Alice-Miranda in Paris 7

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘We’ve been here for ages,’ he grouched to his wife, who smiled nervously at the children and told her husband through gritted teeth to stop making a fuss.

  Despite the man’s protests, it didn’t take long to load the boat. With all of the passengers in their seats, it pulled away from the pier and began its slow journey down the river. A commentary blared from the loudspeakers alternating between French and English, outlining information about the grand buildings along the route and then directing passengers to listen to additional information on the personal handsets built into each seat. Alice-Miranda and Millie were sitting in the front row with Jacinta and Sloane. Sep and Lucas were there too. As the boat approached the Pont Neuf, Alice-Miranda glanced up to study the beautiful bridge. A woman was racing along the footpath, hidden behind an enormous pair of sunglasses. Her long black hair was flying.

  Millie had been looking at the shoreline and listening to the commentary about the city when she turned to say something to Alice-Miranda.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ Millie glanced up at the bridge.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Hey, isn’t that –’ Millie began.

  Alice-Miranda cut her off. ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘Not what?’ Jacinta turned to see what the girls were talking about.

  Alice-Miranda gave Millie a pointed stare and shook her head ever so slightly.

  ‘It’s not the Pont Royal, it’s the Pont Neuf,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘Seriously? Who cares?’ Jacinta frowned. ‘It’s a bridge. There are loads of them.’

  By this time the woman had disappeared and Jacinta was staring at the buildings to the left of the river.

  Millie tugged sharply on Alice-Miranda’s sleeve. ‘I need to go to the toilet.’

  Alice-Miranda said ‘me too’ and the pair of them walked off to another part of the vessel.

  ‘That was Jacinta’s mother,’ Millie whispered urgently.

  ‘Yes, I know it was,’ Alice-Miranda nodded.

  ‘Thanks for stopping me from saying anything.’ Millie sighed. ‘Why wouldn’t she have told Jacinta that she’d be here this week? They’ve been getting on so much better. Jacinta will be so mad when she finds out.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to find out,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘I mean, there are thousands of people here this week, in addition to the millions of Parisians who live here. What are the chances that we’ll see her again?’

  ‘I hope we don’t, for Jacinta’s sake,’ said Millie.

  The two girls made their way back to their seats.

  ‘You took your time,’ Jacinta grumbled. ‘You’ve missed lots of things.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Alice-Miranda as she sat down beside Jacinta. ‘You can tell us all about it instead.’

  Lucas leaned around and looked at his cousin. ‘There was this huge medieval palace where they held all the prisoners before they were taken to the guillotine. Imagine that.’ He rubbed his neck.

  Lucas’s face was close to Jacinta’s. Her eyes grew rounder and she took a deep breath.

  Lucas rolled his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ Jacinta gulped.

  The rest of the children giggled.

  Lucas’s face turned bright red.

  The students had arrived at the basilica by bus and were allotted forty-five minutes to explore the area. They were split into four groups, with Miss Grimm and Mr Grump taking one, Professor Winterbottom and Mr Lipp another, Mr Trout and Mr Plumpton the third and finally Miss Reedy and Mrs Winterbottom looking after Alice-Miranda, Millie, Sloane, Jacinta and Sep. Lucas had been targeted by Professor Winterbottom, who hoped the young lad might be a steadying influence on Figgy and Rufus, who had become a little rowdy by the end of the boat cruise. He wondered if it was something to do with the fizzy drinks Mr Lipp had bought for the children. Neither the professor nor Miss Grimm had been remotely impressed when Mr Lipp returned from an expedition to purchase water and juice. Instead he carried three trays of fizzy cola and was boasting that he’d saved at least ten euros.

  ‘That’s an amazing view,’ Millie said. She snapped a picture of her group standing at the lookout below the steps that led to the church.

  ‘It’s quite flat for a city, isn’t it?’ Jacinta said.

  ‘Except this bit,’ said Sloane, glancing up at the white edifice atop the hill behind her.

  ‘Mmm, there aren’t many skyscrapers when you look out there,’ Alice-Miranda agreed. ‘It’s certainly different from New York. The only places you’d get a view like this are the top of the Empire State Building or the Rockefeller Center. On street level you feel a bit like an ant most of the time.’

  ‘I want to go to New York,’ Sloane whined. ‘It sounds amazing.’

  ‘It is,’ Alice-Miranda agreed. ‘I wish you could all meet Lucinda and Ava and Quincy. They’re so much fun. Come to think of it, Lucinda wrote to me and said that her father is finally going to bring her and her mother and brothers to Paris. Lucinda and her mother have always wanted to visit but Mr Finkelstein hasn’t been a very keen traveller up to now, even in New York.’

  ‘That sounds a bit strange,’ Sloane replied. ‘Does he have arachnophobia or something?’

  Millie giggled and rolled her eyes. ‘I think you mean agoraphobia, Sloane, otherwise he’s afraid of spiders.’

  ‘Whatever!’ Sloane retorted. ‘I’m not a dictionary, you know.’

  ‘No, you’re not, but I might buy you one,’ Millie teased.

  ‘Please don’t fight,’ Alice-Miranda begged her friends. ‘Anyway, I don’t think Mr Finkelstein has agoraphobia. He’s just very protective.’

  ‘It would be funny if she was here in Paris now,’ Sloane said.

  Alice-Miranda wondered. It would be a lovely coincidence, but probably not likely. Lucinda hadn’t mentioned any dates in her letter.

  ‘Come along, children, we’d better get inside and have a look before our time’s up,’ called Mrs Winterbottom. She directed the group up the stairs, where Millie insisted they all pose for several more photographs.

  As they entered the church, Alice-Miranda noticed Professor Winterbottom standing in one corner. Nearby was a display of candles for sale, some large but mostly little tea lights. The professor’s face was red and he looked as if he was doing his very best not to explode.

  Millie had seen him too. She pulled at Alice-Miranda’s sleeve. ‘What’s going on over there?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look good,’ said Alice-Miranda.

  The girls were reading a plaque about one of the saints when the professor could no longer control his rage. He began to whisper hoarsely. Several of the people sitting in the pews looked up from their prayers, wondering at the source of the noise.

  ‘Figworth, Pemberley, I have a good mind to send you both home on the next flight,’ the professor hissed through gritted teeth. ‘What were you two thinking?’ Unfortunately his plan to have Lucas exert a good influence on the two lads hadn’t worked. The professor had been enjoying Lucas’s company so much as they walked around appreciating the architecture that he forgot his other charges. But Mr Lipp should have been watching them too.

  The professor cast his eyes towards a section of candles where one lonely flame flickered.

  Rufus hung his head. ‘We didn’t know what they were for, sir.’

  ‘And I thought it was dangerous to have so many naked flames in the building,’ Figgy added. ‘I mean, some lady almost caught on fire when she leaned in to light another one. We thought we were being helpful.’

  The two boys didn’t dare look at each other.

  ‘That is not true at all,’ said the professor furiously. ‘I saw you with my own eyes. You were having a competition to see who could blow out the most candles in one breath.’ The boys stifled smiles. ‘Do not move. I’m going to find Mr Lipp right now. Perhaps he can shed some more light on the situation.’

  Figgy and Rufus had to cover their mout
hs – they couldn’t believe the professor had said ‘shed some light’.

  The professor charged off to locate Mr Lipp, who had bumped into Miss Reedy and was now walking with her.

  The professor tapped the Drama teacher sharply on the shoulder. ‘Mr Lipp, you were supposed to be keeping an eye on the boys in our group, weren’t you?’ he hissed.

  Mr Lipp spun around. ‘Ah, yes, of course professor. Is there a problem?’

  ‘I’ll say there is.’ He pointed at Figgy and Rufus. ‘Those two have been blowing out the candles,’ the professor explained as they reached the boys, who were hanging their heads and trying hard not to laugh.

  Mr Lipp gulped. He felt as if he was about to be in as much trouble as Figworth and Pemberley. He glared at the two boys.

  ‘It says quite clearly that the candles are lit for prayers. And now they’ve extinguished at least twenty of them. How much pocket money do you have on you?’ the professor demanded.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure.’ Mr Lipp reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet.

  ‘Not you, you twit.’ The professor glared at Mr Lipp, who hastily put his money away. He turned to the boys. ‘Those candles cost two euros each. You are going to make donations of twenty euros each for your ridiculous behaviour.’

  The boys stopped giggling and started to feel very sorry for themselves. Figgy hadn’t bought his mother a present yet and he’d been looking forward to getting one of those rare action figures from the shop over in St Germain near their hotel. They were expensive too.

  ‘All right, stand there while I re-light the candles. And if you move, I’ll be calling your parents.’ The professor was almost foaming at the mouth as he took a long taper and proceeded to ignite one candle after another.

  An old woman dressed in black from top to toe and with a scarf around her head nodded at the professor with sad eyes. Who knew how many people he was praying for? Clearly his life was heavily burdened, she thought to herself.

  Mr Lipp stood next to the boys, wondering if he should assist the professor or just stay well out of the way.

  Fifteen minutes later, with the candle situation rectified, the children made their way back to the bus. Figgy and Rufus were in a far more subdued mood than when they had arrived.

  ‘Stupid white church on a hill,’ Figgy mumbled as he hopped on the bus. Although he’d spotted the funicular and rather fancied a ride in it down the hill, he’d thought better of asking.

  Miss Grimm and Professor Winterbottom decided that there was time for the children to have a return visit to the park and a rematch of their basketball game, except for Figgy and Rufus. The professor had another task in mind for them. There were twenty pairs of school shoes, which the children would be wearing with their school uniforms for their performances, that could do with a polish. Under Mr Lipp’s supervision, Figgy and Rufus were the perfect candidates to get it done.

  Miss Grimm and Mr Grump said they would take the children to the park and give the rest of the staff some well-earned time off.

  Back at the hotel, the children were milling about in the foyer getting ready to leave for the park.

  ‘We’re going to be short of players, now that Figgy and Rufus have got themselves into trouble again,’ Sep commented to Alice-Miranda and Lucas.

  ‘What about that guy across the road?’ Lucas suggested.

  ‘What guy?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Opposite our window we saw this boy staring at us. He looked kind of sad, and then when we were coming back yesterday he waved – I’m not sure how old he is but he might like a run around outside,’ Sep explained. ‘I’ve only ever seen him in the window.’

  Miss Grimm arrived and led the group onto the footpath.

  ‘It’s that house just there.’ Sep pointed at the black door.

  ‘Did you get the sunscreen?’ Miss Grimm called when her husband appeared.

  ‘Oh, darn.’ The man shook his head. ‘You go on ahead, darling, and I’ll be along shortly.’

  Miss Grimm smiled at her husband and gave him a wave.

  Alice-Miranda and Sep were at the back of the line. ‘Why don’t you ring the bell?’ Alice-Miranda asked as they approached the townhouse.

  ‘Shouldn’t we check with Miss Grimm?’

  ‘I’m sure she won’t mind. We won’t be more than a minute,’ Alice-Miranda replied as the rest of the group followed the headmistress. ‘And you said that he waved at you when we were going home yesterday. It sounds like he’s friendly enough.’

  Sep gulped. He wasn’t sure if they should be approaching strange houses in Paris. But he didn’t want Alice-Miranda to think he was a chicken, either.

  Sep hung back, so Alice-Miranda scurried up the steps and pressed the buzzer. She waited a few moments and tried again.

  ‘There mustn’t be anyone home,’ said Sep. He looked up at the window where he’d seen the lad the previous afternoon.

  Alice-Miranda shrugged. ‘Oh well, at least we tried.’

  Just as she turned to leave, the lock snapped and a woman’s face appeared around the partially open door. She was very pretty, with piercing green eyes and dark hair pulled back off her face.

  ‘Bonjour, madame. Mon nom est Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m very pleased to meet you.’ The child extended her hand.

  The woman looked at her and frowned. Alice-Miranda wondered if she spoke any English at all.

  ‘My friend and I were wondering if the boy who lives here would like to come with us to the park for a game of basketball,’ Alice-Miranda explained. She gestured towards Sep, who was standing back on the footpath.

  The woman shook her head.

  ‘We’re staying just across the road, at the hotel, and yesterday Sep saw a boy wave to him from the window upstairs so we assumed he lived here.’

  ‘No, mademoiselle.’ The woman shook her head.

  ‘But I saw him,’ Sep said. ‘He waved to me from the window on the fifth floor.’

  The woman shook her head again, more definitely than before.

  Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘Oh well, I am very sorry to have bothered you, madame.’

  The woman closed the door.

  ‘Never mind, it was the thought that counted,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  Sep frowned. He turned and looked up at the window. And just the same as yesterday, he could have sworn he saw the curtain move. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look up there.’

  For a split second there was a face. And then it was gone.

  Alice-Miranda turned. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  ‘He was there, just now. I promise.’ Sep was adamant as he pointed up at the window. ‘Fair enough if he didn’t want to play with us but why would she lie and say there was no one there? Unless I’m going crazy and seeing things.’

  ‘Or she didn’t understand what I was asking,’ said Alice-Miranda.

  ‘Why are you two still here?’ Aldous Grump called as he walked across the street towards the children.

  ‘We were just meeting the neighbours,’ Alice-Miranda told him.

  ‘Of course you were, young lady.’ Aldous looked at the tiny child with her cascading chocolate curls and brown eyes as big as saucers. ‘And why?’

  ‘Just trying to make friends.’

  Aldous Grump smiled. ‘Now, that I would believe.’

  Alice-Miranda slipped her hand into Mr Grump’s and together with Sep they headed for the park.

  Adele’s mind was racing. She would never do anything to hurt Christian. He was like a father to her. A very patient father, who coped with all her silly questions and stupid mistakes. But this time she couldn’t believe how foolish she had been. When the man had phoned the atelier last week, he had seemed so helpful. She’d thought he was from the company that had supplied the beautiful vicuna fabric.

  ‘Bonjour, I am calling from Fil d’Or Fabrics,’ he had said. ‘Did you receive your shipment today?’

  ‘Oui, monsieur,’ she’d replied.

  ‘And is i
t to monsieur’s liking?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Very much. The fabric is beautiful.’

  ‘And very expensive.’

  ‘Oui. I could buy a flat for what it cost,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘And you have stored it properly?’

  ‘Of course, monsieur, it is in the climate-controlled storeroom. Very safe,’ she had blathered.

  ‘And that is protected by an alarm?’

  ‘No, monsieur, no alarm, but there is usually someone here.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ the man had continued.

  ‘Except when Monsieur Fontaine has dinner with his parents.’

  ‘What a good man! Dinner with his parents. Twice a week?’

  ‘Sometimes three. Always a Wednesday and Sunday and sometimes Thursday too. His Mama is very attentive and she worries a lot about her son. We all do. He works far too hard,’ Adele had confided.

  ‘I am glad it has all worked out so well for Monsieur Christian,’ the man said. And with that he had hung up.

  Now she knew that he had just been fishing for information. She should have realised. She still didn’t know who the man was or how he had got into the building. There was no sign of forced entry.

  But it was all her fault that Monsieur Christian had lost the vicuna. She might as well have left a sign out and directions telling the fellow where he could find it.

  ‘Adele,’ Christian called from the other side of the room. She did not hear him. ‘Adele!’

  She flinched and looked up. Her boss was standing between the chief detective and one of the forensic investigators who had dusted the storeroom for fingerprints.

  ‘Come here, Adele,’ Christian instructed. He knew that his assistant could be vague at times but in the past few days he had found her incredibly testing.

  ‘Monsieur?’ said Adele. She approached the group cautiously.

  ‘There are no fingerprints. Except yours,’ he informed her.

  ‘But I . . .’ she began.

  ‘Adele, I am not accusing you. Of course your fingerprints will be all over the storeroom. Unless there is something you’re not telling us?’ said Christian.