Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 (10 page)

While Ambrosia missed the glitz and adoration of her life with Neville, her relationship with Jacinta had improved markedly over the last little while. She hoped that Jacinta would be proud of her one day. She rather hoped she could be proud of
herself
, come to think of it. So while she missed Neville, and missed his wallet even more, she had decided that there was no point lamenting life as she had once known it. After all, she’d come from a family of very little means, and now she could go back there and make her own fortune – but this time, she’d do things differently.

Fabien Bouchard peered through the gap in the curtains. A large group of children tripped along the street, their laughter rising. It was the sound of happiness. Not long before, he had seen a boy looking at him from a window of the hotel across the way. He had wanted to wave but thought better of it.

His mother entered the room

‘Fabien, come and look at what I have finished today,’ she said. In her hands a black gown sparkled with the glare of thousands of tiny sequins.

Fabien’s eyes widened. ‘It’s spectacular.’

His mother pulled the dress over a naked mannequin and unfurled a long train.

‘It’s your best design yet,’ she said proudly.

Fabien turned up the hemline on the dress and admired the delicate stitching. ‘This work is beautiful.’

Sybilla’s mouth twitched into a smile. It was true, she was an outstanding seamstress.

‘Your show will be spectacular,’ she beamed.

Fabien paced back to the window. There was something he’d been thinking about asking her all afternoon. ‘Mama,’ he said tentatively. ‘Would you mind if I took a walk?’

‘A walk? What are you talking about, Fabien? You have work to do.’

Fabien flinched. She had seemed so well at the moment. ‘I thought I might go for some crepes and coffee?’

‘There is no need. I have a beautiful new coffee machine in the kitchen and if you want crepes I will make them for you.’

Her words were not unexpected but still they stung. He decided not to press her any further.

Sybilla Bouchard walked over to the drawing board. ‘Your uncle would like one last gown for the finale,’ she said. ‘What have you come up with today?’

Fabien had been sitting at that desk for hours and nothing had come to him. His mother lifted the drawing sitting atop the pile. Then he remembered what he had been doodling. He rushed towards her.

Sybilla pulled a page of cartoons from under the designs. She stared at her son, aghast.

‘This, this is what you have been doing all day? I am working my fingers to the bone and you repay me by drawing . . . what is that? Mickey Mouse?’

Fabien stared at her. ‘It’s just that I can’t think. I need some space, that’s why I wanted to go out – to walk in the sunshine and see some people.’

‘What people?’ Sybilla whispered.

Fabien looked at her. ‘Any people, Mama.’

He knew that he shouldn’t have asked but he couldn’t help himself.

Sybilla closed her eyes. ‘There are people out there who will hurt us, Fabien.’

‘Mama, please, no one will hurt us.’ Fabien walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders.

‘There are things you don’t know,’ she gulped.

‘Then tell me, Mama,’ he begged.

‘No, I cannot. You wouldn’t understand.’ Sybilla turned and walked away from him.

Fabien gulped. She was acting more strangely than ever.

His mother spun back around and looked at him. ‘You have wasted all this time drawing your childish cartoons – when will I have time to finish the sewing if you can’t even draw the gowns?’

‘Mama, please don’t be mad. I made a mistake. I promise that I will work harder,’ Fabien said.

‘I don’t know if that is true. Perhaps you are just like him after all,’ his mother hissed. She stormed from the room, slamming the door.

Fabien wondered what had just happened and who she was talking about.
Who
was he like? His father? He didn’t even know who he was.

He sat down at the drawing board and screwed up the cartoons that were strewn across it.

Fabien had no idea how long he’d been staring at the blank page when there was a gentle knock at the door.

‘Fabien?’ a voice called. The doorknob turned and his uncle entered the room. ‘Your mother tells me you are stuck.’

Fabien shrugged. ‘She is getting worse, I think. I’m worried about her.’

The older man walked towards him. ‘I warned you. Asking her permission to go out was not a very smart move, dear boy.’

‘But I am so bored, Uncle Claude,’ Fabien said. ‘Please take me out with you.’

‘No, I have business to attend to and you have this collection to finish. We must keep your mother happy, or who knows what she might do.’

Fabien drew in a sharp breath. ‘But I didn’t mean to upset her,’ he began.

‘Forget about it. I have something for you.’ Claude pulled a photograph from his pocket. Although the detail was blurred, the shape and colour of the gown was clear. ‘What do you think of this?’

Fabien took the picture from his hand. ‘It’s beautiful but what is it?’

‘It’s old. I thought you might like to use it – for inspiration.’

Fabien hesitated. ‘But it’s not mine.’

‘All fashion is recycled, Fabien. You can use this and make your mama proud, or suffer the consequences.’

‘But I cannot pass someone else’s work off as my own.’ Fabien shook his head. ‘That would be lying.’

‘You are so naive. So proud, just like him,’ his uncle scoffed.

‘Just like who?’ Fabien asked, staring at his uncle intently.

‘Never mind. Forget it.’ Claude turned and stalked from the room.

Fabien threw the photograph onto the desk and walked over to the window. Who were they talking about? He stared into the street for what seemed like an age until the children appeared, returning from their outing. There was a girl walking that little dog that was always with the man from the hotel. There was a boy bouncing a ball and a man wearing a bright orange leisure suit with matching shoes and a headband.

As they passed by, one of the boys looked up. It might have even been the same one who had seen him before. The lad waved. Fabien waved back. He did not care what his mother would say. If the only way to have contact with the outside world was through a window, so be it.

The children returned to the hotel in high spirits. Jacinta had scored the winning basket for Lucas’s team and Mr Lipp let the cat out of the bag that after dinner they were having a movie night complete with choc tops and popcorn. Tomorrow they would do some more sightseeing and there would be a rehearsal before their first performance on Tuesday afternoon. Mr Lipp had promised the teams a rematch too.

Sep glanced up at the building opposite. ‘Hey, there’s that guy I saw before,’ he said, waving. This time the fellow waved back.

Lucas looked up too. ‘We should see if he wants to join us for a game tomorrow afternoon. Even up the teams.’

‘He might be a bit old.’ Sep squinted, although the glimpse was only fleeting and he really couldn’t be sure what age the boy might be.

Mr Lipp held the front door open and the children streamed inside. ‘Might I say, you’re looking particularly lovely this afternoon, Livinia,’ he said with a broad smile at Miss Reedy. ‘Paris suits you.’

The English teacher blushed and whispered a barely audible thank you. Mr Plumpton’s forehead puckered as he wondered what Mr Lipp had said to her.

Lulu tripped across the tiled floor into reception. Monsieur Crabbe raced out from behind the desk and scooped her into his arms. She licked the side of his face.

‘Did you have a good walk, my little one?’

‘I think so,’ Alice-Miranda answered on the pooch’s behalf. ‘Although she was upset about something in one of the back gardens. We couldn’t see anything. Maybe it was a cat.’

‘Lulu does not care for cats. She ignores them,’ Monsieur Crabbe declared.

‘She doesn’t care for that bulldog either,’ Millie added.

‘Urgh, he is an ugly brute and always trying to, how you say, chat her up,’ said Monsieur Crabbe.

The rest of the group disappeared upstairs to get ready for dinner. Miss Reedy said they should be in the hotel restaurant in the basement at six o’clock.

Alice-Miranda and Millie bade farewell to Lulu and Monsieur Crabbe. Sloane had already gone with Jacinta.

‘Thank you for taking good care of her,’ said Monsieur Crabbe with a wink at the girls.

‘It was a pleasure, monsieur,’ said Alice-Miranda. Her attention was caught by a small television at the end of the reception desk. It showed a man talking, then the picture changed to a fashion parade before returning to the man. He was waving his hands about and looked very upset.

Alice-Miranda pointed at the television. ‘That’s the man we saw yesterday. He said that he’d been robbed and the police had just arrived outside the building when we were on our way to Notre Dame. Do you know his name?’ she asked Monsieur Crabbe.

‘That is Christian Fontaine. He is a very famous designer here in Paris and he is talking about a robbery.’

‘Of course! I knew I’d seen him somewhere before. He came to New York for the reopening of Highton’s on Fifth. I remember Mummy introduced me to him at the gala.’

‘What’s been stolen?’ Millie asked.

‘Fabric,’ Monsieur Crabbe replied.

‘Fabric?’ Millie scoffed. ‘That doesn’t seem like a very big deal.’

‘
Oui
, I would agree with you but it is very expensive fabric called
vigogne
,’ said Monsieur Crabbe.

‘What’s that?’ Millie asked.

‘Look, there on the screen. It is a beast from South America,’ Monsieur Crabbe pointed at a creature bearing a considerable resemblance to a llama.

‘I think that must be a vicuna. They look like llamas but they’re very rare. That’s why their fleece costs so much,’ Alice-Miranda answered.

‘Mademoiselle is correct,’ said Monsieur Crabbe. ‘The fleece is worth a fortune and Monsieur Christian had planned to use it for a garment in his collection.’

Millie looked at Alice-Miranda and shook her head. ‘A vicuna? Seriously, how would anyone know that?’

‘I read about them, I think,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Anyway, we’re singing at Christian Fontaine’s show at Versailles. I hope I get to meet him again.’

‘There is a reward for the missing goods,’ Monsieur Crabbe added as the news story ended. ‘It is more than I could spend in a year. That fabric must be worth much more.’

‘Poor Monsieur Christian,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘It’s no wonder he’s upset.’

After a hearty breakfast of croissants, pastries and scrambled eggs, Miss Grimm and Professor Winterbottom outlined the day’s activities. They would be taking a boat trip on the River Seine and then visiting Sacre Coeur. Afterwards they would return to the hotel for a rehearsal and then if there was still time, the children could have another trip to the park.

‘What’s Sacre Cor?’ asked Figgy, with a long emphasis on the ‘or’.

‘It’s a basilica,’ Professor Winterbottom replied, ‘and you pronounce it Sa-cre Ker, not cor.’

‘A ba-what-ica?’ Figgy replied.

‘A church, Figworth. It’s a giant white church on the top of a hill.’ The professor shook his head.