Finding Monsieur Right (2010) (39 page)

Amelie was getting worried. She had looked everywhere for Daisy, in vain. Where had her friend disappeared to? She had just seen Agathe walk past, but had not dared approach her. Agathe had never taken her seriously and would just dismiss her like a child. Who could she possibly turn to?

At first Daisy had been brave, even laughing at her own foolishness. How could she have been so silly as to let Agathe lock her out like that? Her French 'friend' had not been far wrong when she had said that Daisy was not exactly a bright spark. In fact that had to be the understatement of the century!

Then, while waiting for Agathe to come back - surely she
would
come back? - Daisy had tortured herself by replaying the film of her Paris life and dwelling on every instance of her own cluelessness. But at the end of the day, she told herself miserably, what had happened to her - two failed romances, a wholly imaginary friendship with Agathe, and, at this very moment, the fact that she was shivering with cold in a torn, crumpled dress and laddered tights - all that was very small beer indeed. No, what was truly terrible was that by letting Agathe get her out of the way like this, she had ruined poor Isabelle's career for her. Even now Agathe was probably getting her mitts on the manuscript that Isabelle had brought back from London, and tomorrow she would give Professeur Sureau a performance just as sleek and convincing as the one that had got Daisy onto this blasted and very, very cold roof. Meanwhile poor Isabelle must be innocently enjoying herself downstairs, never dreaming that Agathe was lying in wait for her with a fully rigged guillotine, or something to that effect.

Huddling against a cupola, Daisy looked up at the swimming stars and began to weep.

Unsure what to do, Amelie gravitated back towards her sister, who was talking on her mobile phone.

'It's Octave,' Claire whispered to her. 'They'll be here in a minute.'

On impulse Amelie held out her hand. 'I would like to speak to him.'

'OK,' Claire said, perplexed. 'Octave, Amelie wants a word with you. But hurry up,' she added, handing her younger sister the phone. 'I thought you wanted to see the quadrille?'

'Yes, yes, I will see you there.'

'As you wish,' Claire sniffed irritably, before walking away in a rustle of pale-grey chiffon.

'
Allo
,
Octave
?' Amelie said, as soon as Claire had left.

'
Allo, petite Amelie
,' Octave said kindly. 'So, you are having fun?'

'No, not really! Listen, I need some help. I can't find Daisy anywhere. I am worried that something has happened to her.'

'Don't worry,' Octave said airily. 'Daisy probably made a new conquest at the ball, that is all.'

'Please listen to me, Octave!' Amelie said, close to tears. 'Agathe and Clothaire are up to something. You must warn Isabelle! Tell her to hide the manuscript she brought back from London, because Agathe wants to steal it!'

'Agathe wants to steal ... what?' Octave adopted a more serious tone. 'Calm down, Amelie, and start again from the beginning.'

Briefly, Amelie recounted the conversation that she and Daisy had overheard.

Octave listened attentively, then said, 'I understand. Don't worry. Marie and I are very near Isabelle's flat now. Bertrand and Stan are with us, and also Gaspard and some of his
cataphile
friends. That's a lot of scooters. We'll pick up Isabelle and her friends and we'll meet you at the entrance in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, you keep an eye on Agathe and Clothaire, OK?'

'Ah,
chers amis
, here you are at last!' Octave exclaimed half an hour later in his most urbane and charming voice. '
Bonsoir
!'

Agathe and Clothaire had been standing together watching men in uniforms and girls in red-and-black gowns twirl their way through a quadrille of military precision. They turned around to find themselves greeted by Octave, Marie-Laure, Amelie and Stanislas.

'
Ah
,
bonsoir
,' Clothaire said with his usual scowl.

'What a smart dress, Marie. You always look good in midnight blue,' Agathe said approvingly.'Is Isabelle with you?'

Marie-Laure nodded, her face set.

Agathe exchanged a significant glance with Clothaire and said, 'Actually, I've just remembered that I left something in my coat downstairs. I'll see you in a minute.'

As she turned to make her way towards the cloakroom, Stanislas took her arm.

'Do stay with us for a minute, Agathe,' he said, with a sardonic smile. 'We have only just arrived.'

'With the London gang,' Octave added, gesturing towards Chrissie, Jules and Tom, who were making their way towards them, preceded by Isabelle in her red dress, looking extremely fierce and determined.

'Oh, God,' Clothaire muttered.

'Check it out, darling: Little Red Riding Hood Goes Kick-Arse!' Chrissie whispered in Jules' ear.

Isabelle walked right up to Agathe, who greeted her with a bright,

'
Salut! Ca va?
'

'
Ca va
,
merci
,' Isabelle replied coldly. 'Where is Daisy?'

'Hmmmm, I really don't know,' Agathe said insouciantly. 'I imagine she's dancing somewhere.'

'Agathe,' Isabelle said with a dangerous edge to her voice. 'I haven't got time for your little games. You can have Clothaire, I really don't care. You're welcome to the Sorbonne job if you're so desperate for it - I'm now planning to stay in England. But you can't have
The Splodge
. Am I making myself clear?'

'How dare you talk about me like that!' Clothaire cried indignantly.

'Be quiet,' Isabelle said without looking at him.

Clothaire spluttered, then was quiet.

Chrissie gave a delighted little whoop. '
Bravo
, darling! What a diva! Look at her, Tom - I swear she's got more attitude than
Attitude
magazine.'

Agathe looked put out for a minute, then drew herself up to her full height and, ignoring Clothaire's increasingly frantic headshakes, said, 'Well, I might as well tell you that Clothaire and I have been lovers for ages. It started long before he met you and, afterwards, we just continued as before. I knew he'd tire of you eventually.'

'I did love you, Isabelle,' Clothaire protested. 'In a way.'

'Except you only really love
me
,' Agathe said smugly, slipping her arm through his.

'Ah yes? And what about
me
?' cried another, very angry voice. They all turned around. Claire stood there, livid with rage.

'Not now, Claire, please,' Clothaire said, looking trapped.

'And why not now?' Claire asked, glaring at him. 'Tell me, does Agathe know about your little London escapade with me?'

'What - London - escapade?' Agathe asked in an arctic tone of voice. 'Clothaire?'

'Claire!' Marie-Laure cried, scandalised. 'If I'd known that's what you wanted my coat for, I would have said no!'

'It was just for one week,' Clothaire said, exasperated. 'If that.'

'You are forgetting all those months in Paris before that,' Claire said mercilessly.

Agathe turned a withering eye on Clothaire, who was dancing from one foot to the other like a very sullen and uncomfortable bear.

'You are also forgetting,' Claire went on furiously, 'what you told me in London - how possessive Agathe was, and that I was the only woman for you.'

Isabelle looked from Claire to Marie-Laure. Both tall, rangy and dark-haired, they did look superficially alike. Now Isabelle understood: it was Claire whom Bella had seen in London with Clothaire - Claire wearing the red coat she'd borrowed from Marie-Laure!

Stanislas patted an ashen-looking Clothaire on the shoulder and said, laughing, 'Well, good luck,
mon vieux
.'

'I am sure that you will think of a way out of this one,' Octave added, putting his arm round Marie-Laure's shoulders.

'Are you all finished?' Isabelle asked crisply. 'Very well. Now, take me to Daisy
at once
.'

For a minute, Agathe tried to hold her gaze. Then she crumpled. 'She's on the roof, through there and up the stairs,' she said, extracting the key from her bag and handing it to Isabelle.

'I am
loving
this staircase, darling,' Chrissie trilled, standing with Daisy at the top of the
grand escalier d'honneur
. 'Believe me, if I weren't wearing some
very
expensive and virtually irreplaceable bondage trousers from Westwood, I would be
skipping
up and down it like Audrey Hepburn in
Funny Face
!'

Daisy smiled, wrapping her pink pashmina more snugly around herself. Having just eaten a lovely hot dinner with her friends in a vast and stunning hall of mirrors, she was beginning to feel much better.

Just at the point when she had seriously begun to worry that her exile on the roof was never going to end, the door had magically swung open, and a small, slender girl dressed in red, with her hair piled up in a fantastic chignon, had stepped out onto the roof: Isabelle! Behind her, Jules and Chrissie emerged, followed by a tall stranger whom Daisy immediately identified as the scrumptious hunk of loveliness, Tom.

Isabelle had held out her hand to help Daisy to her feet. '
Salut
, Daisy,' she said. 'Are you OK?'

'Oh, hi!' Daisy had replied, shivering. 'Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for rescuing me.'

'Thank you for rescuing
me
!' Isabelle had said, squeezing her hand. 'Come on, I will help you. Be careful not to slip.'

It was now close to midnight and dancing was in full swing all over the Opera. Having checked out the disco, Daisy, Chrissie, Tom, Isabelle and Jules had returned to the
grand escalier
around which hundreds of people were now waltzing.

'Say
what
you like, darlings,' Chrissie mused, dropping down on a small gilt chair, 'I say
trad
is always best when it comes to a ball.'

'It's funny you should say that,' Jules replied tonelessly, sitting down next to him, 'because I thought you were going to desert us when we looked into the disco just now and they were playing Sister Sledge.'

'Once disco-damaged,
always
disco-damaged, remember? Not a
thing
I can do about it.'

For a moment, the three friends sat together in companionable silence, gazing out at the glittering ballroom filled with swelling music and whirling couples. Looking through the anonymous crowd, Daisy could make out Octave dancing with Marie-Laure and, just a little further, Stanislas with Amelie. And over there, that flash of red was Isabelle's dress, swirling as she waltzed rapturously with Tom.

'Excuse me,' an attractive male voice said, addressing Daisy. 'May I have this dance?'

Daisy looked up to see a tall, dark-haired young man in a black uniform with gold buttons - one of the students from the military-college whatsit, presumably - standing before her with a hopeful smile. She smiled back, shaking her head. 'Oh, thank you. But I can't waltz.'

'I can teach you, if you want,' he said politely.

'That's really sweet of you, but no. The other problem is I don't have any shoes on,' she said, stretching out her stockinged feet.

'I promise I will not step on your toes.'

'Sorry. But thanks!'

After watching him bow regretfully and walk away, Chrissie and Jules turned to stare at Daisy.

'
Darling
,' Chrissie said with great intensity, 'are you
insane
? He was
gorgeous
! Did you see the way he looked at you?'

'
And
he had a sword,' Jules added impassively. 'Like a knight. Which is quite cool.'

'I think I need a break from all that stuff,' Daisy said, taking a sip from her glass of champagne. 'Look where it got me in the end: absolutely nowhere.'

'Daisy, my angel,' Chrissie said, putting his arms around her, 'have your little chastity interlude but the moment you get back to London, we're going to find you a grade-A, drop-dead-gorgeous,
super
-delicious boyfriend, I
promise
.'

'Thanks, Chrissie,' Daisy said, hugging him back.

'Speaking of which ...' Chrissie said slowly, suddenly looking fascinated. 'Who is
that
?'

Daisy followed the direction of his gaze. All she could see was Bertrand sitting alone on a small gilt sofa, dreamily eating his way through a plate of
petits fours
.

'That's Bertrand, a friend of Octave's. But I thought you'd all come together? You must have met him earlier.'

'Darling,
believe
me, if I had, I would remember those
cheekbones
,' Chrissie said, gazing at Bertrand appreciatively. 'He must have been the one who had his helmet on when they collected us in their
divine
motorcycling leathers. And then he
vanished
mysteriously when we got here.'

'Yes, that makes sense,' Daisy said, nodding. 'Bertrand always makes a beeline for the buffet when he gets to a party.'

Watching Chrissie rise and turn to the mirrored wall to straighten his white tie with quick, practised movements, Daisy said gently, 'Chrissie, wait. Bertrand is completely straight.'

Chrissie looked at her gravely. 'Ah, yes,
of course
he is, darling,' he said, before throwing his head back and giving a peal of silvery laughter.

Daisy grinned back. Her friend's instinct had proved pretty unerring in the past.

'Help me out, Daisy darling. I need something of an opening gambit. What's the French for dream?
La reve
?'

'It's
le reve
,' Daisy said automatically. 'Dreams are masculine in French.'

'How
fitting
,' Chrissie said, his eyes on Bertrand. 'And a boat is ...
le bateau
?'

'Yes,' Daisy confirmed, giggling.'But "dreamboat" doesn't really translate into French. Try saying "
Bonsoir
" instead.'