Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 (26 page)

‘Turn that music off, now!’ the intruder screamed.

‘Oh my goodness, that’s Ambrosia Headlington-Bear,’ Cecelia gasped. ‘What on earth is she doing?’

Jacinta also realised that the woman on the catwalk was her mother. ‘Mummy!’ she shouted.

The DJ sitting off to the side of the runway removed his headphones and looked at the woman.

‘Don’t just stand there, turn it off,’ she demanded.

Flashes went off like a fireworks display from the paparazzi covering the event.

Dux LaBelle stopped his preening and stood awkwardly in the middle of the runway.

A small, rat-like man poked his head around from the curtain.

‘Madame Headlington-Bear, what are you doing?’ he whispered loudly. He had looked everywhere for her earlier. She had promised to invest in the label and he desperately wanted her cheque.

There were murmurs throughout the audience, with many people wondering if Ambrosia was having some sort of breakdown. After all, there had been rumours that she and her husband had split and perhaps everything had taken its toll.

‘Mummy,’ Jacinta called. ‘I need to tell you something important.’

Ambrosia shook her head. ‘It’s all right, darling. I think I’ve got this covered.’

Jacinta wanted to tell her mother about Dux before she made an outrageous claim and ruined her new career as a writer before it had even started.

‘I am afraid that we are victims here today. All of us. Victims of fraud,’ Ambrosia’s voice boomed. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. ‘Dux LaBelle is not an outrageously talented designer. He’s a charlatan, a fake, and that man there –’ she pointed at Claude – ‘has done this sort of thing before. Or at least, his sister has. Stealing designs!’

Claude’s nose twitched. His eyes darted left and right, looking for the nearest exit. ‘Dux,’ he called, taking some tentative steps towards the boy. ‘Come here.’

But Dux seemed to be rooted to the spot.

‘Christian Fontaine?’ shouted Ambrosia. ‘Are you here?’

The audience gasped again as Christian stood up in the second row.

‘Hey!’ a paparazzo called. ‘I saw you on the news an hour ago.’ He was pointing at Claude. ‘You stole the fabric from him.’ Now he pointed at Christian Fontaine.

Claude gulped. He looked at his watch. The fabric would have been picked up by now – his men were very reliable. They would never be able to prove anything.

Lucinda Finkelstein stood up. ‘And I think your assistant might know something about the robbery too, Monsieur Fontaine,’ she said.

‘Adele?’ Christian asked, confused. ‘She was the one who found the CCTV footage.’

‘She is the guilty one,’ Claude sneered, then realised he should have kept his mouth shut.

The audience gasped.

Lucinda shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. When we were at Versailles, Millie and I saw her. She was on the phone and she sounded terrified, as if someone was making her do something she didn’t want to do.’

Ambrosia Headlington-Bear was stunned. She hadn’t realised her investigation would lead to solving another crime. As far as she was concerned she’d exposed Dux as a fake and nothing more.

‘But that’s not all,’ Jacinta added. ‘Alice-Miranda and Mr Plumpton and Sep have all gone with Fabien, who’s the real Dux, to intercept the pick-up of that stolen vicuna. I tried to tell you, Mummy, but Mr Lipp wouldn’t let me speak to you.’

Harry Lipp gulped.

‘But who’s that there?’ Ophelia Grimm’s heart was racing as she pointed at the masked man on the catwalk. She wished someone had told her about all this before now. Heavens knows what was going on with her children out there in the city.

Ambrosia Headlington-Bear strutted towards the lad and pulled off the mask.

Professor Winterbottom almost choked. ‘Figgy? What on earth?’

The boy shrugged. ‘Mr Plumpton said I’d be doing everyone a huge favour and it seemed like fun, sir. Pretty cool, huh?’

‘I’ll give you cool, young man!’ Professor Winterbottom huffed. But he didn’t move; he didn’t know what to think.

Everyone was too busy watching the unveiling of Dux LaBelle to notice Claude skulking back down the runway. He dashed behind the curtains and disappeared.

Ambrosia turned around to face the little weasel and jumped. ‘Where’s Gilbert or Claude or whatever his name is?’

But someone had been watching. There was a loud crash and the sound of a scuffle.

‘No you don’t, monsieur!’ Alice-Miranda shouted.

Every head in the place turned to see what was going on now.

‘We’ve got him!’ Mr Plumpton cried. Alice-Miranda and Sep were dangling from the waist and shoulders of Claude Bouchard, while Mr Plumpton had a hand clamped around the man’s wrist.

‘Let me go, you little monsters,’ Claude yelled.

The children jumped off and joined their teacher in marching the dishevelled man back down the catwalk.

At the other end of the salon, the doors burst open. Fabien, his mother and a policeman ran into the room.

‘Arrest that man!’ Sybilla Bouchard shouted in French as she pointed at her brother.

The policeman made a dive onto the catwalk, where Claude was quickly cuffed. He stood sulking at the audience.

‘I just want to know why, Claude.’ Sybilla walked up the stairs to face him. ‘Why did you do it?’ She waved one of the letters she’d found in the basement in front of his face.

‘He didn’t deserve you,’ Claude spat. ‘He used you.’

‘So you stole from him and made it look like it was me,’ she said. Her eyes drilled right through him.

‘I had to. You don’t know what it’s like to be me, Sybilla. You were so beautiful and clever and when you married him, I knew eventually you would dump me. You were so perfect together and everybody loved you. I was nobody.’

‘So you built an empire based on theft and fraud and in doing so made sure that my son never knew his own father?’ Sybilla demanded.

The French-speakers in the audience gasped.

Sybilla sneered at her brother. ‘And this time? Did you steal from him again?’

‘Huh! It was so easy. And that assistant of his was so stupid and loyal to him, like a puppy,’ Claude scoffed.

‘You are despicable, Claude. Take him away.’ She motioned to the policeman.

‘I’m confused,’ Rufus called out. ‘What are they saying?’

Mr Plumpton quickly translated the events of the past few minutes for the English speakers among the group.

There was another gasp as they realised just what a wicked little man Claude was.

‘My father?’ Fabien walked towards his mother.

‘Your father accused me of something I didn’t do. But I had no proof and I was hurt that he could even think of blaming me. I thought that if I left for a while, he would calm down and we could sort things out. But then I found out that I was pregnant with you. I wrote to your father every week, begging him to understand. To take me back so together we could find out the truth. But I got no answer. I thought he didn’t care. That he didn’t want to have anything to do with us. But now I know that the letters never even reached him. I found them all today, hidden in Claude’s secret trunk with the photographs and sketches he had stolen and the names of all his evil associates.’

‘But who is my father?’ Fabien asked.

A cough made the audience turn to the tall man with salt and pepper hair, who was walking towards the catwalk.

Sybilla spun around and saw him. The colour drained from her cheeks.

‘I think I am.’ The man walked slowly up the steps. He held out his hand to Fabien. ‘I am Christian Fontaine.’

Fabien reached out to shake Christian’s hand and was immediately drawn into his arms.

The whole salon was awash with tears.

‘And you . . . my wife.’ Christian let go of Fabien and stood back to look at Sybilla. ‘For years I have tried to banish you from my thoughts but I have wondered where you were every day.’

Sybilla rushed into his embrace. The audience rose to their feet, clapping and cheering.

Mr Plumpton found himself standing beside Miss Reedy. She brushed a tear from her cheek. ‘How wonderful to see a family reunited,’ she said. ‘It sounds as if they can thank you for helping.’

‘I didn’t do much at all – just drove the car, really,’ he said, blushing. ‘But it
is
wonderful to see people in love.’ The Science teacher slipped his hand into hers and gave a squeeze.

‘Oh, Josiah,’ she said, with a teary smile.

‘May I take you to dinner, Miss Reedy?’

‘Of course. I thought you would never ask.’

The clapping and cheering finally died down and Christian let go of Sybilla. He stepped back and looked around him.

‘I am confused about one thing. This collection. Who is the real designer, or is it all stolen?’ he asked.

‘I am,’ Fabien confirmed. ‘It’s all mine. Uncle Claude gave me a photograph to use for the final gown, but I came up with my own. The photo was of a beautiful creation, but I could not copy it. I suspect it might have been one of yours.’

Ambrosia Headlington-Bear goggled at the boy. ‘You’re a genius.’

‘Yes, my son is a genius,’ said Christian. He patted Fabien on the back.

Alice-Miranda scampered over to Ambrosia. She tugged on the woman’s sleeve and then whispered in her ear.

‘Yes, that’s a great idea.’ Ambrosia walked along the catwalk and disappeared behind the curtains, returning a few seconds later. She turned to the audience. ‘I give you Fabien, the real Dux LaBelle, and his magnificent collection,’ she announced.

Ambrosia nodded at the DJ. The music kicked in and the models strutted the runway once more. A cheer went up from the audience and Alice-Miranda and her friends clapped wildly. Fabien smiled. He wondered what life had in store for him next.

But whatever the future held, somehow he just knew that things would work out for the best.

Claude Bouchard was charged with theft, fraud, extortion and myriad other crimes, including tax evasion. He was destined to spend a long time in prison. Although Alice-Miranda and her friends had been too late to stop Claude’s goons collecting the shipment of luxury fabric from the basement, there were witnesses. Monsieur Crabbe had been in the courtyard when suddenly Lulu became very upset, barking and growling. She didn’t like the look of the gruff men and their van and neither did he. Monsieur Crabbe memorised the licence plate number and reported it to the police. The van was tracked to a huge warehouse in Calais right by the port, where Claude distributed his ill-gotten gains. The vicuna was found among a vast quantity of expensive fabric.

Charlotte Highton-Smith was amazed to receive the most extraordinary inside account of what happened at the LaBelle show. Rosie Hunter’s writing was outstanding and she seemed to know things that nobody else covering the story did. She immediately put her on contract to write about all the shows for Highton’s. She is still hoping to meet her some day soon.

Jacinta was thrilled that her mother had found a new passion. But they agreed to keep it just between themselves for now. Sooner or later it was bound to get out but it was fun having a special secret. The first time Jacinta saw the name Rosie Hunter in a magazine she couldn’t have felt more proud.

Lucinda couldn’t believe what an exciting time they had in Paris. Alice-Miranda invited her to come and stay at Highton Hall as soon as she could. There was even some talk of a school exchange. Lucinda has her fingers crossed extra tight.

Mr Plumpton and Miss Reedy spent their first date at the famous Parisian restaurant La Tour d’Argent. It’s early days yet, but if Alice-Miranda has anything to say about it, there will be another wedding at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale before the year is out.

Harry Lipp was particularly put out that his plans to woo Livinia Reedy had failed. However, all was not lost. The lady at the Ritz with the giant headset seemed particularly taken with him, so he asked her to dinner instead.

Adele confessed all to her boss. She felt like such a fool to have been conned by Claude. Monsieur Fontaine was so overjoyed to have his wife back and now a son too that he decided to give her a second chance. After all, didn’t everyone deserve one?

Monsieur and Madame Crabbe and Lulu had never enjoyed such an exciting time with their guests. And when Charlotte Highton-Smith said that she would invite them to the premiere of Lawrence’s next movie, Madame Crabbe almost fainted on the spot. She immediately set off to the shops to find the perfect outfit – even though the event was a year away.

On their way home from the show, Alice-Miranda remembered the button in her pocket. She pulled it out and examined it. Of course, the first letter wasn’t a G, it was a C for Christian Fontaine.

Sybilla and Christian renewed their vows in Notre Dame Cathedral with their son Fabien as the best man. For now, Fabien is back at school. He says he’s got a while to decide if he makes fashion his career. But in the meantime, he’s teamed up with his father and mother to produce at least one collection a year. Their business, Fontaine and LaBelle, is flourishing.