A Crime of Fashion (12 page)

“
Messieurs!
” she called, as she walked up to them. “Could you please tell me at what time the park closes? I see the gate is shut.”

“The park? This isn't a park, mademoiselle. You're on private property.”

“Isn't this the Musée Rodin? On my map it looked like…”

“The Musée Rodin is next door and it isn't open until tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure? Next door? But earlier there were so many cars and people going in and out of here, I thought…”

“Come. We'll show you,” the shorter guard said as they led Ellie to the gate and pushed the button that opened it.

It felt like eons passed before the gate opened fully. When it did, Ellie stepped out with the guards. Sebastian grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me behind him. We jumped out of the shadows and into the street just as the guards turned to walk back in.

We were out.

Ellie flagged down the first taxi we saw. We squeezed into the smelly and sagging back seat, then leaned back and savoured a collective sigh.

“Oh my gosh, Aunt V – I was supposed to call her about dinner!” Quickly I pulled my phone out of my new shoulder bag and turned the volume back on. There were six missed calls. Who had been calling? Must be my mum.

But it wasn't. It was Hervé. I rang him back immediately.

“Axelle! Where have you been? I've been calling and calling. You are a model now and models must check in with their agencies every morning and every evening. It is just like brushing your teeth. Okay? And call in the afternoon too when you can. Anyway, I have your job details for the La Lune advertising campaign tomorrow. You begin at nine at the Eiffel Tower. There'll be a white Pin-Up Studio bus underneath the tower. Ellie will be there too. Maybe you can share a taxi. Please be on time and don't forget to call me tomorrow morning. I'll be in at nine.
Bonne nuit!
And get some beauty sleep!”

Beauty sleep? Who had time for beauty sleep when we had to find out about this curse?

Just as I'd finished with Hervé, my aunt called. She was still wound up after a day of drama. She ran all of her questions together into one long breathless sentence. “Can you believe? I'm finally heading home. What a day. Anyway, Axelle, where have you been? Have you found anything out? Belle's brother, Darius, has disappeared, so now the police are even more suspicious of us than before. This La Lune story is becoming even more convoluted than the Gucci family saga.”

“Aunt V, I'm in a car with Ellie and…uhm…Sebastian.” Great. I knew that now I'd mentioned Sebastian, Aunt V would invite him to join us for dinner. There was no way out – the sidekick was sticking.

“Well, bring Ellie for dinner if you'd like. Who's Sebastian?”

“Inspector Witt's son.”

“Inspector Witt's son… How'd you meet him? Never mind, you can tell me when you're here. He's welcome too.”

Yup. He was definitely sticking.

“Great. Thanks. We'll be with you in a few minutes. Oh, and we want to know all about the curse.”

That made my Aunt V go silent for a moment. “Wow – that was fast. So you have been busy. And it seems you'll be having a busy time this week with work too. Hervé called. The agency is delighted – it seems Ellie has a good eye for new talent. Listen, I'll be waiting. I'll explain all over dinner.”

I'd thought that was the end of that, but of course it wasn't. “Oh, and, Axelle,” she managed to slip in before I hung up, “after dinner we'll have to work on your walk.”

Some things never change.

The taxi arrived at Aunt V's and we made our way up the grand stone staircase in the entrance hall. As we reached the landing outside Aunt V's apartment, I caught sight of a brown-haired girl in one of the large mirrors lining the walls. Her hair looked messy but cool and her clothes suited her – she was dressed like a nerdy musician.

It took me a moment to realize I'd caught sight of my own reflection.

As I rang the bell I realized something else: for the first time ever, I was actually hungry for one of Aunt Venetia's super-sophisticated, minimalistic dinners.

After introducing Sebastian to Aunt V, we headed straight into the dining room. Dinner was laid out on the elegant sideboard against the wall opposite the two French windows. The street light glowed gently through the striped silk taffeta curtains, highlighting the gilded frames of Aunt V's collection of Dutch landscapes. (Have I mentioned that Aunt V's apartment is covered with paintings and she keeps buying more? My dad likes to say that in her next life she can be an art dealer.) Apart from that, the room was quite dark. The aubergine velvet on the walls absorbed the light from the candles on the tables and in the sconces. How Aunt Venetia was able to wear her sunglasses
and
still see what was on her plate was beyond me. She claimed that after so many years of being blinded by photographers' flashes during fashion shows she
had
to wear sunglasses to protect her sensitive eyes. I think she just liked the inscrutability they gave her.

We talked through the events of the day. Aunt V wanted to know
exactly
how my fittings had gone – no abbreviated versions for her. But I really got her attention when I told her about Ellie and me nearly getting run over.

“May they be denied cashmere in their next life – whoever they are! Although, like you, I wouldn't be surprised if it was Claude. Or Philippe, for that matter.”

“De Vandrille?” Sebastian asked.

Aunt V nodded.

“Why?” we asked.

“Well, Claude, because he's always been a bit of a simmering volcano – I seem to recall there was some kind of eruption concerning Belle when they were younger – and because he must be hiding something or he wouldn't have become so enraged with you for taking his phone. You'd think he would have just brushed it off as the nonsensical action of a teenager.”

“Thanks, Aunt V.”

“You know what I mean, Axelle. Anyway, as for Philippe, he's always been something of a dark horse…and he's so…
connected
to the family. I mean, you'd think they were
his
family… Besides, imagine always being so close to such glamour and wealth and yet none of it is yours. He's an accessory to the La Lune lifestyle – nothing more. That would give some people an axe to grind.”

By the time we got to the chocolate mousse, I'd started describing our trip to the police station.

“So that's where you met,” my aunt said as she dipped her fork (yes, it's how the French do it) into her mousse with intense concentration.

“Exactly,” I answered. Thankfully, she didn't remember seeing Sebastian at Miriam's. From across the table, Sebastian smiled at me and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“And how did you hear about the curse? Not many remember it any more.” I could feel her watching me from behind her dark glasses.

I'd been planning on divulging all to my aunt – honestly. I'd wanted to tell her how we'd slipped through the gates and had explored the house, and had heard her and the La Lunes in the drawing room. I was even ready to share my discovery of the cache of letters in the chimney flue. But now that I was faced with the actual prospect of doing just that, I hesitated. A quick look at Sebastian told me that he'd prefer I didn't mention our illegal break-in – and who could blame him, considering who his father is? Ellie, too, looked anxious, and I remembered her comment earlier at the La Lune mansion about her career being over if she were found in the house. I couldn't let them down.

Playing for time, I toyed with the mousse on my plate. Finally, the right answer came to me. “Well, actually, it was Victor who hinted at it – this morning, while doing my hair.” Both Ellie and Sebastian visibly relaxed. “He said he'd once heard Belle mention it, but he didn't know any details.”

“And what does your father think?” Aunt Venetia asked Sebastian.

Sebastian took his time in answering – as he had throughout dinner. I'd noticed that although he didn't say much, he missed nothing. He'd eaten quietly, but all the while his eyes and ears had been taking everything in. Ellie, on the other hand, was good at keeping the conversation rolling. She and my aunt had discussed Azzedine Alaïa's early bandage dresses all through the asparagus soup. Ellie's knowledge on vintage clothing seemed to know no bounds – she was more than a match for my aunt on
that
subject.

Finally, Sebastian set his fork down and said, “Well, I don't think my father has any solid leads yet – at least, none that he's shared.”

Aunt V arched an eyebrow. “He's saying that it must have been counterfeiters…”

“True – for the sake of discretion. But, again, the problem with the counterfeit theory is that there is no solid lead. And if Belle was kidnapped so that she would hand over her drawings, fine – but then why kidnap Darius? He's not involved with the designing of anything.”

“Maybe a fake bag will show up soon and then we'll have a lead,” Aunt V said.

Sebastian shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You don't seem convinced,” Aunt V continued.

Sebastian carefully finished his mousse before answering my aunt. “No, I suppose I'm not convinced that the disappearances are the work of counterfeiters. I think this case is about money…money on a personal level.”

“And how could you possibly have that impression?” my aunt asked. She was genuinely interested and leaned forward on her elbows, now gazing intently at Sebastian through her dark glasses.

“Because my father has always said that ninety-nine times out of a hundred any crime in a rich family is about money – regardless of how much the individual members may have. And even if they are in fashion, at the end of the day the La Lunes are like any other rich family.”

“Only better dressed,” Aunt V interjected.

“True.”

“You might be right,” my aunt said. “Time will tell – although I know this much: the entire La Lune clan is convinced the disappearances are due to the curse. Rose in particular was quite animated this evening. I nearly had to remind myself that she's an accountant. You should have seen her.”

Little did she know that we
had
seen her. “What happened?” I asked. “I mean, in general, at the house this afternoon.”

“Not much really,” she said as she took the napkin off her lap, folded it carefully and laid it beside her plate. “We'd all agreed on Saturday at dinner that we'd meet again today at five o'clock to go over Wednesday night's Juno bag launch. So I went along as planned – we all did – and Darius never showed up. No call, no message, nothing – and this from a man who rarely leaves his desk, let alone the house. Needless to say, considering the present circumstances, it made us all nervous. Fiona was beside herself and finally rang your father,” she added, with a nod to Sebastian.

“And where was everyone? Before the meeting, I mean?” Ellie asked.

“Oh, all in the house, reading the papers, talking on the phone, whatever. I'd arrived a little early so I was there talking to myself in fact – rehearsing a speech I'll have to make in New York next week at a fashion awards dinner. I'd locked myself in the small study downstairs for some privacy.”

She was silent for a moment. “I have the sneaking suspicion that the police – your father,” she said with a nod to Sebastian, “believe that one of us is responsible. It's horrible! I wish someone would get to the bottom of this thing right away. It's like a ticking time bomb and I feel as if
Chic
and I are attached to the end of the fuse. It's not amusing.”

“Think of Belle and Darius,” I said. “They've vanished and no one knows how to help them.”

“True. But at least they don't have to go to the shows with this enormous accusation hanging over their heads.”

I refrained from pointing out that they might never go anywhere again – let alone to a fashion show.

“Anyway, Axelle, maybe you'll find something out tomorrow while you're on the photo shoot. Something that could lead you to Belle. And Darius. Then the magazine and I can forget this ever happened.” Aunt V got up from the table. “Right, well – why don't I tell you about the curse over coffee?”

We followed her to the sitting room. Once there, Aunt Venetia sipped her coffee in silence for a few minutes while Ellie, Sebastian and I stretched out on the low U-shaped sofa. The room was red, with heavily shaded table lamps and more paintings on the walls. Sebastian got up to light the fire and Ellie and I each took a chocolate truffle from the small silver bowl in the centre of the coffee table. Then we leaned back, replete and warm, and waited for Aunt Venetia to begin.

This is the tale as she told it.

The Curse of the Golden Handbag

In 1842, two best friends, Auguste La Lune and Maurice Merlette, established a saddlery shop in Paris. They were honest, hard-working and bright; their business flourished. For four generations the La Lunes and Merlettes passed down their respective shares of the business from father to son, calmly and quietly, without the slightest ripple of change – until Belle's grandfather, François, inherited in the 1940s. His father's business partner, Hector Merlette, presumably had no willing son of his own, as he continued to run the company alongside François. It was at this time that the company altered course for ever.

Ambitious, tough, and far-sighted, François La Lune was the one responsible for transforming Maison La Lune et Merlette from a well-respected but small family enterprise into a globally recognized brand. In order to make that happen, he realized that the family business would have to move beyond the old-fashioned world of horse tack and embrace the modern one of fashion. Slowly and carefully, Fran
çois convinced Hector that they should begin to phase out the saddles and bridles (although to this day one can still custom-order a La Lune saddle) and then, just as slowly and carefully, they introduced wallets, suitcases, and leather diaries. The success of this strategy encouraged François to add a line of travelling clothes, and thus a fashion company was born. The Maison La Lune et Merlette label soon became synonymous with Parisian chic and exclusive luxury. And while they became famous for a wide range of products, the truth is that the company's lasting success was built on the back of a handbag. Not just any handbag, of course – this was the famous La Lune “Clothilde” bag. Ever since its launch in 1954, this handbag has been known to fashion insiders as the Golden Handbag, due to its status as the bestselling La Lune handbag of all time. In fact, those who know about such things say it is the bestselling handbag of all time (its only close rival being the equally famous Hermès “Kelly” bag). It is this handbag – the Clothilde bag – that gave the curse its name. Because what many don't know is that sewn within the elegant seams of this famous handbag is the story of a cruel deception…