Finding Monsieur Right (2010) (37 page)

'It's just that I ... prepared a very interesting itinerary,' she protested, her voice waxing a little thicker.

'Oh, so have I,' he replied, holding her wrists behind her back and pulling her closer.

Next door the phone rang shrilly.

'
Merde
,' Isabelle groaned.

'Let it ring,' Tom said, his hand closing over her breast.

After a few rings, the answering machine clicked into action and Isabelle jumped to hear Professeur Sureau's voice: 'Good afternoon,
Mademoiselle.
Sureau here. I'm calling to cancel Monday's meeting. Certain information has come to my attention regarding your research and I need to consider it carefully before we speak again. I will call you back when the situation is clearer. Goodbye.'

Her heart pounding, Isabelle ran to pick up the receiver. Too late: Sureau had already hung up. She immediately tried his office at the Faculty, but the phone just rang and rang.

'What do you think?' Anouk asked, smiling. 'I could see you in it as soon as it came in. It's so fabulously feminine, but also radical.'

When Daisy had turned up at her stylish, minimalist flat, Anouk, who had a strong sense of the theatrical, asked her to close her eyes and led her wordlessly into the living room. When Daisy opened them again, she saw that the room was plunged in darkness, apart from the light created by a single industrial spotlight. This threw a star-white glow over the evening gown Anouk had placed on one of the tubular steel dummies from her shop. Daisy gave a small gasp of wonder and slowly walked around the dress, taking in the strapless boned bodice, the half-exposed mini-crinoline, the cascade of fabric that finished in a floor-length train at the back. She reached out to touch it. It was made of organza dyed a heavenly shade of dirty pink and irregularly adorned with silk roses in different, subtly darker pinks.

'It's by this fantastic young French designer I discovered,' Anouk said, pleased with Daisy's reaction. 'He really has a vision. You know, he didn't want the silk flowers to look too perfect, so he took them out into the street and trampled them before sewing them on,' she went on, clasping her hands in rapture. 'He says what he does is anti-couture couture.
Ah, quel talent
! This is just a sample, but I have decided to sponsor his collection. I think he will go far.'

'It's just beautiful,' Daisy said. 'May I ...'

'Try it on? Of course,
mon petit
,' Anouk said, swiftly taking the dress off the dummy and handing it to Daisy. 'Go to my room - there is a big mirror there. I will bring you a few pairs of shoes as well.'

A few minutes later Anouk, who had been helping her into a pair of delicate silver stilettos, straightened up to take in the full effect.

'
Ah oui, magnifique
,' she said, hugging Daisy. 'The belle of the ball.'

Daisy stood gazing at her reflection, her delight faintly tinged with melancholy.

'And your hair, you wear it up, yes?' Anouk said. 'But you leave it a bit messy, a bit rock 'n' roll. I will do it for you if you like.' Turning away from Daisy to look for hairpins, she added: 'You know,
mon petit
, it's quite OK to go to a party without a boyfriend. I'm sure that you will have a great time with your London friends.'

'Oh, yes!' Daisy said, more brightly than she felt. 'Of course.'

'Have you spoken to Raoul recently?'

'Actually, he did this really sweet thing,' Daisy went on, a smile spreading on her face. 'He dropped off this folder full of drawings he'd done of me. Just left it outside my door as a surprise.'

On opening the folder, which bore the title
The Ballad of Daisy K.
, Daisy had found a series of very pretty 1950s-style pastel cartoons. A stylised evocation of her time in Paris, they showed her sitting outside a cafe reading a copy of
Vogue
, walking down the street with a tiny poodle on a leash, coming out of the Dior boutique followed by Raoul (thinly disguised as a bellboy) laden with a teetering pile of beribboned boxes. In the last one she stood on tiptoe on top of the Eiffel Tower, arms outstretched like a ballerina.

'Raoul, I think they're fantastic,' she'd said, calling to thank him later that morning. 'I really like all the outfits - very Bardot. But what will your publisher say?'

'Whaddaya mean, sugar?'

'What happened to shagging Elvis?'

Laughing, Raoul had explained that he had changed his mind about that, adding that, in any case, the drawings were not for publication but for her to keep, as a souvenir.

'Ah,
un vrai
gentleman,' Anouk said, nodding.

'Well, I don't know about
that
. You haven't heard the best bit. So
then
he said, all tender and moody -' Daisy grinned and put on a sexy Gallic growl '- "Ah, I'm gonna need to go to the end of the earth to forget you, baby." And
then
he tells me that he's off to Brazil for a couple of months by the sea! Can you believe it? The rogue! Somehow I don't think he'll have any trouble forgetting me when he's there.'

Anouk giggled indulgently, putting the last diamante hairgrip in. '
Voila
! What do you think?'

Daisy smiled at her in the mirror. 'It's
really
lovely. Thanks, Anouk.'

Turning this way and that to make her organza train rustle glamorously, Daisy reflected that it was silly, really, to call any party a ball. The trouble with a ball was that it sounded like something out of a fairy tale. And it was all nonsense, because life was not really like that. And a party, even if it were huge and smart and set in a big gold-and-marble palace-type building, was still basically a party. She had been to
a lot
of parties and she could totally handle herself at this one. Especially with Jules and Chrissie by her side. So there.

'I don't understand,' Isabelle said for the hundredth time to no one in particular. 'What information about my research? It sounds really bad!'

'It's probably just to do with admin,' Jules said. 'Maybe there's a form you forgot to fill in?'

There had, it was true, been many complicated forms to fill in over the last couple of years, Isabelle thought. Had she made some terrible mistake somewhere? But where? Had she unwittingly committed some sort of perjury?

'And now it's Friday night and I will not be able to get hold of him before Monday. It's just terrible,' Isabelle said, her head in her hands.

'
Please
cheer up, darling,' Chrissie said kindly. 'Hey, I
know
: why don't you get
changed
, hmm? You'll feel
so
much better in your lovely frock!'

Isabelle looked unseeingly at her dress, then back at her friends, both resplendent in their evening finery. 'I feel so anxious,' she said eventually. 'I would not be good company. But you should go. Daisy is expecting you.'

'Oh, wait till you see
her
dress, darling! She had it on when we arrived at Anouk's. It's just
glorious
. You will
expire
!'

'She won't mind if we're a bit late,' Jules added more calmly. 'I'll give her a call.'

Isabelle looked across at Tom, who stood leaning against her desk, clad in the jeans and polo neck he'd travelled in and holding a cup of tea.

'I understand how you feel, Isabelle,' he said, 'but I think Chrissie's right.'

'
Do
you, your Quincitude? Thank you
ever
so!'

'Not at all,' Tom said, giving Chrissie a quick smile before returning his attention to Isabelle. 'You're quite sure that we can't reach your supervisor before Monday?'

'Yes, unfortunately.'

'Then I would say that getting dressed up and going out is the thing to do. You'll enjoy seeing your friends again.'

It would, of course, be lovely to see Agathe, Claire, Amelie, Octave and the rest of the gang, Isabelle thought wistfully. And, of course, Marie-Laure too, in spite of that lingering suspicion. Oh, but did she really care about all this now?

'Oh, I don't know,' she said in a small voice. 'Clothaire will probably be there, so ...'

'No, no, no, no,
no
, darling!' Chrissie said, energetically wagging a finger. 'The Clot-of-Hair is no longer
allowed
to stop you from having fun. That was
then
, remember.
This
,' he went on, pointing dramatically at Tom, 'is
now
!'

Isabelle smiled at Tom, who smiled back and said quietly, 'Though, of course, if you'd really prefer to stay, you know I'll do my best to keep you amused.'

'Oh come
on
, darling,' Chrissie said, stamping his feet. '
Seize
the flipping day!
Seize
it! For me!'

'Look,' Jules said, crossing her legs and revealing the sturdy Doc Martens boots that had hitherto been concealed by her velvet gown, 'you've been away from home a long time. You need to show that you're back in town. It's a territorial thing - like a cat. Clothaire doesn't own Paris, does he?'

'N-no,' Isabelle admitted.

'And how long have you been going to this do?'

'For the last three years, but it was always ...'

'With all your friends, I know,' Jules completed with unusual warmth. She squared her shoulders. 'Well, this year you're going with us. We're your friends too. All right?'

Isabelle was beginning to feel better. 'All right.'

'I'll do your hair and make-up for you, sweetie!' Chrissie said, taking Isabelle's hands in his. 'Trust me, I will
excel
myself!'

Isabelle could not help smiling. 'As long as you don't make me look like Savage's models.'

According to the press release, the make-up for the February show was 'natural, but also conceptual', which did not quite capture the profoundly disconcerting effect of the glossy red-and-white horizontal stripes that had been painted over the girls' faces as they paraded in the designer's fantastical creations: a corset and oversized puffball skirt covered in tiny squares of mirror; a house-shaped dress with holes for one arm and one leg only; and, walking the line between the sublime and the ridiculous, an inflatable egg-shaped dress out of which the model's striped face looked out, defiantly glamorous.

'All right, all right,' Chrissie admitted as Isabelle raised her eyebrows sardonically, 'I won't do anything
quite
so radical, and I
promise
that you will look
fabulous
.'

'ONE LAST DAB OF ROUGE AND WE'LL BE ON OUR WAY,' Daisy read on the screen of her mobile phone. Well, today would be nice, she thought, heaving a small sigh. It was typical of Chrissie to be late for everything, even an event where he was supposed to be her escort, or half of it, anyway. The evening had not started well. First the London gang had kept her waiting for half an hour in a bar off the Place de l'Opera, then Jules had called, arranging to meet inside the venue instead. Outside the Opera House, as Sod's Law would have it, Daisy had run into the last person she wanted to see: Clothaire, wearing a smart dark overcoat over his dinner jacket.

'
Bonsoir
, Daisy,' he had said coolly, performing his usual trick of letting her kiss his cheek without actually touching her face with his own lips in return. After a moment of awkward silence during which she looked around in vain for another familiar face, Clothaire had eventually glanced at his watch and, putting out his cigarette, said irritably, 'Look, I do not want to go in on my own. It looks stupid. Shall we go together?'

Charming as ever, Daisy thought.

'Oh, I would be
honoured
!' she replied sarcastically, taking his arm. So that they had made their entrance into the Opera House together in the midst of a chattering crowd of French people in evening dress, and ascended side by side to the top of the monumental
grand escalier d'honneur
between two rows of solemn Republican guards in uniform.

Seeing Clothaire had automatically reminded Daisy of Etienne - with a bit of a pang, for her meetings with her intellectual friend had now come to an end. They had petered out over the last few weeks until the other day, when Etienne had announced that he had all the material he needed. Daisy had been surprised and not a little disappointed. She had really enjoyed their talks. Etienne had thanked her courteously for all her help and bought her a lovely lunch before saying goodbye. And that had been that. As far as she knew, he was now in the process of writing the thing up. Perhaps she would see it one day in a bookshop and be reminded that she had played a part in bringing it into being.

After everybody had gone into the auditorium to watch the ballet that was part of the evening's entertainment, Daisy remained outside, leaning on the enormous banister overlooking the staircase to await the arrival of her friends. Looking around, she had to admit that the place was stunning - a riot of red velvet, crystal and marble. But she probably would have enjoyed it quite a lot more if she hadn't felt so forlorn and out of things.

'
Ca va
, Daisy?' a small voice asked shyly. It was Claire's sister Amelie, who added: 'You are looking a bit sad.'

'No, no, I'm fine,' Daisy said, smiling brightly at her little friend before hugging her. 'Hi! Are you here with all the others?'

'With Claire and Agathe. Have you seen Isabelle yet? With her new English boyfriend?'

'No, not yet. What do you think he's like?'

'I don't know. Nicer than Clothaire, I hope!'

Daisy smiled knowingly, rolling her eyes. Earlier in the day, over a quick cup of tea at Anouk's, Chrissie had described Isabelle's new flame as 'a scrumptious hunk of loveliness'. As for Jules, she had merely said expressionlessly that he was 'all right', which, given her systematic tendency to understatement, amounted to the same sort of accolade. Daisy sighed deeply. Isabelle was lucky to be in love with her scrumptious hunk of loveliness. Daisy wished them both well, of course, but all the same it did seem just a bit unfair that nobody appeared to want to love
her
.