London

by Carina Axelsson

  I hadn’t even thought of the jealous fan scenario. I was quiet for a moment before answering. “Well, that’s something anyway.” And that’s how it’s going to stay, I thought. As soon as I saw Josh, I planned to give him a piece of my mind. The last thing I wanted was the extra attention that having my name linked with his would bring.

  I’d never been to the Connaught Hotel before. It was a grand old brick-and-stone building with a spotless facade and liveried footmen standing at attention by the elegant door. The Connaught is located on a small, pretty square called Carlos Place and looked like it had come straight out of an old black-and-white film. If Audrey Hepburn had stepped out, impeccably dressed in one of her Givenchy frocks, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Along with Claridge’s, it was one of the two London hotels that discerning fashionistas preferred. Both hotels are located in Mayfair, just around the corner from some of London’s most expensive shops.

  “Don’t forget to say hello to Belle for me,” Mom said as we pulled up in front of the Connaught’s discreet columned entrance. “And I would love to see the show,” she added with a pointed smile.

  This was her hint that I was supposed to ask Belle for a ticket to see her resort show. Of course, knowing Belle, she’d already have one reserved for my mom. Since I saved her life in Paris, Belle had taken a strong interest in my life and career—my detective career, that is. Not that she ignored my modeling work. The casting request was proof of that. But Belle understood that for me, modeling was just a way to (hopefully) solve some juicy fashion mysteries—and I loved her for that.

  “And, Axelle, love?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “I know you’re upset about the photo, but it’s not as bad as you think. No one will recognize you. Call me if you run into any problems, all right?”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  I walked into the hotel, gave my name at the reception desk, and was directed to a suite of rooms on the top floor. Once there, the hushed calm of the elegant hotel came to an abrupt end.

  I was ushered into an enormous suite vibrating with music, frenzied chatter, and laughter. It was crowded with clothes and people, some holding folders and notebooks, others with pins in their mouths, others talking into their phones or taking photos. And there in the middle of the friendly storm was Belle, bent over and snipping into a dress with long steel scissors while the model wearing it watched her with wide eyes. A pair of seamstresses stood by, and Belle’s long blond hair kept falling into her eyes, until one of the seamstresses tied it back for her.

  “Axelle, bonjour,” Belle said as she got up to hug me. “Great that you’re here! Julia, would you show Axelle her outfit, please?” she asked in her lightly lilting French accent before turning back to me and adding more quietly, “And you are not to leave until we’ve had a moment to catch up, all right?” Before I could answer, she’d been whisked away by yet another assistant.

  As I slipped into a featherlight, multicolored tunic, I couldn’t help checking my phone in case Sebastian had found something out. Then again, Axelle, I told myself, it’s not even nine o’clock yet. How much could he have unearthed by now?

  The stylist finished fastening the tiny buckles on my coral suede heels, and I walked across to see Belle.

  “What’s going on, Axelle?” she asked. “You look like you have something on your mind. Am I right?” She looked me in the eyes and smiled as she adjusted a belt round my waist. “Is it to do with work?”

  I pursed my lips slightly and Belle laughed.

  “Ahh!” she said teasingly. “Might it be something along the lines of what you did for me in Paris?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “And is there some way I can help you?”

  I nodded slowly. “Actually, yes there is. I need to talk to Johnny Vane, but he’s on a shoot today—their autumn-winter campaign. I’ve got a casting there later this morning, but I won’t get to see him and I really need to. He’s linked to the case I’m following up. Anyway, the sooner I can talk to him, the better. Even today might be too late…but he mustn’t suspect anything. Have you any idea how I can meet him?”

  “Well, I think I can help. In fact, I know I can,” she said as she swapped the coral shoes I was wearing for a pair of gold, strappy heels. “There, that’s better,” she said as she stood back and admired her styling adjustment. “It needed that touch of sparkle. Anyway…listen, Axelle. Are you free this evening?”

  “Um…yes, I think so,” I said hesitantly. I felt a pang of conscience and hoped Sebastian hadn’t already made any plans for us.

  “Good, because tonight I’m hosting a summer party and auction at Kensington Gardens to raise money for the La Lune Fashion Design Foundation. Anyone who’s anyone in London fashion will be there, along with a good handful of musicians, actors, It girls, our biggest clients, buyers, and…Johnny Vane. If you came, I could make sure to introduce you to him. Would that help?”

  Was she kidding? Was black the new black? “Definitely,” I said, smiling with gratitude.

  “Good. I’m pretty sure Ellie’s coming. She’s on the guest list. You weren’t automatically invited because I know fashion parties aren’t really your kind of thing,” she said with a laugh.

  “True,” I said, smiling, “but in this case I’m willing to make an exception.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “Belle, could you invite Sebastian too?” I couldn’t very well leave him on his own when he’d come all the way to see me, and it would definitely help me to have an extra pair of keen eyes along. Besides, Belle’s family has known Sebastian’s father, Inspector Witt, for years. Sebastian’s hardly a stranger to her.

  “Is he in town?” She looked at me, head tilted to the side.

  I nodded.

  “So I presume he’s helping you? On your case?” She added the last question in a whisper.

  I nodded.

  “Fine. Then why don’t you bring him with you this evening, and I’ll make sure they let him through.”

  “Great!” I said as I tried to walk a few steps in the sparkly shoes. “And Belle?”

  “Oui.” She had a couple of pins in her mouth and was standing back from me, examining the tunic I was wearing through narrowed blue eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  She looked at me and smiled. “It’s the least I can do for the person who saved my life, don’t you think?” Then she laughed and signaled to me to walk the length of the room.

  Belle gave me my hair and makeup times for her show on Thursday, and it was confirmed by Thunder just as I left the Connaught. I stepped out of the hotel feeling as if I was making progress. Okay, maybe progress was a bit of a strong word, but I was pushing forward anyway, and that felt good.

  Unfortunately the feeling was short-lived. A few minutes later my phone rang. It was Tallulah.

  “Axelle, I have some bad news!” she said quickly. “Gavin’s life-support machines were found disconnected just before five this morning!” The panic in her voice shot across the airwaves like a live current.

  “Is he all right?”

  “Yes—for now anyway. He’s stable, but it was close. Fortunately, the nurse on duty was immediately alerted by an alarm.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “The hospital doesn’t know…” Her voice trailed off. “But I have a bad feeling about this.” She was quiet for a moment before saying, “Do you remember what you told me on Tuesday morning?”

  “That if given the chance, whoever attacked Gavin on Sunday might try to attack him again?”

  “Yes—well, as far as I’m concerned you’re right. You have to hurry, Axelle. Please!”

  Keeping my voice calm, I promised her I was moving as quickly as I could and then said good-bye.

  Panic spread through me as I hung up. It was just as I’d discussed last night with Sebastian. Until I could identify Gavin’s attacker,
his life was still in danger.

  After putting my phone away, I continued the short walk to my appointment for Jorge Cruz. He and his team had just arrived from New York City and had chosen a suite of rooms at Claridge’s. And while they were super excited about being in London to show their resort collection at Hampton Court Palace, I was focused on getting a few minutes of question time with Caro. Fortunately, as soon as she saw me, she called me over to her.

  “Hi, Axelle,” she said as she gave me the fashion double air-kiss and asked what I’d been doing since I last saw her in New York. “I’ve just seen your pictures for French Elle, by the way, and they look great.”

  Those were the photos I’d shot during my first week of undercover model work, while I’d been in Paris solving my first mystery. I thanked her and tried to get a question in, but it wasn’t easy.

  Caro had to be in her early sixties, but you’d never have known it. That’s the thing about fashionistas—the ones who really know how to put clothes together tend to look timeless. You can’t peg their style to any definite age or trend.

  For example, Caro was well known for the way she mixed Chanel jackets and hip-hop-inspired sportswear. Furthermore she loved a heavy gold chain and a good ear cuff. If I’d gone by her jewelry alone, I’d never have guessed how old she was. Her raspy voice spoke of years smoking cigarettes, although she’d actually quit some time ago.

  “It was so hard,” I’d heard her say once. “I was almost at the point where I would have willingly worn velour just to have a smoke.”

  But now she was telling me all about how this Jorge Cruz collection had been inspired by Bloomsbury, and how so many other editors and designers were still inspired by Bloomsbury writers and artists such as Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell.

  Ah! I thought, just the moment I’d been waiting for. Without delay I jumped right in. “Clarissa Vane was a huge inspiration to designers too. She was your sister, wasn’t she?”

  To say I’d caught Caro by surprise was an understatement.

  “Wow, you have been reading up on your fashion history, haven’t you?” she said.

  I nodded as she hung various earrings in front of my ears and stood back, squinting at her options through narrowed eyes. I told her about the book Charlotte had lent me. Her sister figured prominently in it—not that her connection with Caro got a mention.

  Caro didn’t seem interested in talking about Clarissa. Then again, she was in the throes of last-minute before-the-show adjustments. Finally I asked, “Did you and your sister ever have the chance to work together?”

  Her answer came quickly. “No.” It was brief, but nevertheless I thought I detected a touch of irritation (with me?), jealousy (of her sister?), and exasperation (perhaps with us both?).

  So much for this line of questioning, I thought. But I wasn’t about to leave without having another try—even at the risk of being pushy. So, as she asked me to change into another dress, I reached for my shoulder bag and quickly took out the photograph of the two boys in the water. I’d made a new copy that morning. But then I hesitated. On one hand I was hoping that if I showed it to Caro, she could confirm who the boys were. On the other hand, I didn’t want to stupidly put myself in harm’s way. After all, if my suspicions were correct, Gavin’s attack had something to do with this very photo.

  I thought of my granny. Sometimes—especially when we were watching Midsomer Murders on television—she would become frustrated when the detective was too timid. “Flush him out! Provoke the villain!” she’d say to Inspector Barnaby as she passed me the crystal bowl full of hard candies she kept next to her favorite armchair. “Show him you’re on to him. Make him move!” Granny said that a clever villain would often only make a mistake when provoked or under pressure. “Surprise can be a useful element when laying a trap. You just have to be sure to follow up quickly.”

  I took a breath. The call from Tallulah had proved it was definitely time to move things forward—and maybe an element of surprise was exactly what was needed here. I quickly changed into the outfit Caro had given me, and with the photo clasped in my hand, I walked over to her.

  While she looked me over and made a few minor styling adjustments—a tug here, another one there—I handed her the photo. She took it, looked at it, and said, “Why are you giving me this?” She seemed confused.

  “I thought you might be able to tell me something about it.”

  Caro shook her head.

  “You don’t know the boys in the photo?”

  Exasperation crept into her voice as she said, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything, Axelle. Can you concentrate on what we’re doing, please? I have other models waiting for my attention.”

  At that instant an assistant interrupted us to say that Jorge needed Caro’s “eye” for some last-minute style adjustments on a dress he was finishing for the show. Caro looked back as she followed the assistant. “See you on Thursday, Axelle,” she said as they left the room. Clearly my question time was over.

  It was only as I packed my bag a couple of minutes later that I realized Caro had kept the photo.

  As I left Claridge’s and walked to the nearest bus stop, Tallulah’s phone call kept circling through my mind. The pressure was mounting with every second that ticked by, because I now had no doubt that her brother’s attacker would try to get to him again—and soon.

  Hopefully I’d be able to meet Georgie next. But would I get any further with her than I had with Caro? I was so sure that the boys in the photo were the Vane twins. Was I wrong? And if I was right, why didn’t Caro admit that she knew them?

  Just as I hopped onto a bus my phone vibrated. It was a message from Sebastian:

  I’ve found the Vane address in Notting Hill: Dawson Place. And the nanny’s name is Jane Wimple. How’s it going with you?

  Dawson Place? That was right on the border between Notting Hill and Bayswater, and within easy walking distance from where I lived.

  I answered him:

  Fab news! Well done, Watson! I know Dawson Place—we should check it out at lunch. And find out whatever you can about Jane, please. I’m meeting Johnny Vane tonight—you’re invited too! Have just met Caro, but found out nothing. On my way to see Georgie now (hopefully). Any details on the deaths?

  Sebastian replied:

  Not much to go on from the news archives so far, but your hunch was right—Julian died in the Thames. Not sure exactly where yet.

  Hmm…at least now it was clear that Julian did indeed drown in the Thames. I couldn’t help but feel it must have happened near where Gavin was attacked.

  Well, that’s something. And Clarissa?

  Nothing more so far, but I’m still chasing info down. I’ve got the name of a handyman quoted in a couple of the reports though.

  That was interesting…

  Who is it?

  Juan Rivera, former handyman and gardener. He worked at the Dawson Place house. I don’t know if he’s alive, but it might be worth looking him up. The last address I found for him was in Notting Hill. Reports also mention a housekeeper, but no name is given.

  I started to buzz with excitement at the thought of speaking with someone who could give me a firsthand account of life with the Vanes—and perhaps even details of Julian’s drowning and Clarissa’s accidental death… Although first I had to find out if Juan Rivera was still alive and in the neighborhood—and if he was willing to talk to me. I wrote back to Sebastian:

  Definitely worth looking into. If we find him, he might lead us to the housekeeper too. See if you can trace him. Otherwise I have an idea who I can ask. We’ll do it at lunchtime. Do you have an address for Jane?

  Sebastian:

  Still searching.

  Me:

  Maybe I can find something out at my appointment at Vane HQ…

  We exchanged a few more messages, and I learned that so far Sebas
tian’s inquiries into Gavin’s comings and goings of the last few weeks weren’t bringing much up. I’d put Sebastian in contact with Tallulah, and he’d asked her for more information. He’d also spoken to Gavin’s agent and the friend who’d had his laptop, but he’d gleaned nothing new. On the other hand, while checking out Tallulah and Gavin’s flat (from the outside and unbeknownst to Tallulah), Sebastian had asked around in the local shops and cafés about Gavin, but found out most from the barman in the pub.

  Apparently, Gavin had ducked into the pub on Saturday night on his way home. He’d been in a bit of a state because he thought he was being followed but had no idea by whom. Then, after a drink, Gavin had seemed to calm down and wasn’t sure if his mind was just playing tricks on him, the barman said.

  I wrote to Sebastian that I’d send him a message after my visit to Vane HQ. We’d decide where to meet then. Then I put my phone away, and for the last few minutes of my bus ride, I looked over my notes:

  The photo. Gavin chose to include a photograph that was not part of his job brief on a flash drive of images that otherwise fit the job description. Furthermore, someone seems to be trying to steal the flash drive from him. Why? Because of the photo? If so, what is it about the photo that someone wants to keep to themselves?

  Gavin. So far no skeletons in Gavin’s closet and no new information, apart from the fact that at one point last week he thought he was being followed… By the person who attacked him? Or…?

  The family: Johnny Vane, Georgie Vane, Caro Moretti, and Jane Wimple (technically not family, but close to them). These four people seem most likely to know something about the photo. Will questioning them about the pic reveal why someone wanted it hidden? And will that put me in harm’s way?

  Water. A recurring theme. Gavin’s trousers and shoes were wet at the time of his attack. Why? Furthermore, he was attacked near water (on the Embankment near Westminster Bridge). Johnny and his brother, Julian, were photographed standing knee-deep in water. And Sebastian has confirmed that Julian, Johnny’s twin, drowned in the Thames.

  The past. Can’t help returning to this because my gut tells me Gavin’s attack was linked to the old photograph. I need to keep digging.