to be. Now she’s going to be like a mother hen to two little cousins at once. You know, between her and Mummy, they’ll have those babies sorted in no time.’
‘I hope Lucas is pleased too,’ Charlotte said.
‘Of course he will be.’ Cecelia nodded.
‘I just worry. He’s had a lot to deal with lately, finding out who his father is for a start, then a new stepmother and now two siblings in one go. It would be a lot for anyone to cope with.’
‘I think that young man’s far more resilient than anyone gives him credit for. I can’t imagine he’ll be anything other than thrilled,’ Cecelia said firmly.
‘Hello there, Master Sep,’ said Monsieur Crabbe. Sep was standin
g beside Lucas in the hotel foyer, waiting for the rest of the children to join them for their outing to the park.
Madame Crabbe popped her head up over the reception desk. ‘Bonjour, Sep.’ Her eyes fixed on Lucas. ‘Oh! And you must be Lawrence Ridley’s boy. So handsome, just like your father.’
Lucas’s ears turned pink. It was fun having a movie star for a father most of the time but some days it was downright embarrassing.
‘Did you see my picture?’ Madame Crabbe grabbed her framed photograph from the shelf behind her and made her way across the foyer. ‘Do you see who that is?’
Lucas looked at the photograph of his father next to a beaming Madame Crabbe. He thought his dad looked a little embarrassed too.
The lift bell rang and a group of children piled out.
‘Hey Alice-Miranda, come and say hello to Madame and Monsieur Crabbe,’ Sep called.
The tiny child bounced over and Madame Crabbe thrust the picture towards her. ‘You must be the little girl whose aunt is married to this handsome man!’
‘Yes, my name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m very pleased to meet you, Madame Crabbe, Monsieur Crabbe.’ She reached out to shake Madame’s hand and then smiled at the man who was still standing behind the reception desk.
‘Aren’t you just as cute as a button?’ The woman grabbed Alice-Miranda’s cheek and gave it a squeeze. ‘So your aunt is married to my love.’
Alice-Miranda giggled at the picture. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. But I suspect you’re not the only woman in the world who’s disappointed about that.’
‘She is crazy.’ Monsieur Crabbe put his hands either side of his head and rolled his forefingers. ‘As if a man like him would ever be interested in an old woman like her.’
‘Oh!’ Madame Crabbe inhaled sharply. She turned and pulled a face at her husband. ‘You are so mean. Why shouldn’t I be married to a handsome man?’ she asked.
‘But my darling, you are,’ he raised his eyebrows up and down and blew her a kiss.
The children laughed. They hadn’t realised there would be entertainment before their outing to the park.
Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 Page 5
