Alice-Miranda in Paris 7

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Fayle student Rufus Pemberley added his two cents worth. ‘Well, maybe someone stole that Moaning Lisa painting.’

  ‘Goodness me, you two should be crime writers.’ Mr Plumpton shook his head.

  ‘And it’s the Mona Lisa, Sherlock Holmes,’ said Sloane. She pulled a face at Rufus.

  ‘It’s been stolen before, you know,’ Figgy said. ‘Some Italian guy just walked out with it and kept it for two years.’

  Mr Plumpton frowned. ‘Yes, that’s true, Master Figworth. But how did you know that?’

  ‘I read it somewhere,’ the boy replied.

  Mr Plumpton was impressed. Perhaps the lad was more of a scholar than people gave him credit for.

  Miss Grimm led the group along the footpath towards the police cars that were now parked untidily across the road.

  A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair rushed out of the front door of a townhouse. A young woman wearing a red and black polka dot skirt, white blouse and perilously high red heels followed behind him.

  ‘Nous avons été volés,’ the man shouted.

  ‘What did he say?’ Millie asked no one in particular.

  ‘I think he just said that he’d been robbed,’ Mr Plumpton replied.

  ‘Cool,’ Figgy said again.

  ‘I don’t think that fellow would agree with you.’

  Miss Grimm wasn’t keen to walk into the middle of a police investigation, so she led the children to the other side of the street.

  ‘That poor man seems very upset,’ Alice-Miranda commented to Miss Reedy. The child turned to look at him again. ‘I think I’ve seen him somewhere before.’

  ‘I don’t recognise him,’ Miss Reedy replied. ‘But that doesn’t mean much. You’ve met a lot of people, Alice-Miranda. It’s entirely possible that you’ve come into contact with him before, knowing your parents’ connections.’

  One of the policemen pulled out a notebook and began to ask the man some questions.

  By now the children were too far away to hear the conversation.

  ‘Come along, everyone,’ Miss Grimm turned and called to her charges. She was eager to get inside the cathedral and away from the drama outside. Police sirens and speeding cars were not on her list of sightseeing priorities.

  Alice-Miranda’s mind was ticking over as she tried to remember where she could have seen the grey-haired man. If Miss Grimm hadn’t been in such a hurry she might have run back and introduced herself, even though her French wasn’t very good. But the headmistress did not intend to stop.

  The children, flanked by their teachers, walked into the cathedral. The drama outside was forgotten as an invisible cloak of silence wrapped around them.

  Somewhere in the gallery, a boy began to sing; the purity of his voice sent shivers through the visitors below.

  Alice-Miranda shuffled through the crowd to stand beside Millie. Both girls gazed up into the vast space.

  ‘What do you think?’ Alice-Miranda whispered.

  ‘Oh my goodness, it’s beautiful,’ Millie gasped.

  Fabien Bouchard blinked. He rolled over, shielding his eyes from the bright light that flooded the room.

  ‘No,’ he groaned. ‘I was having such a lovely dream.’

  ‘What were you dreaming about this time?’ his mother asked as she tied back the last curtain on the three double-height windows.

  ‘Football,’ Fabien answered.

  ‘Oh my darling, football is for children and sweaty middle-aged men. At least you could dream about something important, like fashion. Half the day is gone and you have masterpieces to create,’ she said.

  The woman was dressed in tailored black pants and a simple black silk top. Her thick, ebony-coloured hair was pulled off her face in a low chignon and her pale face was free of make-up. Although there were some fine lines around the edges of her green eyes, she looked younger than her forty-three years.

  ‘But I’m exhausted,’ the boy sighed.

  ‘I know you are, Fabien, but we must work hard to repay your uncle’s kindness. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know where we would be.’ The woman stood for a moment, staring out of the window and onto the street below.

  Fabien sat up and watched her. ‘Mama, are you all right?’

  She spun around and walked over to the enormous bed, then perched on its edge. ‘Of course. It’s just that there have been so many sacrifices, Fabien. But soon you will have everything you have ever wanted.’

  All he wanted was to go home to Guernsey. He doubted that was what she meant.

  She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. ‘You need to get up and make your mama proud.’

  ‘Will you come to the show?’ he asked excitedly.

  She pulled away and crossed her arms in front of her. ‘I’m sorry but it’s just not possible. Maybe one day.’

  Fabien’s face fell.

  ‘Please don’t look like that,’ she begged.

  Fabien pushed himself back against the pillows. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. Now you’re upset.’

  ‘No, I am not upset, Fabien. I just can’t come. That’s all. Now, hurry up. The day is wasting and I need to talk to you about some of the designs. Your Uncle Claude will be back soon.’

  She hurried from the room.

  Fabien threw off the covers and swivelled his feet to the floor. He pulled on some trousers and a shirt without even pausing to admire their beautiful cut and cloth, and followed his mother down the hall.

  ‘Now tell me, Fabien, what is this we have used on the bodice?’ she asked when he caught up to her. They stood in a large room surrounded by mannequins dressed in splendid gowns.

  ‘Lace,’ he said.

  Neither Fabien nor his mother heard Claude’s silent footsteps as he entered the room.

  ‘Of course it’s lace,’ the man snapped. Fabien and his mother jumped like startled cats. ‘Any buffoon knows that. Your mother wants to know what type of lace it is.’

  ‘Bonjour, monsieur.’ Sybilla moved across the room and kissed her brother on both cheeks. ‘It’s good to have you home again.’

  ‘Oui, I am glad to be home. These business trips are so tiresome,’ he sighed, then raised his eyebrows. ‘But profitable.’ The man turned his attention back to Fabien. ‘Now, answer your mother. What type of lace is that?’

  The young man hesitated. ‘Chantilly?’

  Madame Bouchard sighed deeply and glanced at her brother. ‘No. It’s Venetian. From the finest Italian lace makers. Have I taught you nothing, my son?’

  ‘I just draw the pictures, Mama. I don’t know why I need to have a thousand fabrics catalogued in my head too,’ Fabien complained.

  His uncle snorted. ‘If you want to be the world’s most important designer, you need to know more than that, dear boy.’

  ‘I never said that I wanted to be the world’s most important designer. You did.’

  The man stiffened. ‘You have more talent in your little finger than most people have in their whole body and yet you taunt us, Fabien. Don’t you want to be someone? To make your mark on this world? To show them.’

  Fabien wondered who his uncle meant by ‘them’ but he didn’t dare ask.

  ‘Now listen to your mother and learn.’ Claude glanced at his watch.

  ‘Are you going out again?’ Sybilla asked.

  ‘Oui. Is there anything you need before I go?’

  ‘The green satin; I am ready to cut the pattern,’ she replied.

  ‘I will bring it up,’ he offered.

  ‘Where are you going, Uncle Claude?’ Fabien wished his uncle would offer to take him too.

  ‘That is not for you to be concerned about. It’s just business.’ He stalked out of the room, leaving Fabien and Sybilla to their work.

  ‘Come along, darling. We will make some notes and then Uncle Claude will be pleased. You know he loves us very much,’ said Sybilla as she patted her son on the arm.

  Fabien knew that. It’s just that sometimes he wished things were different.

  Al
ice-Miranda noticed that Sloane was limping. ‘Are you all right?’

  Sloane shook her head and stumbled as she tried to keep up with the rest of the group. ‘My feet hurt.’

  At the head of the line, Professor Winterbottom, the headmaster of Fayle, and Mr Grump, Miss Grimm’s husband, were maintaining a brisk pace on their way to the hotel from Notre Dame.

  ‘I’ve got a blister,’ Sloane complained, then suddenly knelt down in the middle of the path to inspect it. Ophelia Grimm, who was marching along behind and looking at the scenery, almost tripped over her.

  ‘Sloane! Don’t just stop like that. It’s dangerous,’ the headmistress admonished. She straightened herself up and studied Sloane’s silver sandals. ‘Perhaps you should have thought about wearing more sensible shoes. I warned you that we’d be walking quite a distance today. It’s the best way to orientate yourself in a new city.’

  Deidre Winterbottom stopped beside Sloane. ‘Now let me take a look, dear.’ The headmaster’s wife examined Sloane’s feet before reaching into her giant backpack and producing an astonishing array of bandaids. ‘Good gracious, it’s a miracle you could walk at all with the size of that monster,’ Mrs Winterbottom noted.

  Within a few seconds, Sloane’s left heel was sporting a large plaster and her right had a smaller covering.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Winterbottom,’ Sloane said.

  ‘That must feel better already,’ said Alice-Miranda, as she reached out to hold Sloane’s hand.

  ‘I don’t know why we couldn’t have taken the bus back,’ the older girl grouched as she limped along. She wished she’d worn her own footwear instead of borrowing brand new shoes from Jacinta.

  ‘It’s not much further now,’ the headmistress confirmed. ‘Just around the corner.’

  Sloane looked worried. Miss Grimm’s ‘just around the corner’ was usually at least another mile, but this time she was pleasantly surprised. Professor Winterbottom turned onto a narrow road and there in front of them was l’Hôtel Lulu.

  To the right of the front door, a delicate pair of ornate iron gates led into a courtyard. Professor Winterbottom guided the children inside, where they quickly sat on the wooden benches lining the enclosure. The small space was beautifully decorated with a lion’s head wall fountain and rows of red geraniums. Miss Grimm and Mrs Winterbottom headed into reception to sort out the rooms and keys.

  Sloane took off her shoes as soon as she was seated.

  ‘Does anyone know what we’re having for dinner tonight?’ called Rufus Pemberley.

  ‘Yeah, I could eat a horse,’ Figgy added.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Sep grinned. ‘The French eat horses, you know.’

  ‘Really?’ Figgy grimaced. ‘Then again, I suppose it’s just like eating a cow.’

  Jacinta shuddered. ‘Oh, disgusting. I’m sure that’s not true.’

  ‘It is, Jacinta,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Lots of people around the world eat horses. I can’t imagine it, though – I’d just see Bony staring up at me from the plate, or Rockstar or Chops. I couldn’t do it, I’m afraid, and I’ve eaten quite a lot of unusual things.’

  ‘We’ll be walking to a restaurant not far from here,’ Mr Grump informed the children. ‘We’ll meet back here at six thirty, once you’ve settled into your rooms.’

  ‘Not more walking,’ Sloane whined.

  ‘What sort of food are we really having?’ Jacinta asked tentatively, hoping Sep had been kidding about the horses.

  ‘Just the usual French delicacies. You know, snails, frogs’ legs, that sort of thing,’ said Mr Grump. He laughed as the children squirmed.

  Sloane pulled a face. ‘I’m not eating any of that.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Jacinta agreed.

  ‘Frogs’ legs are delicious, Jacinta,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘They taste a bit like chicken. And snails are not as rubbery as you might think.’

  ‘Count me out for both. I’m not eating Kermit and I’d rather chew on a rubber band than eat a snail,’ Sloane quipped.

  ‘I’ll try snails.’ Figgy was now pretending to put his finger up his nose. ‘They probably taste like snot, Jacinta, and I’m sure you know what that’s like. Mmm, salty.’ He licked his lips.

  ‘You are disgusting,’ Sloane wailed.

  ‘Figworth, you can stop that nonsense right now,’ said Professor Winterbottom, glaring at the lad. Sometimes he wondered if the boy had a brain at all inside that boofy head of his. Who would have guessed that Fayle’s star second rower, a veritable giant of a lad, had the voice of an angel?

  ‘It’s all right, Jacinta. There will be plenty of regular food on the menu too,’ said Mr Grump. He’d decided he had better not upset the children too much. He didn’t want to get into trouble with his wife.

  It wasn’t long before Miss Grimm and Mrs Winterbottom reappeared holding a handful of plastic hotel keys.

  ‘Can I have everyone’s attention, please?’ called Miss Grimm. ‘Children, you will be sharing two to a room. Each of you will have your own key. Please don’t lose them. Girls will be on the second and third floors and boys on the fourth and fifth with teachers interspersed throughout. I will give you a list of room numbers for the teachers, who will be available should you need anything. I don’t expect to find girls on the boys’ floors or vice versa. Is that understood?’ Miss Grimm smiled at her young charges.

  ‘Yes, Miss Grimm,’ the children chorused.

  ‘The rooms have been allocated at random. I know that some are larger than others but I have no idea which is which. It’s simply the luck of the draw.’ Miss Grimm scanned the list in her hand. ‘Alice-Miranda, you’re sharing with Millie in room 201 . . . Jacinta, you and Sloane are together in room 202 . . .’

  The girls stepped forward to receive their keys. Mr Grump and Mr Plumpton showed them to the storeroom to collect their luggage and with military precision Miss Grimm had everyone in their rooms within fifteen minutes.

  ‘I wonder if there’s a view,’ said Millie. She pulled back the curtains to reveal a wall. ‘Ahh, no, not unless you’re a fan of old bricks.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Alice-Miranda as she opened her suitcase. ‘I’m sure we won’t be here very much anyway. It sounds like Miss Grimm has a busy schedule arranged.’

  The room was tiny, with two single beds, a chest of drawers and a bathroom that just fitted a shower, toilet and basin. The minute window opened only a fraction and there was barely enough room for the girls to drag their suitcases around the floor.

  ‘Sloane will be whining her head off if their room is the same as ours,’ Millie said.

  There was a loud knock on the door.

  Alice-Miranda opened it and Sloane and Jacinta rushed into the room, tripping over Alice-Miranda’s suitcase and sprawling side by side onto her bed.

  The girls laughed as Jacinta performed a dainty forward roll only to find herself wedged between the two beds.

  She propped herself up on her elbows, looking like an otter with its head poking out of the sea.

  ‘So, this is your room?’ Sloane said, as she and Jacinta traded broad smiles.

  ‘Yes. It’s small, but perfectly formed,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘Seriously? It’s just small, Alice-Miranda,’ Jacinta scoffed.

  ‘Why? What’s your room like?’ Millie asked.

  ‘It’s a mansion compared to this one,’ said Sloane smugly.

  ‘Come on then, let’s see.’ Millie grabbed Jacinta’s hand to help her out of the tight spot and the girls charged off across the hallway.

  Sloane swiped the key and opened the door to reveal a huge sitting room complete with two lounge chairs, a small coffee table and a fireplace. Through another doorway was a double bedroom, with not one but two double beds and a bathroom with a large spa.

  Millie was gobsmacked. ‘Wow! This is ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  Both rooms had views of the street too.

  ‘I suppose I can
’t complain about being in a broom cupboard now, can I?’ Sloane said. ‘Although you two could.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to. Miss Grimm would soon find you one.’ Millie giggled. ‘Her room’s probably not nearly as good as this. Don’t let her in or she might want to swap.’

  Alice-Miranda shook her head. ‘Miss Grimm wouldn’t do that. Well, not unless we suggest it.’ She winked at Millie.

  ‘What?’ Sloane’s mouth gaped open. ‘I always thought you were the only truly nice person I’d ever met Alice-Miranda.’

  ‘Hey! What about us?’ Millie looked at Jacinta and the two of them glared at Sloane.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Sloane replied. ‘Alice-Miranda’s, like, weirdly nice. You’re just normal nice.’

  Alice-Miranda grinned. ‘I wouldn’t really tell. Anyway, Miss Grimm said it was just the luck of the draw whoever got the best rooms, and I think you two won the lottery this time.’

  Upstairs, Sep and Lucas were busy sorting out their things when Sep realised that his backpack was missing. He thought he’d left it down in the courtyard and so went to ask Mr Lipp if he could collect it.

  The boy flew down the stairs two at a time and was relieved to spy his backpack, which contained his camera and wallet, beside the bench he’d been sitting on. As he picked up the bag, he was distracted by a voice coming from the street.

  He walked towards the iron gates to take a look. Across the road a wiry man wearing a black beret was speaking in French with the odd English word in between. Sep looked to see who he was talking to, then realised the man was on the telephone. He didn’t sound happy at all.

  ‘Non chinchilla! Vigogne, tu comprends?’

  The man finished the conversation and jammed the phone into his trouser pocket. Then he walked around to the boot of a black sedan and popped it open. He leaned in and picked up a long roll of something. Sep thought it might have been a rug.

  The man carried the roll down a set of stairs into a basement before returning to the car and picking up another one.

  Sep’s shoes crunched on the gravel and the man looked up and spotted him. The fellow stared at Sep and then slowly nodded his head.