Alice-Miranda in Paris 7

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Adele?’ said Christian. She looked up. ‘Are you sure that you wouldn’t like to accompany me to the LaBelle show? It might be a welcome distraction.’

  ‘No, monsieur, I have a lot of work to finish and I’d like to leave a little early if I may?’ she said. She forced herself to smile naturally.

  ‘Of course. Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Since the robbery you haven’t seemed yourself at all.’

  ‘I’m fine, monsieur. Just a little out of sorts, I suppose,’ she replied.

  ‘Have you heard from the insurance company yet?’ he asked.

  ‘No, monsieur.’ She looked down at her desk.

  ‘Please get onto them. I will need that money soon,’ he said. ‘And did you have any luck with the surveillance footage from the buildings across the road?’

  Adele’s mouth was dry. The day before, she had realised that several of the shops across the road from the atelier had security cameras mounted on their facades. But so far, none of them were pointing the right way and the one that would have showed their building was broken. Adele had thought that if she could find out who the thief was and lay a trap, maybe she could get the fabric back without stealing Christian’s designs as well.

  ‘Never mind. The police are investigating. There is still some hope.’

  Adele had never felt more hopeless in her life. Not only was she now in cahoots with the thief, she was about to steal from her beloved boss, in the hope that she could get back the fabric that she had forgotten to insure.

  Christian took his coat off the peg near the door.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ he called.

  ‘Monsieur!’ Adele called out.

  ‘Oui, what is it?’

  She had been about to tell him everything but the sound of the man’s voice entered her head: ‘I can make people disappear,’ he had said.

  ‘Nothing. I will see you tomorrow,’ Adele mumbled.

  Her phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out and stared at the screen. It was a private number. No doubt it would be him, with more demands and more instructions.

  ‘Bonjour,’ she answered, her voice trembling. ‘What did you say? You have found something? Some footage, of a man?’ Her heart felt as if it might burst out of her chest. ‘I will be there in a minute. Merci! Merci!’

  Adele couldn’t believe it. The detective said that they were almost certain they knew the identity of the thief. Now they just had to find him. She would not have to take Christian’s designs after all.

  As the children gathered in the courtyard waiting for Mr Lipp, Alice-Miranda glanced across the street. Outside the house with the black door, someone had erected a tent from the doorway to the road, enclosed on all sides. A black van parked against the kerb formed an extra shield. It was the strangest thing.

  ‘I wonder what’s going on over there?’ Alice-Miranda nudged Millie, who turned to look.

  Livinia Reedy had spotted the van too. She smiled to herself, wondering if the gowns she had seen the evening before were so top secret that they required such bizarre transportation.

  Mr Lipp appeared at the doorway. He wore plaid trousers in pink and green, a bright blue blazer and a yellow bow tie. A yellow beret completed the ensemble.

  Miss Grimm just shook her head. ‘Well, come along everyone. Mr Lipp, why don’t you lead the way? There is no chance any of us will get lost with such a beacon lighting our path.’

  ‘Ah, well, I was hoping to walk with Miss Reedy,’ the teacher replied.

  Miss Grimm noticed her English teacher’s mouth turn down ever so slightly. ‘I think you should come with me. And besides, I’ve organised a taxi to take Jacinta to the Ritz and Miss Reedy will be accompanying her.’ Miss Reedy mouthed ‘thank you’ to Miss Grimm.

  Mr Lipp looked wounded but fell into place beside Miss Grimm at the head of the line.

  Half an hour later the group arrived at the hotel. The Place Vendôme was already swarming with paparazzi eager to get photographs of the mysterious Dux LaBelle.

  Miss Grimm charged up the front steps and through the crowd. ‘Bonjour,’ she said to the security guard, who resembled a statue of Adonis. ‘My name is Ophelia Grimm and I have the Winchester-Fayle Singers with me. They are providing entertainment for the commencement of the LaBelle show.’

  The man spoke into an invisible microphone and a woman rushed out of the front doors armed with a clipboard and a serious-looking headset. Miss Grimm thought she looked equipped to be flying a spaceship, not running a fashion show.

  ‘Bonjour, madame, please bring the children through.’

  Miss Reedy and Jacinta had arrived earlier and were standing outside waiting for the others.

  Sloane looked over her shoulders and flicked her hair with a broad smile at the photographers. But Miss Reedy saw exactly what she was up to. ‘Oh, no you don’t, young lady.’ The teacher put her hand up to block the man’s camera. ‘No pictures of the children.’ She guided Sloane away by the arm.

  ‘But my mother would be so furious if I ended up on the pages of Gloss and Goss,’ Sloane griped.

  ‘Yes, and I would be too.’ Miss Reedy shielded Sloane with a discarded newspaper she’d picked up from the back of the taxi on the way over.

  The palatial foyer looked even more lavish than on their previous visit.

  ‘This place is ridiculous,’ Sloane said loudly. One of the staff gave her a very sour look. ‘I mean ridiculous in a good way.’

  The children were taken through the long foyer and into the grand salon. The runway was now finished and near the entrance, where the models would emerge, ‘LaBelle’ was emblazoned in swirly letters on the sumptuous silk curtains.

  Rows of duck-egg blue chairs with gold legs would provide seating for the guests, and thankfully the area reserved for the children was larger than Mr Lipp and Mr Trout had been expecting. Unlike at their first show, Mr Trout had a full-sized Steinway grand piano at his disposal.

  ‘You have thirty minutes to rehearse,’ the officious woman with the clipboard and headset informed Miss Grimm. ‘Then we have a final sound check, so you will need to take the children to the green room.’

  Mr Lipp rushed about positioning the children and soon enough they were running through the repertoire and doing very well.

  Towards the end of the rehearsal a woman entered the room. She was wearing a red puffball skirt, red striped stockings like something out of a Dr Seuss book and a white blouse with the most enormous bow at the neck. Her lips were also bright red and her hair was teased up on top of her head.

  As the final chord rang out, and the other staff members clapped, the woman let out a shrill whistle.

  Mr Lipp turned. ‘I’d know that whistle anywhere. Saskia, darling!’

  The woman rushed over and the two embraced. When she finally released Mr Lipp, he introduced her to the group.

  ‘Everyone, this is my sister, Saskia Lipp. She’s the reason we’re here enjoying the delights of Paris.’

  Saskia beamed.

  Mrs Winterbottom leaned over and whispered to Miss Grimm. ‘A love of fashion clearly runs in the family.’

  The headmistress nodded and then stepped forward. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Lipp. And thank you on behalf of all of us for this most wonderful opportunity. The children have had a ball and it’s been a lot of fun for us grown-ups too.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure.’ Saskia shook Miss Grimm’s hand. ‘Unfortunately I can’t stay. There’s a floral disaster over at the Didior show. They had a million blooms hand placed into specially built oasis walls and one of them has taken a tumble. I have to source twenty thousand white daisies before three o’clock.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve got a challenge on your hands there,’ Miss Grimm replied. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you and thanks again.’

  The children chorused their thanks as well and Saskia dashed away.

  Miss Grimm directed the children to the green room, which she had investigated during the earlier part of the rehearsal. T
hey went through a set of ornate doors into a rather stark hallway, which was clearly not meant for paying guests to see. There were doors on both sides and another hallway at the end. A burly security man held open the door at the end and ushered the children through. It was a plain room strewn with chairs and with a single television screen mounted in the corner.

  ‘Someone will come to collect you five minutes before the start,’ the security man said.

  A heavily tinted black limousine pulled up at the back door of the hotel. Shielded from prying lenses by high walls and heavy security, Dux LaBelle swept out of the vehicle. He wore a black cape with a stunning magenta lining and the top half of his face was covered by a white mask. Another man exited the other side of the car. He was dressed in a blue suit with a matching beret atop his head.

  They were met by a uniformed fellow wearing an enormous headset. He bowed slightly. ‘Bonjour, Monsieur LaBelle. It is a pleasure to have you here at the Hôtel Ritz.’

  Dux nodded slightly but said nothing. The smaller man returned the gesture too.

  The pair were ushered downstairs into a long hall and directed to a tiny room. Once inside, the suited man turned to Dux.

  ‘I have to go and speak with someone. It’s very important. You must stay here until I return.’

  Dux nodded and the man scurried out the door.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Reedy,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘Jacinta needs to go to the toilet. Would you like me to go with her?’

  Millie raised her hand. ‘I do too.’

  ‘You can both go,’ Miss Reedy agreed. ‘There are some toilets at the end of the hallway, just around the corner.’

  The three girls left the room and walked to the end of the corridor. The bathroom was tiny but fortunately it had three cubicles.

  Alice-Miranda was in and out in a jiffy and decided to wait for the other two in the corridor. After a moment, a door opposite opened and a man wearing a cape and a mask walked out. He almost bumped into her.

  ‘Bonjour,’ said Alice-Miranda. She studied the man. He was tall and lean and his outfit seemed familiar. Suddenly she realised exactly who she was talking to. ‘Are you Dux LaBelle? I’ve heard about your brilliant masks and capes. It’s so lovely to meet you. My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones.’ She held out her tiny hand. ‘I’m in the Winchester-Fayle Singers. We’re very excited to be opening your show.’

  The man’s hand hovered for a moment before finally he reached down.

  ‘My goodness! You have the softest hands,’ she whispered.

  Dux flinched and withdrew. He folded his arms under the cape. Alice-Miranda studied him for another few seconds. And then she knew.

  ‘Fabien?’ She looked at the mask, searching for the eyes that were hidden behind tiny holes. ‘Is that you?’

  He placed his hand over her mouth and yanked her back through the door he’d come from. He quickly snipped the lock on the door.

  Millie and Jacinta emerged from the toilets and looked up and down the hallway. Alice-Miranda was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘She must have gone back to the room already,’ Millie said. But she was sure Alice-Miranda had said that she’d wait for them outside.

  Behind the locked door, Alice-Miranda spoke sternly to Dux LaBelle. ‘What’s going on? Why did you bring me in here?’

  The man gulped.

  Alice-Miranda looked at him again, wondering if she’d made a mistake.

  ‘Please take off your mask,’ she begged.

  Dux turned to the wall and pulled off his mask. Slowly, he turned around.

  ‘I knew it was you!’ Alice-Miranda clasped her hands together in delight. ‘But, you’re so young to be a fashion designer. I mean, you’re tall but you can only be fifteen or sixteen!’

  ‘That’s right. I am fifteen. Are you surprised?’

  ‘Of course. You’re amazing. Your designs are so beautiful. One of my friends, Jacinta Headlington-Bear – you met her yesterday – well, her mother wore one of your gowns to a huge awards ceremony a little while ago and she was on the cover of a magazine,’ Alice-Miranda prattled.

  Fabien looked away.

  Alice-Miranda took a step closer. ‘Why do you wear that mask?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ Fabien replied. ‘It is Uncle Claude and Mama’s idea. I have to be a mystery. They say no one must know. I will be more famous because of the intrigue.’

  ‘You live across the road from the hotel where we’re staying, don’t you?’

  ‘Oui,’ he said. ‘But my mama is unwell and I never really leave the house. When I saw you at the park yesterday it was the first time I had escaped.’

  ‘Escaped?’ Alice-Miranda was shocked.

  ‘I’m not allowed out. My mother is terrified that something bad will happen to me so I can only go out with my uncle but he is away on business most of the time.’

  Before Alice-Miranda could ask him anything else, they were both distracted by the blare of a news bulletin on the TV mounted to the wall. There was grainy footage of a man wearing a beret and carrying something. Then there was a picture of the designer Christian Fontaine.

  ‘That’s Christian Fontaine. We sang at his show. He was robbed of some very expensive fabric a week or so ago,’ the child said. ‘We saw him outside his studio with the police.’

  The footage changed back to the grainy CCTV shot of the man.

  Fabien stared. He stood up and walked closer to the television. ‘No! It can’t be!’

  ‘What? What’s the matter?’ Alice-Miranda looked at the boy, then back at the screen.

  The shot zoomed in.

  Fabien gasped. ‘That man is my uncle.’

  ‘But how can you tell?’ asked Alice-Miranda.

  Fabien held up his hand. ‘My uncle lost his middle finger in an accident when he was a boy. And I would know that hand anywhere. But how . . .’ The boy’s face drained of colour. ‘He is a thief?’ Fabien took a few moments to digest the news.

  ‘Are you sure it’s him?’ asked Alice-Miranda.

  ‘Uncle Claude told Mama that there would be a van arriving to pick up some stock from the basement. He told her that it was very important – he must be getting rid of the fabric.’

  ‘You don’t think your mother knows about this, do you?’ said Alice-Miranda.

  ‘No,’ Fabien shook his head firmly.

  ‘And where is your uncle now?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘He’s upstairs doing some business.’

  ‘We could call your mother,’ Alice-Miranda suggested.

  There was a telephone on a corner table. Fabien picked up the receiver to dial and then stopped.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Alice-Miranda.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know what the number is,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’ve never called it before.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Alice-Miranda patted the young lad on the shoulder. ‘We’ll find another way to contact her.’

  ‘We have to go there. Now, before Uncle Claude comes back.’ Fabien turned and walked towards the door.

  ‘But you can’t miss the show!’ said Alice-Miranda. She looked Fabien up and down. ‘I have an idea.’

  Millie and Jacinta returned from the toilet to the green room.

  Miss Grimm and Mrs Winterbottom had gone off in search of the morning tea the group was promised before the parade, and Mr Trout and Mr Lipp had disappeared to do the sound check.

  The children were sitting in pairs and small groups, some talking, others playing cards and games they’d been smart enough to bring in their daypacks. The girls joined Sep, Lucas and Sloane, who were watching the television in the corner.

  ‘Have you seen Alice-Miranda?’ Millie asked.

  ‘No, I thought she was with you,’ Sloane replied.

  ‘She was,’ said Millie. ‘Perhaps she went upstairs to see her mother and aunt. Hey, that’s Christian Fontaine, the guy we were supposed to sing for at Versailles.’

  The others looked up and saw a flash of th
e parade in the Hall of Mirrors and then the footage changed to the CCTV images.

  ‘I wonder if that’s the guy who stole that expensive llama fabric,’ Millie said. There was something about the man on the screen that niggled at Millie but she wasn’t sure what.

  Miss Grimm and Mrs Winterbottom returned empty-handed from their morning tea expedition and neither of them was happy about it.

  ‘Children, apparently you’re needed for a final, final rehearsal. They’ve had to move some things around at the last minute and Mr Trout’s a little anxious,’ announced Miss Grimm. Several more rows of chairs had been brought in and it looked like the children’s performance space had been depleted.

  ‘Anxious? That’s being rather kind, dear,’ Deidre Winterbottom whispered to her friend. ‘Apoplectic is more like it.’

  The children followed Miss Grimm and Mrs Winterbottom along the hallway towards the salon. Jacinta and Millie were last, with Jacinta hobbling on her crutches. Sep and Lucas were just ahead with Sloane.

  ‘Psst,’ a voice called.

  Millie spun around and saw Alice-Miranda poking her head out of a doorway. Sep heard it too.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Come here,’ Alice-Miranda whispered urgently. Sep tapped Lucas on the shoulder and he and Sloane stopped and turned around too.

  ‘What are you doing, Alice-Miranda?’ Sloane called.

  Sep clamped his hand over his sister’s big mouth. ‘Shh, come on.’ He directed Sloane, Lucas, Millie and Jacinta to fall behind the rest of the group. Fortunately Mrs Winterbottom had been distracted by an awful smell, which Figgy and Rufus were each claiming as their own.

  ‘You lads are utterly disgusting,’ Mrs Winterbottom crowed. ‘I’m so glad the professor and I don’t have to board with you lot any more.’

  Alice-Miranda’s friends piled into the room, which was a smaller version of the one they’d just come from.

  ‘What are we doing in here?’ said Sloane impatiently. ‘You know they’ll be looking for us in a minute.’

  Sep noticed the lad standing in the corner. ‘Fabien? What are you doing here?’