Alice-Miranda in Paris 7

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Adele shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Are you sure that you’re all right, mademoiselle?’ the detective asked.

  ‘Fine, monsieur, just too many late nights getting ready for the show,’ she said. ‘May I go now?’

  ‘Oui,’ the detective nodded

  ‘And don’t look so worried, Adele. It is a terrible thing and I am dreadfully disappointed that my line is incomplete but of course the vicuna was insured, wasn’t it?’ Christian asked.

  ‘Of course, monsieur,’ she said, smiling tightly.

  Bile rose in the back of her throat. She scurried back to her desk and began to move piles of paper about, hoping desperately not to find what she suspected was still there. The little stack of envelopes she had meant to post on the day they discovered the robbery were sitting unsent. And inside one of them was the cheque for the insurance on the vicuna.

  She watched as her boss led the two men to the stairs and they disappeared from sight.

  Her stomach seemed to be doing backflips and she wondered how she could possibly tell Christian the truth.

  The phone rang on her desk.

  ‘Bonjour,’ Adele answered quietly.

  ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle,’ the voice on the other end replied.

  Adele flinched. It was him. The same man who had asked her all of those questions earlier in the week.

  ‘What do you want?’ she demanded.

  ‘Oh, mademoiselle, when we last spoke, you were so kind and helpful. But it seems you are not so happy today.’

  ‘You tricked me,’ Adele accused.

  His voice turned cold. ‘I did no such thing. You have a mouth like a bucket. But now I thought we might be able to help each other. I believe that I have something your boss would like back. Particularly as your lack of security will have voided the insurance anyway.’

  Adele wondered if that was true. It hardly mattered, seeing that the cheque was still sitting on her desk.

  ‘I have helped you too much already,’ Adele whispered.

  ‘Au contraire, mademoiselle. There is something else I need from you. But if you go to the police, I can assure you that Monsieur Christian will never see that fabric again. I’ve heard that he can ill afford to lose such a large amount of money. Business is tough at the moment,’ he said threateningly. ‘And you seem to like working for him too. Sadly, not for much longer, I suspect. The other thing you must know is that I can make people disappear. Permanently.’

  Adele could hardly breathe.

  ‘What I want is simple. You give me the designs for Christian’s next line and I will return the vicuna.’

  Her heart was racing. ‘But I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘Then I am afraid that Monsieur Christian will just have to lose all that lovely money. Unless of course you reconsider. It is only a few sketches and no one will ever know. You can tell him they were lost. He is a clever man. He can design another line.’

  Adele’s hand trembled as she flipped open the notepad on her desk and picked up a pen. ‘What must I do?’ she wheezed.

  The man told her exactly what he wanted and that she should await further instructions regarding where and how they would make the exchange.

  Adele hung up the telephone, raced to the toilet and threw up.

  Harry Lipp had slept later than he intended. When he emerged from the lift into the hotel foyer, the rest of the group was already assembled and waiting to head off to the Palace of Versailles for their first performance.

  Ophelia Grimm glanced up and flinched.

  Mr Lipp’s suit was a particularly nasty shade of electric blue, teamed with a multicoloured cravat and blue suede shoes. Clearly he was planning to compete with the palace decor because nobody was going to miss him dressed like that.

  Deidre Winterbottom shuffled through the children and found the headmistress.

  ‘Seriously?’ she whispered to her friend. ‘I wouldn’t have believed he could find anything brighter than his red suit, but this one takes the biscuit. I think I need my sunglasses.’

  Ophelia Grimm smiled. ‘Oh well, I suppose no one could accuse the man of being bland.’

  Soon the children and teachers were en route to the palace. They took the train from Notre Dame Station, and Mr Lipp and Mr Trout even contrived an impromptu rehearsal in transit, much to the delight – or annoyance – of the other passengers.

  ‘I’ll count you in,’ Mr Trout said, and began to click his fingers.

  Figgy started a drum solo on the seat in front of him and was quickly greeted with a death stare from the elderly passenger who was being thumped on the back.

  ‘Ça vous dérange?’ demanded the bald man.

  ‘No, I am not crazy,’ Figgy protested loudly.

  Mr Plumpton leaned over and interpreted for the lad. ‘Not “deranged”. “Dérange.” He asked if you minded. I think he’d prefer you to stop.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Uh, désolé,’ Figgy mouthed. He began drumming on his thigh instead.

  The gentleman hmphed, but when the lad began to sing the man’s eyes almost popped out of his head. It was hard to imagine such a sweet sound coming from the boofy boy. His solo at the beginning of ‘Scarborough Fair’ was mesmerising and when the rest of the children joined in there was a brief burst of applause from the other passengers.

  The group sang another two songs before Miss Grimm decided that was enough entertainment. She thought a couple of the commuters were beginning to look tetchy and she didn’t want to push their luck.

  After the excitement of their performance, the children settled back in their seats to watch the countryside whiz by.

  ‘We must be getting close,’ said Millie, as she looked out the window. ‘We were in the underground for ages and it says here it only takes forty minutes to get there.’ She tapped the cover of her trusty guidebook.

  ‘So I suppose you’ve been here before?’ Sloane asked Alice-Miranda.

  ‘No, but I’ve heard it’s amazing. Mummy and Daddy have visited and Aunty Gee said that it’s awful and ostentatious and she’s glad no one in her family ever built anything as revolting.’

  ‘Really? Aunty Gee said that?’ Millie frowned. ‘Versailles must be really OTT then, because her house at Chesterfield Downs is huge. And I’m sure her other places are even bigger.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’

  The train pulled into the station and the children were directed to stay together. Mr Lipp and Mr Trout would go ahead and find out where they were performing. Miss Grimm and Mr Grump led the charge with Professor and Mrs Winterbottom bringing up the rear and Miss Reedy and Mr Plumpton taking care of the middle.

  There were hundreds of people heading in the same direction and Miss Reedy was already fearful of losing someone. Her suggestion that they might wear bright orange vests, like some of the other school groups they’d seen around Paris, was met with far less enthusiasm than she had hoped. Miss Grimm had promptly reminded her that the children were opening shows for Fashion Week, not the public transport authority.

  The organisers of Fashion Week had taken over the main palace and hence it was off limits to the general public. But the gardens and other buildings were still open, so the crowds would be as extreme as always. Miss Reedy had arranged that, after their performance, the children would have the opportunity to tour the rest of the palace and gardens, as a reward for their participation. She’d never been to Versailles and, having studied the French Revolution as a young woman, couldn’t wait to get inside those gilded gates and see it for herself.

  ‘Wow,’ Jacinta gasped as the group rounded the corner and looked towards the imposing palace.

  ‘It’s not that big,’ Figgy scoffed. ‘I was expecting something really huge.’

  ‘I think I would reserve judgement until you see the full scope of the estate, Master Figworth,’ Mr Plumpton tutted.

  ‘Have you been before, Mr Plumpton?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Oh yes,
many years ago actually,’ said Josiah Plumpton. ‘Another of my passions is French history, particularly the Revolution.’

  Miss Reedy’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Did you hear that, Miss Reedy?’ said Millie, as she gave Alice-Miranda a nudge. ‘Mr Plumpton is a scholar of the French Revolution. You like history too, don’t you?’

  Miss Reedy felt the heat rising in her neck. Mr Plumpton looked across at her and smiled. She allowed herself a small smile back in his direction.

  As the group walked up the cobblestoned path to the opulent palace gates, Sep and Lucas suddenly disappeared from view. Miss Grimm looked up and charged towards a crowd of men who had surrounded the two lads.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘Get away from my boys. They are not buying any of your tacky Eiffel Towers.’

  At the sight of the woman flapping like an angry grey goose, the men immediately scattered, plying their trade to other unsuspecting visitors.

  Miss Grimm gave the boys a concerned look. ‘Are you two all right?’

  Lucas nodded. Sep did too and said, ‘I thought we could just tell them to leave us alone but they kept trying to put things into our hands.’

  ‘Despicable.’ Miss Grimm shook her head. ‘I know everyone has to earn a living but intimidating tourists is not my idea of an honest day’s work.’

  Just as the headmistress finished her declaration, a police siren wailed towards the palace gates and the hawkers and their wares disappeared into thin air.

  ‘Where are all the celebrities?’ Sloane was looking around at the buses parked in rows. ‘Surely they don’t come by bus?’

  ‘There’s another car park over there.’ Millie pointed to the far side of the driveway.

  ‘I think most people arrive only just before the show,’ said Alice-Miranda. She had attended some of the parades with her mother the year before. ‘Anyone really famous seems to turn up a second before things start and then they disappear just as quickly afterwards. I don’t remember meeting anyone much because they were all in such a hurry to get to the next event. You know, some of the designers keep the locations a secret right until the last minute because so many people come just to get a glimpse of the stars.’

  ‘Well, I wish someone famous would turn up. How am I supposed to make my mother jealous if no one’s here?’ Sloane grumbled.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jacinta spied several photographers. She nudged Sloane. ‘Looks like the paparazzi have arrived.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Sloane sighed. She immediately stood up taller and flicked her hair back.

  Millie was watching her. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Sloane said. ‘Just making sure that if I happen to be in shot, I look my best.’

  ‘Sloane, if you haven’t noticed, we’re wearing our school uniforms. I’m pretty sure that a bunch of schoolkids are of absolutely no interest to the paps,’ Millie said with a snort.

  ‘They might be if they knew that Lawrence Ridley’s son is part of the group,’ Sloane threatened.

  Miss Grimm’s bionic ears did not let her down. She marched towards Sloane and warned her that if she did any such thing, she’d be on the first plane home again to Spain.

  Sloane gulped. Then apologised. She hated the thought of going back to school in Barcelona with that horrible bully Lola.

  ‘Where is this show, anyway?’ Lucas asked Mr Plumpton, who was standing beside him.

  ‘I believe that the main event will be in the Hall of Mirrors. Magnificent room. We’re very fortunate that Miss Reedy negotiated the private tour for us all later.’

  On hearing her name, Miss Reedy looked up. ‘It was nothing, Mr Plumpton,’ she protested.

  ‘Of course it was, Miss Reedy. Don’t give yourself so little credit.’

  Millie smiled to herself. It looked like Miss Reedy and Mr Plumpton might not need her friends’ help after all.

  ‘Come along, everyone,’ called Miss Grimm, waving her hand above her head. ‘We have to go this way.’

  Ophelia Grimm marched along at the head of the line, cutting a swathe through the gathering crowd. She looked particularly lovely today in a striking black and white dress, although Millie had commented to Alice-Miranda that she thought Miss Grimm’s outfit would have looked better with heels rather than the ballet flats she was wearing. And then Millie glanced up and saw that, as if by magic, Miss Grimm’s sensible walking shoes had been replaced by a most magnificent pair of black and white stilettos.

  ‘Nice shoes,’ Millie said and gave Alice-Miranda a nudge.

  ‘Yes, very,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  Sadly, the choir’s first event turned out to be a little less impressive than Mr Lipp and Mr Trout had been expecting. Due to the intense media coverage following the robbery at Christian Fontaine’s atelier, tickets for his show were the hottest in town. His assistant Adele had done her best to try to accommodate everyone but the choir just wouldn’t fit and they weren’t uppermost in Adele’s mind either.

  Another member of the Fontaine entourage, a rather flamboyant man wearing a spotted kaftan and a red fez, had intervened and directed them downstairs to one of the palace’s huge foyers. He told Mr Lipp that they thought it would be ‘cute’ to have the little ones in their uniforms greet the guests. But another of the designer’s ‘people’ had decided that the guests should enter the building from a different point so that they could have a better view of the gardens, hence the children were without an audience.

  It was fortunate that neither Miss Grimm nor Professor Winterbottom heard the ‘cute’ comments as they may have staged a walk-out. As it was, they had to spend several minutes placating Mr Lipp and Mr Trout, who were completely miffed by the snub and ready to take the children back to the city on the very next train.

  After a few tears (from Mr Lipp), both gentlemen were convinced that the show must go on. They set about organising the children into their lines and working out their places. Disappointingly, the grand piano turned out to be a rather small keyboard of dubious tone. It was fortunate for Mr Lipp’s publicist sister that she had been called away to sort out a drama at another venue, as her brother was furious. She’d no doubt hear all about it later.

  Sep noticed his teacher’s obvious distress. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mr Lipp,’ the boy said. ‘We really didn’t know what we were coming to out here and I don’t think any of us minds. Do we?’ The boy turned to the other children, who all shook their heads and responded with a chorus of ‘no’s.

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re quite right, Sykes.’ Mr Lipp pulled himself up straight and smoothed the front of his jacket. ‘We’ll put on the best darn show we can and if it’s just for the portraits on the walls, then so be it.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, Mr Lipp,’ Figgy shouted, and the rest of the children rallied behind him too.

  Harry Lipp’s frown lines began to ease and he even managed a tight smile. ‘All right, Mr Trout, are you ready?’ He looked over at the music teacher, who was standing behind the keyboard like a player in a rock band. Clearly, seating for the instrumentalist wasn’t part of the planning.

  Mr Trout gave a nod and rested his hands on the keys. He began the introduction and soon enough the children were belting out their repertoire, much to the great delight of their teachers and the security man who had been assigned to monitor the room. No one had any idea where the guests were or what was going on upstairs, but the children were having a wonderful time.

  Cecelia and Charlotte Highton-Smith arrived at the palace in plenty of time for the show. They were directed upstairs to their seats in the front row and wondered where the children were. Cecelia was keen to see Alice-Miranda, and Charlotte was practically bursting to tell her and Lucas the good news.

  ‘That’s odd,’ Cecelia told her sister. ‘I thought the choir was opening the show for Christian. I tried to get through this morning to make sure nothing had changed after the robbery but I couldn’t get hold of anyone.’

  Charlott
e looked around at the crowd. ‘I can’t see Ambrosia Headlington-Bear either.’

  ‘I hope she arrives soon,’ said Cecelia seriously. ‘It would be a pity for her to miss Jacinta.’

  A few minutes later, with the last of the guests being ushered into their seats, the lights dimmed and music blared.

  Cecelia leaned towards her sister. ‘That’s not the children.’

  ‘No, definitely not,’ Charlotte replied.

  A rail-thin model wearing an extremely short silk check skirt teamed with a white blouse and purple tie strutted down the runway to flashes from numerous cameras. She wore a miniature boater hat atop her blonde hair, which was piled high on her head. Her heels were at least five inches tall; how she managed to stay upright was anyone’s guess.

  Charlotte and Cecelia settled back to take in the show. They would have to locate the children afterwards. The theme graduated from school girl chic to prom perfection, with the final gown drawing rapturous applause. It was a buttercup yellow evening dress with the most startling lace and diamante-encrusted bodice and a dreamy flowing skirt.

  ‘Pity about the cape,’ Charlotte whispered to her sister. ‘There was no time to dye the cashmere instead. Apparently Christian is devastated.’

  As the beautiful girl strode back to the start of the runway, Christian Fontaine emerged to take her hand and walk the length of the catwalk with her. He stopped at the end and bowed, before turning around and walking swiftly to the other end, where he disappeared behind the curtain.

  ‘Oh dear, poor darling,’ Cecelia whispered to Charlotte. ‘He looked disappointed, even though the show was as stunning as always.’

  ‘We should try to see him before we find the children,’ said Cecelia Highton-Smith. ‘I just can’t believe that this has happened to him again.’

  ‘Yes after all that awful business with his wife, it’s terribly bad luck,’ Charlotte agreed.

  The children finished their repertoire. Mr Lipp and Mr Trout took their bows as the small but enthusiastic audience, comprised of their teachers and the security guard, gave a rousing ovation. No one else had seen or heard them at all. Pity, Mr Trout thought to himself, as the children had really outdone themselves.