She was momentarily quiet as she read her screen. “Yes, here it is. His parents and twin brother died when he was young. How sad. How he’s managed to overcome so much, I don’t know.” She turned away from her computer and continued.
“I know he went to Central Saint Martins, and of course, his mother was a real fashionista before the term even existed. As for Johnny, I think the word ‘partying’ probably sums up his early adulthood. He was constantly in and out of clubs, but still designing all the time. When he started really applying himself, the business grew, and today he’s considered a pillar of British fashion. He’s mentored a new wave of designers, including Jorge Cruz. If he continues as he has, he’ll probably get a knighthood or an award from the Queen.”
As I finished my tea, Charlotte leaned across her desk and said, “And that’s why you need to tread carefully, like I said earlier. If you are working on a case, then as your modeling-detective agent”—she smiled at her job description—“I’m asking you to please remain tight-lipped and totally discreet until you’re absolutely sure of your facts. I need hardly to tell you that fashion people often have huge egos. An accusation of any kind—especially a false one—will not be taken lightly. Okay?”
“Yes,” I answered, and I meant it. The last thing I intended to do was jeopardize my detective career with an ill-informed accusation. In the gossipy world of fashion, I’d be more untouchable than polyester within about a minute.
She paused for a moment, then continued. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
I nodded, pulling myself together. “Georgiana.”
“Right. She’s a bit of a dark horse—and by the way, everyone calls her Georgie. I don’t know her very well. She keeps out of the spotlight. She works at Johnny’s in publicity, in the building where you’ll be going for your casting tomorrow. And, honestly, considering how long she’s been at her job, she can’t be all that good. In all the years she’s worked there, she’s never advanced beyond her present position.”
Hmm…I wondered if there would be some way for me to “accidentally” meet Georgie tomorrow at the Vane headquarters. For a moment I entertained the thought of using my school magazine, the Notting Hill News, as an excuse to interview her. But would a member of a famous fashion family really give me a few sound bites for a school magazine? I doubted it.
“Other than that, I don’t know anything about her. She certainly doesn’t go out and about.”
“Thanks, Charlotte.” Then remembering another question, I changed tack. “By the way, does a muse get paid?”
Charlotte laughed. “That came out of nowhere!” I watched as she got up and walked to the bookcases behind her desk and pulled out a book.
“Well, there’s Amanda Harlech, she’s a muse to Chanel’s creative director, and she has some sort of salary. But this,” she said as she handed me a book, “should answer any questions you may have about what a muse is or does. The exhibition was fab, by the way.”
I took the large-format, hardcover book from her hands. It had been published by Yale University Press, and the title said it all: Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion. It was actually the catalog for an exhibition some years ago at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. The entire book was about models who were also muses to the fashion elite.
“Take it and read it,” Charlotte said. “You can bring it back when you’re finished with it.”
“Thank you, Charlotte.”
“You’re welcome. I hope it helps…” Her voice trailed off as her direct line rang. I watched her as she took the call. “Great, thanks,” she said as she looked at me and gave me a thumbs-up. “I’ll tell her now.”
She hung up and said, “Good news, Axelle. That was Jacky calling to book you for the Teen Chic shoot with Josh Locke. You’ll work for three hours tomorrow afternoon at Spring Studios.”
My mouth dropped open. Booked? Me? For Teen Chic tomorrow? With Josh Locke!
Argh!
Why? Why was I booked when he and I clearly didn’t get along and when Jacky Sykes had barely acknowledged my existence at the casting?
“Jacky says you met Josh at the casting, you lucky girl! How could you keep that a secret?”
Easily, I thought, because (A) I never imagined I’d be booked for the job; (B) Josh Locke is painfully arrogant; and (C) I had a case to solve—and therefore other things to think about.
Speaking of which, the case was shaping up to be a really meaty one, so I was going to need every minute I could get to solve it before Gavin was targeted again—but now my week was filling up with bookings!
“Axelle, you’re the only model I know who’d look so miserable after hearing such fab news,” Charlotte said, laughing. “But I’m sure you’ll have fun at the booking. After all, everyone loves Josh Locke.”
Grrr…
I needed to vent, so after leaving the agency I called my BFF and neighbor Jenny Watanabe for some support. As I walked to the Tube, I told her all about my Teen Chic casting and how Josh Locke’s fame seemed to affect everyone in his orbit.
“You should have seen them. The models were preening, the reptilian editor was giggling, and a dozen people were listening at the door!”
“Yeah, but, Axelle, he’s Josh Locke,” Jenny said. “He’s famous! Of course people watch his every move and hide behind doors listening to him.”
“But it’s like a circus around him…and he just acts like that’s normal!”
I could feel Jenny rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “He can’t help it. It’s a by-product of what he does—which, may I remind you, is write and sing songs that millions of people love. Cut him some slack.”
“Jenny, you weren’t there, but trust me, the atmosphere around him is weird—plus he knocked me down flat and then said it was my fault! The guy’s ego is ridiculous, and I’ll be stuck working with him all afternoon!”
“Do you always have to take things so seriously? I mean, come on, any girl from our school would love to spend an afternoon with him.”
“Well, I’d be happy to swap places with them.”
I heard Jenny sigh loudly. “You know what I’m thinking right now, Axelle?”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“I’m thinking that you’re the one always saying that there’s more to people than you see on the surface. That most people have an entire inner world that we can only guess at.”
“Thanks, Jenny—but that’s when I’m talking about people’s motives and actions. As in a mystery.”
“Yeah, well, how would it be if you applied that logic to people in general—whether or not they’re suspects in a case? Does someone have to commit a crime before you really want to talk to them?”
“No, but it helps.” I couldn’t keep from smiling.
“You’re twisted, Axelle,” Jenny answered with a laugh. “Do yourself a favor and cut those of us who haven’t committed a crime some slack, will you?”
I took the Tube back to Notting Hill Gate and walked home from there. Then, after feeding Halley and making myself a cup of tea, I went upstairs to my bedroom and lay down on my bed.
Thoughts of Gavin, Johnny Vane, and the images on the flash drive were on my mind as I flipped through the book Charlotte had lent me.
But I snapped out of my thoughts with a start when the doorbell rang a while later, setting Halley off down the stairs barking. I instantly knew who it was.
Sebastian.
My heart began to race as I vividly recalled the last time we’d been together: on top of the Empire State Building—kissing. And, although it had taken us a long time to get to the viewing platform on the eighty-sixth floor (the lifts are old and slow, and there are various checkpoints to go through), our kiss had lasted way, way longer. And then, when we’d finally stopped, laid out all around us was the most amazing sunset ever. The entire city ha
d shimmered in the orange light.
But that was three months ago…before Sebastian returned to Paris and I came home to London. And although we’d Skyped a lot between then and now, video calls didn’t have the same romance factor. It wasn’t the same as seeing someone, was it? How easily can you see someone who lives three hundred miles away in a whole other country—not to mention the time zones? (Okay, so there’s only a one-hour difference, but still.)
But now finally Sebastian was here to see me. He’d arrived late this afternoon on a Eurostar train. We hadn’t been able to arrange anything sooner because of my exams, so we’d been planning this trip for a long time.
I got off my bed and went downstairs, nervous about what to expect. I ran a hand through my hair, took a deep breath, and opened the front door.
He stood at the top of our steps, just as tall, broad-shouldered, and biker-boy cute as I remembered, hair tousled, leather jacket on, smiling at me. And although there was a bit of shuffling around and eyeing each other as I invited him in (FYI: seeing the person you fancy like mad for the first time after months apart is weird), soon enough, we were standing face-to-face, close enough that I could smell him.
And suddenly it was as if time and distance had never intervened. Sebastian reached out and pulled me to him. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t go weak in the knees. He had that kind of effect on me. After a long hug, he pulled back and gently pushed my hair behind my ears as he smiled at me in that slow, tender way he has. “I’ve missed you, Holmes,” he said. But I didn’t get a chance to answer because his hand suddenly dropped from my face as if it were a hot coal and his eyes darted to something behind me.
“Why, Sebastian! How lovely to see you!”
Of course. It was my mom.
Honestly, I thought as I listened to their small talk, what was the point of finally being in the same city if we couldn’t even have five minutes alone together?
“So, are you excited about seeing the London sights?” Mom asked.
Sebastian’s eyes darted to me quickly before he politely answered. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Anderson, thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Anything in particular? Which exhibitions do you have lined up?” I bit my tongue as I heard my mom quiz Sebastian. But as always, he was prepared.
“Well, I’m especially looking forward to seeing Rubens at the National Gallery, and Tracey Emin at the Hayward Gallery.”
“Well, that sounds like a good plan,” Mom answered. She was smiling but I could tell she was surprised—even pleased—by his perfect answer. She quickly moved on. “And how do you like Bloomsbury? Axelle tells me you’re staying there with an aunt…” The chitchat continued for a few more minutes until Mom’s phone rang and she answered it.
There was a moment of awkward silence as my mom left the room. It was as if she’d broken the spell. But then Sebastian suggested we grab a bite to eat, an idea I jumped on. I was hungry, in need of some fresh air, and eager to escape from Mom.
“I’m starving,” he said. “I only had a sandwich on the Eurostar. Can we get a burger anywhere near here?”
At least one thing would never change, no matter the distance between us, I thought ruefully: our mutual love of a good burger and hot fries. “Absolutely, Watson. Follow me.”
I made for the door as quickly as possible after a quick good-bye to Halley. (London is not Paris. You can’t just walk to a local restaurant with your dog and sit at a table together, unless you’re outdoors. In Paris, it’s jamais un problème!) But if I was hoping Mom would let us go without sticking her oar in again, I was wrong. Her head popped around the kitchen doorway as we were making our escape.
“Not longer than two hours, please, Axelle. You have to be in Mayfair for your show fitting with Belle La Lune at eight thirty a.m. We’ll have to leave at seven forty-five to get across town in time. Sebastian, it was lovely to see you—though I’m sure I’ll see a lot more of you this week.”
Believe it or not, my mom said that bit about seeing Sebastian all week without the tiniest trace of a corny smile or wink.
While she’d been thrilled when I first met Sebastian in Paris, now after months of watching us struggle to spend time together—and not really succeeding—my mom had finally intervened and told me that she felt I was too young to have a boyfriend who lived so far away.
“You should be going out and having fun, Axelle—here and now—making the most of your opportunities and making new friends, not glued to your phone waiting to speak to someone who lives three hundred miles away…”
That was the part of her argument that always made me roll my eyes, because what seemed to fly completely over my mom’s head was the fact that I’m not glued to my phone waiting for Sebastian to call. I’m glued to it hoping someone will call with a new mystery for me to solve.
Grrr! Mom!
We shut the door behind us and walked out through the front gate and onto the street. As we turned right and walked past St. Stephen’s Church, I realized we were the only people around. The street was empty. Sebastian must have noticed too, because he grabbed my hand and pulled me into a huge rosebush that was growing wild over a wall. He dipped his head toward mine. My heart skipped a beat (okay, maybe a few)… But just as we were about to kiss, the vicar from St. Stephen’s appeared as if from nowhere. “Axelle, good evening!” he called from across the road. “What a lovely time of year. Summer’s in the air, isn’t it?”
I was red in the face and flustered, only able to nod and wave as the vicar went on his way, but Sebastian just laughed. “And I thought being in the same city would make kissing easier,” he said. “Come on, let’s go get a burger.”
Two minutes later I pushed open the swinging door to my favorite local hamburger joint, the Lucky Seven Diner (“the most authentic diner experience this side of the Brooklyn Bridge”), and let the smell of cheeseburgers, fries, and milk shakes waft over me for a moment before sliding into the nearest available booth (which was, in fact, the only available booth).
Sebastian and I placed our orders—cheeseburger with Kraft cheese for me, a bacon cheeseburger with Monterey Jack cheese for Sebastian, and a side of fries for both of us. I couldn’t wait to tell him about the new case. It would no doubt take Sebastian by surprise and definitely mess with our sightseeing plans. Apart from the exhibitions he’d told my mom about, we’d planned to go on the London Eye, see a play that a friend of his aunt’s was performing in, and take a day trip to Oxford. But regardless, I was certain he wouldn’t mind. After all, he was as eager to be a crime journalist as I was to be a detective—and since both occupations complemented each other, solving cases was fun to share.
“Your eyes are sparkling, Holmes. And as much as I’d like to think it was due to me, I think there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
Of course I wasn’t immune to the way his gray-blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me from across the table, or how his tousled, light-brown hair looked totally touchable… Then again, a case is a case—and romance aside, it was time to get working.
“Actually, Watson, someone came to see me this morning…”
I’d brought my laptop along, so after bringing Sebastian up to speed on my meeting with Tallulah that morning, we started on our vanilla milk shakes while scrolling through the images on Gavin’s flash drive.
“How do you start figuring this one out?” Sebastian asked as we stopped at the last image—the photo of the old photo. He ruffled his hair and leaned back in the banquette opposite me. “From everything you’ve told me, this case seems about as murky as the Thames.”
“Hmm…it could be, yeah…but on the other hand we’re lucky to have a fixed location.”
Sebastian raised his eyebrows at me.
“We know more or less where Gavin was attacked, and we have specific times for where he was that morning.”
“Not that that
tells us much…”
“Well, not yet, but still, I think it’s safe to deduce that the location by the Thames must have some kind of link to what happened—especially since his shoes and jeans were wet.”
“You think he stepped into the river?”
“Maybe…” I suddenly remembered a thought I’d had earlier. I typed Thames tides into Google. A few moments later I clicked onto a site that listed the precise times for high and low tides for the entire year. “Look…the tide was at its lowest that Sunday morning.” I turned my laptop so that Sebastian could read it. “I know it’s possible to get right down to the waterline if the tide is low and you’re in the right place. And there must be a few points with direct public access to the water near Westminster Palace. I just don’t know where exactly.”
“That’s something I can look into tomorrow,” Sebastian said.
“Thanks. That would be great.”
“And what about Johnny Vane? Have you ever met him or worked with him?”
I shook my head. “Not yet—but I’ve already been warned to be careful around him.” As I pulled my laptop back toward me and started bringing up information on Johnny Vane, I quickly told Sebastian about my conversation with Charlotte. Sebastian slid onto the banquette next to me and watched as Johnny’s Wiki page came up. Trying to ignore Sebastian’s warmth and his nice smell (leather, trees, and adventure, mixed with a light touch of French sophistication), I sat next to him as we read the piece I’d looked at on the Tube earlier in the afternoon.
“So he lost his father, his twin, and his mother in quick succession. How horrible,” Sebastian said as he came to the end of the piece.
“True…but…” There was something I found odd now that I was rereading Johnny’s entry.
“But?” Sebastian said.
“Well, at least his father’s death has a clear medical explanation: ‘heart attack,’ right?”
London Page 6