Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 (12 page)

Miss Grimm and Mr Grump said they would take the children to the park and give the rest of the staff some well-earned time off.

Back at the hotel, the children were milling about in the foyer getting ready to leave for the park.

‘We’re going to be short of players, now that Figgy and Rufus have got themselves into trouble again,’ Sep commented to Alice-Miranda and Lucas.

‘What about that guy across the road?’ Lucas suggested.

‘What guy?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

‘Opposite our window we saw this boy staring at us. He looked kind of sad, and then when we were coming back yesterday he waved – I’m not sure how old he is but he might like a run around outside,’ Sep explained. ‘I’ve only ever seen him in the window.’

Miss Grimm arrived and led the group onto the footpath.

‘It’s that house just there.’ Sep pointed at the black door.

‘Did you get the sunscreen?’ Miss Grimm called when her husband appeared.

‘Oh, darn.’ The man shook his head. ‘You go on ahead, darling, and I’ll be along shortly.’

Miss Grimm smiled at her husband and gave him a wave.

Alice-Miranda and Sep were at the back of the line. ‘Why don’t you ring the bell?’ Alice-Miranda asked as they approached the townhouse.

‘Shouldn’t we check with Miss Grimm?’

‘I’m sure she won’t mind. We won’t be more than a minute,’ Alice-Miranda replied as the rest of the group followed the headmistress. ‘And you said that he waved at you when we were going home yesterday. It sounds like he’s friendly enough.’

Sep gulped. He wasn’t sure if they should be approaching strange houses in Paris. But he didn’t want Alice-Miranda to think he was a chicken, either.

Sep hung back, so Alice-Miranda scurried up the steps and pressed the buzzer. She waited a few moments and tried again.

‘There mustn’t be anyone home,’ said Sep. He looked up at the window where he’d seen the lad the previous afternoon.

Alice-Miranda shrugged. ‘Oh well, at least we tried.’

Just as she turned to leave, the lock snapped and a woman’s face appeared around the partially open door. She was very pretty, with piercing green eyes and dark hair pulled back off her face.

‘
Bonjour, madame. Mon nom est
Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m very pleased to meet you.’ The child extended her hand.

The woman looked at her and frowned. Alice-Miranda wondered if she spoke any English at all.

‘My friend and I were wondering if the boy who lives here would like to come with us to the park for a game of basketball,’ Alice-Miranda explained. She gestured towards Sep, who was standing back on the footpath.

The woman shook her head.

‘We’re staying just across the road, at the hotel, and yesterday Sep saw a boy wave to him from the window upstairs so we assumed he lived here.’

‘No, mademoiselle.’ The woman shook her head.

‘But I saw him,’ Sep said. ‘He waved to me from the window on the fifth floor.’

The woman shook her head again, more definitely than before.

Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘Oh well, I am very sorry to have bothered you, madame.’

The woman closed the door.

‘Never mind, it was the thought that counted,’ Alice-Miranda said.

Sep frowned. He turned and looked up at the window. And just the same as yesterday, he could have sworn he saw the curtain move. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look up there.’

For a split second there was a face. And then it was gone.

Alice-Miranda turned. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘He was there, just now. I promise.’ Sep was adamant as he pointed up at the window. ‘Fair enough if he didn’t want to play with us but why would she lie and say there was no one there? Unless I’m going crazy and seeing things.’

‘Or she didn’t understand what I was asking,’ said Alice-Miranda.

‘Why are you two still here?’ Aldous Grump called as he walked across the street towards the children.

‘We were just meeting the neighbours,’ Alice-Miranda told him.

‘Of course you were, young lady.’ Aldous looked at the tiny child with her cascading chocolate curls and brown eyes as big as saucers. ‘And why?’

‘Just trying to make friends.’

Aldous Grump smiled. ‘Now, that I would believe.’

Alice-Miranda slipped her hand into Mr Grump’s and together with Sep they headed for the park.

Adele’s mind was racing. She would never do anything to hurt Christian. He was like a father to her. A very patient father, who coped with all her silly questions and stupid mistakes. But this time she couldn’t believe how foolish she had been. When the man had phoned the atelier last week, he had seemed so helpful. She’d thought he was from the company that had supplied the beautiful vicuna fabric.

‘
Bonjour
, I am calling from Fil d’Or Fabrics,’ he had said. ‘Did you receive your shipment today?’

‘
Oui
, monsieur,’ she’d replied.

‘And is it to monsieur’s liking?’ he’d asked.

‘Very much. The fabric is beautiful.’

‘And very expensive.’

‘
Oui
. I could buy a flat for what it cost,’ she said with a laugh.

‘And you have stored it properly?’

‘Of course, monsieur, it is in the climate-controlled storeroom. Very safe,’ she had blathered.

‘And that is protected by an alarm?’

‘No, monsieur, no alarm, but there is usually someone here.’

‘I should hope so,’ the man had continued.

‘Except when Monsieur Fontaine has dinner with his parents.’

‘What a good man! Dinner with his parents. Twice a week?’

‘Sometimes three. Always a Wednesday and Sunday and sometimes Thursday too. His Mama is very attentive and she worries a lot about her son. We all do. He works far too hard,’ Adele had confided.

‘I am glad it has all worked out so well for Monsieur Christian,’ the man said. And with that he had hung up.

Now she knew that he had just been fishing for information. She should have realised. She still didn’t know who the man was or how he had got into the building. There was no sign of forced entry.

But it was all her fault that Monsieur Christian had lost the vicuna. She might as well have left a sign out and directions telling the fellow where he could find it.

‘Adele,’ Christian called from the other side of the room. She did not hear him. ‘Adele!’

She flinched and looked up. Her boss was standing between the chief detective and one of the forensic investigators who had dusted the storeroom for fingerprints.

‘Come here, Adele,’ Christian instructed. He knew that his assistant could be vague at times but in the past few days he had found her incredibly testing.

‘Monsieur?’ said Adele. She approached the group cautiously.

‘There are no fingerprints. Except yours,’ he informed her.

‘But I . . .’ she began.

‘Adele, I am not accusing you. Of course your fingerprints will be all over the storeroom. Unless there is something you’re not telling us?’ said Christian.

Adele shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

‘Are you sure that you’re all right, mademoiselle?’ the detective asked.

‘Fine, monsieur, just too many late nights getting ready for the show,’ she said. ‘May I go now?’

‘
Oui
,’ the detective nodded

‘And don’t look so worried, Adele. It is a terrible thing and I am dreadfully disappointed that my line is incomplete but of course the vicuna was insured, wasn’t it?’ Christian asked.

‘Of course, monsieur,’ she said, smiling tightly.

Bile rose in the back of her throat. She scurried back to her desk and began to move piles of paper about, hoping desperately not to find what she suspected was still there. The little stack of envelopes she had meant to post on the day they discovered the robbery were sitting unsent. And inside one of them was the cheque for the insurance on the vicuna.

She watched as her boss led the two men to the stairs and they disappeared from sight.

Her stomach seemed to be doing backflips and she wondered how she could possibly tell Christian the truth.

The phone rang on her desk.

‘
Bonjour
,’ Adele answered quietly.

‘
Bonjour
, mademoiselle,’ the voice on the other end replied.

Adele flinched. It was him. The same man who had asked her all of those questions earlier in the week.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded.

‘Oh, mademoiselle, when we last spoke, you were so kind and helpful. But it seems you are not so happy today.’

‘You tricked me,’ Adele accused.

His voice turned cold. ‘I did no such thing. You have a mouth like a bucket. But now I thought we might be able to help each other. I believe that I have something your boss would like back. Particularly as your lack of security will have voided the insurance anyway.’

Adele wondered if that was true. It hardly mattered, seeing that the cheque was still sitting on her desk.

‘I have helped you too much already,’ Adele whispered.

‘
Au contraire
, mademoiselle. There is something else I need from you. But if you go to the police, I can assure you that Monsieur Christian will never see that fabric again. I’ve heard that he can ill afford to lose such a large amount of money. Business is tough at the moment,’ he said threateningly. ‘And you seem to like working for him too. Sadly, not for much longer, I suspect. The other thing you must know is that I can make people disappear. Permanently.’

Adele could hardly breathe.

‘What I want is simple. You give me the designs for Christian’s next line and I will return the vicuna.’

Her heart was racing. ‘But I can’t,’ she said.

‘Then I am afraid that Monsieur Christian will just have to lose all that lovely money. Unless of course you reconsider. It is only a few sketches and no one will ever know. You can tell him they were lost. He is a clever man. He can design another line.’

Adele’s hand trembled as she flipped open the notepad on her desk and picked up a pen. ‘What must I do?’ she wheezed.

The man told her exactly what he wanted and that she should await further instructions regarding where and how they would make the exchange.

Adele hung up the telephone, raced to the toilet and threw up.

Harry Lipp had slept later than he intended. When he emerged from the lift into the hotel foyer, the rest of the group was already assembled and waiting to head off to the Palace of Versailles for their first performance.

Ophelia Grimm glanced up and flinched.

Mr Lipp’s suit was a particularly nasty shade of electric blue, teamed with a multicoloured cravat and blue suede shoes. Clearly he was planning to compete with the palace decor because nobody was going to miss him dressed like that.

Deidre Winterbottom shuffled through the children and found the headmistress.

‘Seriously?’ she whispered to her friend. ‘I wouldn’t have believed he could find anything brighter than his red suit, but this one takes the biscuit. I think I need my sunglasses.’

Ophelia Grimm smiled. ‘Oh well, I suppose no one could accuse the man of being bland.’

Soon the children and teachers were en route to the palace. They took the train from Notre Dame Station, and Mr Lipp and Mr Trout even contrived an impromptu rehearsal in transit, much to the delight – or annoyance – of the other passengers.

‘I’ll count you in,’ Mr Trout said, and began to click his fingers.

Figgy started a drum solo on the seat in front of him and was quickly greeted with a death stare from the elderly passenger who was being thumped on the back.

‘Ç
a vous dérange?
’ demanded the bald man.

‘No, I am
not
crazy,’ Figgy protested loudly.

Mr Plumpton leaned over and interpreted for the lad. ‘Not “deranged”. “
Dérange
.” He asked if you minded. I think he’d prefer you to stop.’

‘Oh, sorry. Uh,
désolé
,’ Figgy mouthed. He began drumming on his thigh instead.

The gentleman hmphed, but when the lad began to sing the man’s eyes almost popped out of his head. It was hard to imagine such a sweet sound coming from the boofy boy. His solo at the beginning of ‘Scarborough Fair’ was mesmerising and when the rest of the children joined in there was a brief burst of applause from the other passengers.