Finding Monsieur Right (2010) (34 page)

'N-no, I don't ...' Daisy began to say, startled.

'That's nothing!' Juanita said. 'When
I
was with him he had that thing for wearing leather trousers with no underwear!' She turned to wink at Raoul, who smiled back. 'I kept telling him: where's the mystery in that?'

'Well, I don't do that any more!' Raoul said mock-indignantly. 'No way!'

'With me,' Lola said, blowing a ribbon of smoke from her cigarette, 'it was his love affair with crazy golf. We had to go and play
every
weekend.'

'I still like crazy golf,' Raoul admitted. 'We can play in Deauville, baby,' he added, leaning towards Daisy. 'I'll teach you.'

As Vanessa, and then Stephanie launched into their own romantic reminiscences, the truth began to dawn on Daisy. All the members of Raoul's 'family' of 'best buddies' were ex-girlfriends, every single one of them.

'OK, Raoul,' Melodie said, tapping her knife against her glass to get everybody's attention. 'Are you ready for your special cake?'

'You bet!' Raoul said, squeezing Daisy's hand. He turned to her and said, 'This is going to blow your mind. Lola is, like, a total artist.'

Lola, who had been putting the last touches to her creation in the kitchen, turned and slowly walked, beaming, towards the counter, onto which she now deposited a large pink and white concoction surrounded by a glowing circle of candles. Like a chorus of sirens, the guests launched into a melodious rendition of '
Joyeux Anniversaire
' and Raoul blew all his candles out with gusto.

'Bravo, Raoul!
Ouais
!
Wouh-ouh
! Feeling hot, hot, hot!' everyone shouted, throwing their napkins into the air.

After that Daisy was able to see the cake in all its glory. Its round base was topped with two perfect mounds of snow-white meringue in the shape of breasts, complete with erect pink sugar nipples. She stared at it, lost for words.

'Oh,' she managed. 'It's ...'

'Lola, honey,' Raoul said solemnly. 'I mean, wow ... it's really, really extreme. Thank you. I'm touched.'

Champagne glasses were clinked around and across the table.

'
He
, Raoul! It's nice to be
entre nous, hein
?' Juanita said. 'Just our little group.'

'You know what it reminds me of?' Stephanie said, giggling. '
Planete Femme
! It's just like in your story. Like we have completely taken over the world.'

Raoul roared with amusement. '
Allez, les filles
! But of course nobody could resist a gorgeous alien like you, Steph!'

Wide-eyed, Daisy looked at Stephanie.
Now
she remembered where she had seen her before.
Planete Femme
! One reason why, perhaps, she had not immediately recognised her as the leader of Raoul's army of sex-crazed alien invaders was that in real life she did not have bright blue skin. Daisy slowly shifted her gaze to Natacha. Yes. Put
her
in an eighteenth-century costume and what did you get? Caroline in
La Flibustiere
, of course! As for Nathalie, that was obvious: she was the sultan's bewitching favourite in
La Sultane
. And on and on it went, all the way down to Vanessa, who had, Daisy now realised, inspired Raoul's central character in his most recent oeuvre, the psychedelic sex romp
Alice '69
, and must therefore be the girl who had immediately preceded Daisy in his life. And next in line was ... herself, of course.

Daisy remained quiet and subdued during coffee and was so lost in thought that she did not notice Raoul's perplexed glances. Afterwards, when some of the guests started dancing and others remained in the kitchen making tequila slammers, Daisy took advantage of the party atmosphere to go into Raoul's bedroom to collect her coat and bag.

'What's going on, sugar?' Raoul said, coming in and closing the door behind him. 'You are not leaving?'

'Yes, I am. I'm very tired.'

'Oh, baby, don't go! My friends all love you. Don't you want to stay and hang out with them?'

'I think your friends are all very nice. But I really have to go.'

'OK, that's cool,' Raoul said easily. 'So what time do you wanna meet tomorrow?'

'Tomorrow?' Daisy asked vaguely.

'To drive to Deauville. Don't you remember?'

'Ah.' Daisy sat down on Raoul's bed and looked up at him. 'Raoul, listen. I know it's your birthday but I don't think I want to go away this weekend after all.'

'No?' Raoul came to sit next to her, looking concerned. 'What is it, Daisy? You had too much champagne? You don't feel so good? Don't worry, baby, lie down and I will give you my special foot massage.'

'No, I'm OK, thanks. It's just that ...' Daisy stopped. How best to explain what she was feeling? 'Raoul, are all your stories inspired by ex-girlfriends?'

Raoul grinned. 'Yeah, they are, a little bit.'

'I thought so. You know, you might have warned me that all your guests tonight were your exes.'

'Oh, but that's not how I think of them any more. We're all just really good friends.'

'Well, the thing is,' Daisy said, looking at him seriously, 'I think that's what we are too, you and me: just really good friends.'

Raoul seemed surprised. 'Why do you say that?'

'I mean ... you know your idea for your next album, with me in it as the 1950s nympho cheerleader?'

'Uh-uh.'

'Tell me, with your other girlfriends, what came first, breaking up or putting them in one of your stories?'

Raoul stared at her in silence.

Daisy shook her head slowly. 'Well, either way it means it's over between us, doesn't it?'

'But, baby,' Raoul protested, taking her hand in his, 'you don't understand: I love you.'

Daisy sighed and looked at him affectionately. 'I know you do, Raoul. But the thing is ... you love
all
women!'

Raoul opened his mouth to protest, then smiled and nodded. 'Well, er ... yeah, I guess I do.'

Daisy began to laugh. 'I mean, look at you tonight: you're the only man allowed on Planet Woman! I think it's great that you're happy, but ... the whole thing is ... not right for me. I'm sorry.'

'OK,' Raoul said after a minute. 'You are sure?'

'I'm really, really sure. And Raoul, about that cheerleader story: just do what you want, OK?' Daisy said, hugging him. 'I don't want to stand in the way of your creative urges.'

Raoul hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. 'You're very sweet. So long, Daisy. Take care now.
Hasta la vista
, baby. See you later, alligator. After a while ...'

Oh, really, Raoul! Daisy thought, and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

31 Isabelle

At first Isabelle had experienced a sinking feeling when, having gone feverishly through the reams of Meredith's manuscripts, she had found the novels all present and accounted for - except, that is, for
The Splodge
.

Jules wasted no time in telephoning Paul Celadon in her most severe voice. Celadon apologised, dear madam, but assured her that the missing manuscript was not in his possession. The thing had never actually been published, thank goodness. As far as he knew, there had only ever been one copy and a quick look at it had convinced him, at the time, that it simply would not do. He had advised Meredith to put the worthless piece of drivel in the dustbin. Since then, he had put it entirely out of his mind and, sixty-odd years later, he was very much afraid that he couldn't remember anything about it. He apologised again, wished Jules a very good day, dear madam, sent Isabelle his compliments, reiterating that the manuscripts were hers to keep, and that was that.

The next morning Isabelle instinctively rang up Lucy Goussay, who, on hearing that dear Meredith's manuscripts were available for perusal, let out a yelp of delighted excitement and called an emergency meeting of the Society for that very evening. Such enthusiasm was infectious, and Isabelle was much cheered by it. When she later turned up in Hampstead with the manuscripts, carefully packed into her small suitcase on wheels, she was given a heroine's welcome.

'You really have done us proud, Izbl,' Maud said, peering at her over her dark glasses with something like approval.

'Yes, bravo!' Lucy barked. 'Ha, ha! Frightfully plucky of you to stand up to Paul.'

'My friends helped me,' Isabelle said, thinking it best not to go into too much lurid detail about the House of Discipline.

'I'm so glad I invited you to join us on that day you came to the bookshop,' Fern said, giving Isabelle a warm hug. 'I just knew that you were one of us.'

'You have been a tremendous addition to our little group,
Mademoiselle
,' Peter Holland said, twinkling at her.

'Have a fat-free carob biscuit, dear,' Wendy said, proffering a plate of dark brown discs. 'They're a bit overdone, but very slimming. And will you have a cup of nettle tea?'

'Thank you,' Isabelle said, a little embarrassed at all this attention. 'But really it's you who have all been so kind to me.'

She sat down near Meredith's portrait and watched as Wendy and Fern unwrapped the reams of paper with great care, arranging them on the coffee table in a dainty fanlike effect. Each of the members then settled happily with the manuscript of their favourite novel and silence descended, only broken by the occasional appreciative grunt.

As he started leafing through the pages of
Death of a Lady Ventriloquist
, Herbert Merryweather looked up and gave Isabelle a shy, toothy smile. She smiled back. It was nice to feel that she had done the right thing. Agathe's advice, when Isabelle had called her earlier today, had been not to worry about informing Professeur Sureau of the new development. What Isabelle had mentioned regarding sets of horizontal, vertical and diagonal corrections done in blue ink in Meredith's decisive hand and of varying stylistic significance sounded so promising - best to look into it first and surprise Sureau with a real breakthrough! And as usual her dear Agathe had been right: Isabelle was quite happy to share her discovery with her Quince Society friends first.

'So,' Roberta said to her, while carrying on with her knitting, 'are they all here?'

Isabelle shook her head regretfully. 'No. I mean, all the
published
novels are here, but there was something else I was hoping to find. An interesting stylistic experiment that didn't work out. But unfortunately Mr Celadon didn't have it.'

'Bad luck, Izbl!' Lucy said.

'Oh dear, I hope you're not too disappointed?' Fern asked anxiously.

'Well, a little bit,' Isabelle admitted, looking up wistfully at Meredith's portrait and the ink splodge on the desk. 'Unfortunately, I now think that Meredith may have destroyed it. But it is wonderful to have all this,' she added, looking on the bright side, 'because I will be able to work out her creative process - you know, shifting paradigms of concealment and
trompe l'oeil
- the poetics of Cubist storytelling - all of that.'

'Oh, yes!' Fern said, shrinking a little into the sofa. 'That sounds marvellous.'

'It doesn't matter about the other thing,' Isabelle went on resolutely. 'I am beginning to wonder if my instinct was wrong.'

'Maybe so,' Maud agreed, before adding crisply: 'But it's a little early to throw in the towel, isn't it, Izbl? Tell me, have you tried Philip Quince?'

Isabelle shook her head, flushing. Philip Quince was, of course, Meredith's nephew and Tom's father. Trying to contact him was a frightening notion for all kinds of reasons.

'No, not exactly,' she replied after a moment. 'But everyone seems to think that he has absolutely no interest in her writing.'

'That's quite true,' Peter Holland confirmed, looking up from the pages of
Murder in Kid Gloves
. 'Personally I always found Philip Quince to be a very blunt sort of man. No feeling for the arts, no sensibility.'

There was a pause, during which, unnoticed by Isabelle, who was gazing at the portrait, Maud, Fern, Wendy and Lucy all exchanged meaningful glances.

'Yes!' Wendy said tremulously, clasping her hands to her bosom. 'And there is
nothing
in this world more precious than sensibility, is there, dear Izbl?'

Isabelle looked at her, disconcerted. 'Well, perhaps. I ...'

'What Wendy
means
,' Maud said sharply, 'is that we thought you might
also
like to show the manuscripts to young whatsisname, Philip's son ...'

'Tom,' Isabelle murmured.

'Ha! Yes, frightfully good!' Lucy chimed in, her blue eyes shining. 'Quite the decent thing to do.'

'And then, you see, you'd even be in a position to ask him to contact his father,' Fern added, playing with the beads on her necklace.

'But it's entirely up to you, Izbl, of course,' Maud said, pouring herself another cup of tea.

Lucy, Maud and Fern gradually returned to their reading while Wendy took a few nervous bites out of a carob biscuit.

Isabelle turned the suggestion over in her mind. The ladies of the Society had a point. Never mind her supervisor - she really ought to let Tom know that she had got hold of the manuscripts. It was true that he had never bothered to read his great-aunt's novels, but he had let her search all over the house.

'Well, I suppose ...' Isabelle began hesitantly. The four ladies instantly turned expectant faces in her direction. 'Yes, it would be more polite to let him know and ...' She stopped as a thought occurred to her. 'I should really give them to him. Because they belong to Meredith's family, don't they?'

'Goodness! How wonderful!' Wendy cried joyously.

'Very jolly!' Lucy yelped. 'Quite the thing!'

Isabelle stood up, resolute. 'May I use your phone, Lucy?'

'No need, Izbl. He's on his way,' Maud said, without missing a beat.

Isabelle sat down again abruptly. 'He ... Who?'

'Why, young Quince, young Quince, of course!' Lucy barked. 'Gave him a bell after I spoke to you. Invited him round. Returning his invitation, after all, you know. Only proper.'

'That's why I did this bit of impromptu baking, you see,' Wendy interjected. 'He gave us such a lovely tea that day.'