After dinner, Monsieur Rousseau vanished upstairs. Jules and Will cleared the table while the girls chatted about what they should all do before bedtime.
‘We could play a game,’ Clementine suggested, swinging her legs under her chair.
‘Or you could do a puzzle,’ Odette said, wiping the table. ‘There’s a lovely one in the attic. It’s of a giant map of Paris.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Clementine agreed. ‘We could use my map to help us.’
Pierre left the table to help the boys with the washing up and Odette disappeared to make up beds for their guests.
‘We’ll be back in a minute,’ Sophie called as she and Clementine charged upstairs.
Clementine shivered as they entered the room. ‘It’s cold up here.’
‘And Grand-père must have left the light on.’ Sophie led Clementine to the cupboard, where they found a pile of board games as well as the puzzle in its box. ‘Shall we take a game too?’ Sophie asked, shortly before a snuffling sound silenced the pair.
Sophie and Clementine looked at one another.
‘Is that you, Grand-père?’ Sophie asked.
The two girls headed to the other end of the room, where they found the old man sitting in a big armchair, with boxes of photographs scattered at his feet. His eyes were closed and his breathing was punctuated by little grunts.
‘Shhh, he’s asleep,’ Clementine whispered.
‘He can’t stay up here. It’s too cold.’ Sophie looked around for a blanket to cover him with.
Etienne shuddered and the picture he was holding fluttered to the floor. Clementine picked it up and stared at the photograph of a young boy. The girl beside him looked to be about the same age and she was holding a puppet on a string. Clementine took a closer look at it and could see that it was, in fact, a marionette of a pig.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Sophie whispered. ‘I’m going to fetch a blanket from downstairs.’
Clementine was about to put the photograph into one of the boxes when Monsieur Rousseau snorted and his eyes sprang open. She jumped back in fright.
The man smiled at her and straightened up in the chair. ‘Bonjour Clementine. Did I fall asleep again?’
Clementine nodded. ‘You dropped this,’ she said, handing him the photograph.
He yawned and stretched his neck, then focused on the picture. ‘I am getting old,’ he said. ‘I spend too much time up here lately. Since Madame Rousseau…’
‘Is that her?’ Clementine asked, wondering if the man had known his wife when they were children.
‘Oh no, that is my friend Solene,’ he said. ‘She was so clever – always making up stories. She made puppets too.’
‘Really?’ Clementine bit her lip. ‘Did she make that one?’
‘Oui. It was her favourite. A little piggy she called Capucine.’
‘That’s the name of Madame Delacroix’s famous piggy,’ Clementine said.
‘Yes. When I first saw that cochon on television I thought it must have been Solene, but it turned out to be that mad woman who is all hair and lipstick.’ Monsieur Rousseau grimaced. ‘She comes into my patisserie all the time, always wanting things for free.’
‘Why does she want things for free? She is famous all over France,’ Clementine said.
‘I think her riches have dwindled along with her fame. Children have so many entertainments these days,’ the man said.
‘It’s funny that your friend and Madame Delacroix had the same idea about a pig called Capucine,’ Clementine said.
A small smile perched on the man’s lips. ‘We used to put on shows in the village. My father helped us build a little stage on a cart and we would set up in the square and charge people one franc to watch.’
‘I wonder what happened to your friend,’ Clementine said, watching the man’s face as he remembered.
‘Life is a bit like a puzzle, ma chérie, and sometimes the pieces go missing,’ the man said gently.
‘The lady who lives on the other side of the back wall has lots of puppets in her house too,’ Clementine said. ‘I saw them.’
‘The old witch who has let the place go to rack and ruin? I have never in my life set eyes on her, but my wife went to see her once when Pierre lost his football and came home in tears. My wife returned in tears too. That witch is not a nice lady.’
‘I don’t think she’s a witch. I think she’s just sad and lonely,’ Clementine said, remembering how terrified the woman was of Lavender.
Footsteps thudded up the stairs and Sophie reappeared with a blanket in her arms. ‘I brought this up for you, Grand-père,’ she said.
‘Merci, my dear, but I do not think I will stay up here tonight,’ the man said, shifting forward in his seat. ‘It is time to be with my family.’
‘Would you like to help us with the puzzle?’ Clementine asked. ‘Aunt Violet and Uncle Digby sometimes help me with puzzles at home and they like to play games too. Aunt Violet pretends she doesn’t but I know she does.’
‘Why not?’ The man nodded decisively. He smiled at the girls, then stood up and followed them downstairs.
Much to everyone’s delight and surprise, Etienne spent the entire evening helping the children with their puzzle, and when their concentration wavered, he stunned them all with a rowdy game of charades.
Clementine and Sophie were making cupcakes in the kitchen while Will and Jules were busy building a model aeroplane. Rain thrummed against the window pane and thunder rumbled overhead. Clementine was ever-hopeful that the rain would turn to snow but Pierre said that it wasn’t yet cold enough.
‘I’m glad we’re staying home today,’ Clementine said. ‘I think my legs are too tired to do any more walking.’
‘Mine too,’ Odette said as she placed the cupcake patties into the moulds. ‘And it is good for your mother and Drew to ’ave some time to themselves, although it is a pity the weather is so bad.’
Clarissa had telephoned earlier in the morning to make plans, but Clementine and Will had both begged to spend the day at home with Sophie and Jules. Although Clarissa felt guilty for leaving the children with Odette, she conceded that they would probably prefer to be inside anyway. To everyone’s astonishment, Aunt Violet and Uncle Digby had headed off to do some more sightseeing together, the old woman muttering something about lunch at a bistro in Pigalle.
‘How is that mixture coming along?’ Etienne asked, looking over at the girls. He was busy creating some sugar roses to put on top of the cupcakes.
‘I think it’s ready,’ Sophie said, and switched off the mixer.
The old man walked over and dipped a finger into the bowl, then popped it into his mouth. ‘Délicieux!’
‘Can we lick the beaters?’ Sophie asked.
The man detached the silver stirrers from the machine. ‘One for you,’ he said, passing a beater to Clementine. ‘And one for me,’ he said, taking a big slurp of the gooey cake batter.
Sophie stamped her foot. ‘Grand-père, that’s not fair!’
‘I am just teasing, little one.’ He passed her the beater. Then, with the skill of someone who had done it a million times before, Etienne transferred the mixture into the patty pans and then placed them in the oven before the girls had finished their sticky treat. ‘Odette, would you mind taking these out when they are ready? I think I should go and see what a mess that son of mine is making at the patisserie.’
Odette smiled. ‘Of course, Papa.’
She was thrilled to see the old man so lively, and thought the children seemed to have the most wonderful way of bringing out the joy in him again.
‘We’ll do the washing up,’ Clementine volunteered.
Sophie frowned at her. ‘But I hate washing up.’
Clementine leaned in and whispered in her friend’s ear. ‘If your grandpa is better, then you can come home soon.’
Sophie nodded and raced to get the little footstool so she could stand at the sink.
‘What are you up to?’ Etienne sai
d, raising an eyebrow.
Odette gave the girls a wink. ‘They are just being good ’elpers, Papa.’
‘What do you want to do now?’ Sophie asked. It was well after lunch and the boys had gone back upstairs to work on their aeroplane.
Clementine and Sophie had made significant progress on their jigsaw puzzle of Paris but there seemed to be some pieces missing and they were feeling restless. Clementine had been thinking about Madame Joubert and wondered if she should ask to borrow one of her puppets for the show tomorrow. She looked outside and was pleased to see the sun was at last poking through the grey clouds.
‘It’s stopped raining,’ Clementine said. ‘Let’s go outside.’ She pulled on her red coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. As she opened the back door, Lavender made a run for it.
‘You should put Lavender on her lead,’ Sophie said, as she wrestled with her jacket.
But Clementine had other ideas. She was hoping that Lavender might take another tour of Madame Joubert’s garden.
Sophie stepped out to find Clementine dashing away. ‘Come back,’ she shouted, and gave chase.
Clementine peered through the hole in the wall.
Two deep frown lines traversed Sophie’s brow. ‘Did Lavender go through there again?’
‘Yes,’ Clementine replied. ‘It’s okay. I’ll go and get her.’
‘Not on your own,’ Sophie said, hanging back. ‘And the grass is wet. You’ll get dirty.’
It was no use. Clementine had already squeezed through the opening. Sophie hesitated, not knowing what to do. She hopped on one foot and then the other. She really didn’t want to go back into the witch’s garden.
Meanwhile, Clementine could see Lavender snuffling around the base of a pear tree. She hurried over to the little pig and picked her up, then made her way to the house.
At that moment Madame Joubert looked out the kitchen window and was caught off-guard by the sight of a child heading for the back door. Her first instinct was to hurry away upstairs and pretend she wasn’t home, but this time a little part of her wanted to know why the girl had returned, especially after she had behaved so badly the other day, slamming the door in her face.
‘Bonjour Madame Joubert,’ Clementine called, and knocked loudly.
The old woman sighed, more from habit than annoyance. She opened the back door. ‘Bonjour,’ the woman replied quietly. ‘Surely your cochon did not escape again?’
‘Sort of,’ Clementine said.
‘There are truffles in my garden,’ the woman said, ‘and pigs love truffles.’
Clementine was surprised that the expensive chocolates Aunt Violet loved so much would be found in an overgrown garden. ‘How many puppets do you have?’
‘They are not your business,’ Madame Joubert said curtly, her warmth evaporating.
‘But you have so many of them,’ Clementine said.
‘Two thousand, seven hundred and thirty-one to be exact,’ the woman mumbled.
Clementine’s eyes widened in amazement. ‘That’s millions!’
Madame Joubert couldn’t help but smile. ‘Not quite, but I suppose it is a lot,’ she admitted.
‘Do you have any pigs? I thought I saw one in the kitchen the other day,’ Clementine said, peering around the woman to get a better look.
Lavender squirmed and Clementine put her down to get a better grip. Without warning, the little creature shot off into the house.
‘Lavender! Come back!’ Clementine scampered after her, with Madame Joubert following close behind.
The creature ran up the stairs and along the hallway.
‘Stop!’ Clementine shouted.
‘Non!’ Madame Joubert called out.
Lavender sped on and turned into a room at the end of the passageway, where Clementine finally caught up to her. She scooped Lavender into her arms, then stood up and looked around the room. Clementine gasped. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There were hundreds of marionettes and all of them pigs!
Madame Joubert stumbled into the room, huffing and blowing. ‘Clementine,’ she pleaded, ‘you must not tell anyone.’
Clementine and Lavender reappeared through the hole in the wall to find Sophie waiting for them. The knees of Clementine’s white tights were stained with mud and there were some dirty spots on her coat too. She was going to be in big trouble when Aunt Violet saw the state of her clothes.
‘Did you see the witch?’ Sophie asked.
‘Madame Joubert is not a witch,’ Clementine said. She was bursting to share her secret but the old woman had made her promise not to. ‘Is your grandpa back?’ Clementine asked. She had to talk to him as soon as she could.
‘I don’t know,’ Sophie said, ‘but your mother is here.’
Clementine looked at her knees and then at Lavender’s muddy trotters. ‘We’d better get cleaned up before she sees us.’
The three of them walked back to the house and made a beeline for the laundry room.
Clementine checked again to make sure that Lavender was looking her very best. Mrs Mogg had made her a lovely striped top and red neckerchief, which she was wearing underneath her red coat. Clementine glanced around the theatre. There were rows of timber bench seats and a little stage at the front.
‘I can’t wait for the show to start,’ Will said.
‘I hope this thing doesn’t go for very long,’ Aunt Violet muttered as she sat down with a thud.
Madame Delacroix glided out from the side of the stage and strutted towards them. ‘Quickly, give her to me,’ the woman demanded. She snatched Lavender from Clementine’s arms and whisked her away before anyone had time to reply. A cloud of her perfume descended upon the family.
Aunt Violet waved her hand in front of her nose. ‘Pooh! That woman needs to learn the difference between a spritz and a shower. She must have emptied a whole bottle of scent over herself.’
‘Will Lavender be all right, Mummy?’ Clementine asked as she watched Madame Delacroix show her off to the television cameras.
Clarissa put an arm around her daughter and kissed the top of her head. ‘She’ll be fine, darling.’ Clarissa would have much preferred the woman to include Clementine, but she contented herself with keeping a close eye on the proceedings.
Sophie and Jules soon arrived with their parents, and Clementine was delighted to see Etienne with them too. The group shuffled to their seats in the front row.
As the room darkened, the spotlights shone on the stage, illuminating a painted backdrop of a farm. The music began and onto the stage waddled a fat farmer wearing overalls and a straw hat. Though he sang in French, Clementine recognised the tune to be ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’ and hummed along with it. Lavender sat by the side of the stage and, to the delight and fascination of patrons, grunted every now and again.
The audience was in stitches as the story progressed. With each scene came a new backdrop and a different animal – a horse, a duck, a lamb, a rooster and, last of all, Capucine dancing under the Eiffel Tower. Lavender loved it too and was jiggling about and squealing alongside the action. At the show’s end, Madame Delacroix was basking in the glory. She dangled Capucine from one arm and held Lavender in the other.
‘Bravo!’ shouted a particularly enthusiastic man in the back row.
‘We love you, Capucine!’ another crowed.
Clementine jumped to her feet and clapped as loudly as she could.
Once the television crew had left and the newspaper reporters had snapped enough pictures, Madame Delacroix tottered over to the group with Lavender in tow. ‘Your cochon is perfect,’ the woman gushed. ‘She is just what I need.’
‘Lavender certainly looked to be enjoying all that fuss too,’ Uncle Digby said. ‘It’s a shame we have to go home tomorrow afternoon.’
The woman gulped. ‘You are leaving tomorrow? But you mustn’t. There … there is still so much of Paris to see.’
‘I’m afraid we have to,’ Clarissa said. ‘Clementine and Will have school, and we have guests booked
into the hotel.’
‘What are you doing in the morning?’ Madame Delacroix asked.
‘We’re going on a cruise down the river, but Madame Crabbe is looking after Lavender because we can’t take her on the boat,’ Clementine said.
‘Oh, what a pity,’ the woman replied, a smile spreading across her face. ‘I’m sure you will still have a lovely time without her.’
As the boat pulled away from the dock, Clementine pressed her face against the window. The Paris skyline dazzled in the winter sunshine with the Eiffel Tower standing tallest among the grand buildings. It was all so beautiful – the bridges, the houses, the statues and monuments.
Clementine turned to her mother. ‘Can we come back again?’ she asked.
‘Maybe one day,’ Clarissa said with a smile. ‘At least you’ve ticked off everything you and Will circled on your map.’
Clementine nodded. It had been a wonderful week. ‘And more places too. Although it still hasn’t snowed.’
‘You never know,’ Drew said. ‘I might get to shoot a documentary here and we can live in Paris for a while.’
‘But what would happen to Penberthy House?’ Clementine said. She hated to think about them leaving their beloved home. Who would Granny and Grandpa have to talk to if she wasn’t there?
‘I’m sure Aunt Violet and Uncle Digby could manage the place,’ Clarissa said, looking sideways at her aunt.
The old woman snorted. ‘Godfathers, we’d likely kill each other in the first five minutes.’
But Uncle Digby didn’t utter a word. He just reached over and patted Aunt Violet’s hand.
Clementine expected him to get a slap on the wrist for his trouble, or at least a stern talking-to, but was surprised to see her great-aunt pat his arm right back. Clarissa and Drew grinned at one another as Clementine and the other children giggled.
‘We’re coming home soon,’ Sophie said. ‘So you can’t leave.’
Clementine Rose and the Paris Puzzle Page 5