Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 (14 page)

The children finished their repertoire. Mr Lipp and Mr Trout took their bows as the small but enthusiastic audience, comprised of their teachers and the security guard, gave a rousing ovation. No one else had seen or heard them at all. Pity, Mr Trout thought to himself, as the children had really outdone themselves.

Outside in the courtyard, it sounded as if someone was upset.

‘What do you mean it’s closed today? I’ve come all the way from New York and I am not leaving until I have seen the Hall of Mirrors with my own two eyes.’

Alice-Miranda’s ears pricked up. ‘I know that voice,’ she whispered to Millie.

‘No, monsieur, you cannot go in there without a pass to the show,’ another voice called.

‘What show is that?’

‘Monsieur Christian’s fashion show,’ the second voice replied.

‘A fashion show? Are you kidding me? I practically run fashion in New York City. Do you know who I am, young man. My name is . . .’ The man barged his way into the foyer.

‘Mr Finkelstein!’ Alice-Miranda rushed from her position in the first row of the choir and stood in front of the man. He took a moment to register who was speaking to him.

‘You!’ He looked at her with astonishment and perhaps just a little hint of panic.

‘Hello Mr Finkelstein. Yes it’s me, Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones,’ she replied.

‘Yes, yes, I know who you are. But what are you doing here?’ Morrie Finkelstein demanded. ‘And how come
you’re
allowed in the palace?’

‘Well, it’s quite a long story but we’re here,’ she said, gesturing at her school friends, ‘to sing at some of the shows. Although we’ve had a much smaller audience for this one than we’d anticipated. Is Lucinda with you?’

‘Yes, of course. She’s out there with her mother and brothers. I can’t believe we’ve come all this way and the palace is closed today,’ Mr Finkelstein snarled. ‘And why didn’t I get an invitation to this silly show, anyway? My company spends millions on fashion each year.’

Unbeknown to Morrie, his wife Gerda had informed his personal assistant before they left New York that her husband would not be working at all while they were in Paris. Hence the woman had not passed on any invitations to work-related events. When Gerda realised that they would be in town during Fashion Week she had slightly regretted her actions, although she knew that if Morrie ended up at one show he’d feel compelled to attend them all, and this was a family holiday – the first they had ever taken overseas with the children. Besides, until now, her husband had seemed to be having a wonderful time and had hardly even checked his phone messages.

‘Perhaps you can come with us?’ Alice-Miranda told him. She looked expectantly at Miss Reedy, who had organised the tour. ‘Miss Reedy, Miss Grimm, everyone, this is Mr Finkelstein. His daughter Lucinda is a good friend of mine. We met at school in New York.’

Morrie Finkelstein seemed a little overwhelmed by the cacophony of greetings that ensued. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose that is true. Alice-Miranda and my daughter are friends.’ He frowned slightly and nodded at the tiny child.

‘We’d love to have you and your family join us for the tour, Mr Finkelstein. But I’m not sure how long until the show is finished and we can have a look at the Hall of Mirrors. Wasn’t that where you said you wanted to go?’ Miss Grimm answered on behalf of the group.

Mr Finkelstein looked sheepish. He hadn’t actually said that while inside the room.

‘I think we should head out into the sunshine for some air,’ Miss Grimm suggested. ‘Miss Reedy, do you want to go and find out about this tour?’

The children streamed through the double doors into the large courtyard.

‘Lucinda!’ Alice-Miranda called as she spied her friend standing with her brothers and Mrs Finkelstein.

‘Oh my goodness, Alice-Miranda? Is it really you?’ Lucinda raced towards the child and the two hugged warmly. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ll explain in a minute. First of all, come and meet my friends.’ Alice-Miranda took Lucinda by the hand and led her towards the rest of the group.

Ambrosia Headlington-Bear had not been the least bit impressed when told that she wouldn’t be meeting Dux LaBelle at her private viewing of the LaBelle collection. Apparently he was too busy to see her, and yet, as she had pointed out to the man on the telephone, the only reason he
had
a profile was because she had worn one of his gowns to the FFATAS and her photograph was on the cover of
Gloss and Goss
. She’d only ever seen Dux once, at his show the previous year.

But then, come to think of it, she’d never really
seen
him at all. He had worn a mask and his clothes had completely swamped him. At the time she’d thought it wonderfully mysterious but now she just thought it was rather ridiculous.

As the taxi sat idling in the traffic, Ambrosia fished around in her handbag and checked the address. She should have walked. It would have been faster. She looked at the map that the concierge had given her and realised that the street was not far.

Ambrosia tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, I’ll get out here.’ She pulled a ten euro note from her wallet and handed it over. Then, as she was about to exit the vehicle, she remembered.

‘May I have a receipt, please?’

She wasn’t used to accounting for her expenses.

Ambrosia consulted her map again and set off. She glanced around at the assortment of townhouses and hotels and decided that every street in Paris looked almost the same. Except for the window boxes. Sometimes they were beautiful and other times full of weeds. But the plants in this street looked well cared for.

Ambrosia reached her destination and rang the bell. Inside the house, she heard footsteps on the timber floor. They seemed to be heading away from the door.

She waited what seemed like an age before finally the door opened. A man greeted her. ‘
Bonjour
, madame,’ he said. ‘I am Gilbert and you are?’

‘Ambrosia Headlington-Bear,’ she said, frowning back at him. ‘You were expecting me.’

‘
Oui
, of course.’

Ambrosia had anticipated champagne, and perhaps a little small talk about how beautiful she had looked in that LaBelle gown. This man had absolutely no public relations skills whatsoever.

He invited her inside and led the way along the ground floor corridor, where he hastily unlocked a door and pushed it open. The room was large, with bare timber floors and heavily draped windows. He flicked a switch and a dusty chandelier in the middle of the room lit up to reveal half a dozen mannequins. Each was wearing a spectacular gown in shades of fuchsia, black and green.

‘Oh my, these are exquisite,’ Ambrosia gasped. She walked over to inspect the first gown more closely. The design was like nothing she’d ever seen before and the workmanship was superb. ‘Dux is amazing.’

The man nodded but said nothing. Ambrosia had the feeling that this was going to be more of a self-serve viewing. Her French was sorely lacking and this fellow seemed to have very little English either. Ambrosia took out her notebook and began to jot down some descriptions of the gowns.

The man rushed over to her. ‘No! No writing. You like it, you buy it.’

‘But I was just writing down which of the dresses I prefer,’ Ambrosia cooed. ‘Of course I’ll be wearing LaBelle again very soon – my whole life is one long premiere. I’m sure that we could come to some sort of an arrangement – you know that whatever I wear gets excellent press coverage.’

The man didn’t seem to understand what she had said and continued to insist that she put the notebook away.

Ambrosia stared at him. He was a pinched-looking fellow, not at all handsome; in fact quite the contrary.

‘I wish I could meet Dux. It would only be for a moment.’ Ambrosia batted her long lashes but the man seemed completely immune to her charms.

‘No. He is too busy. There is work to be done and he must create. You have to go.’

Ambrosia walked away to examine another of the gowns more closely. ‘So, is Dux planning to expand the business at all?’ Ambrosia asked. She wasn’t really expecting an answer. It was more a question to herself.

‘
Oui
, madame. We are, how you say it? Looking for investors.’

Ambrosia spun around. ‘Really? That sounds
fabulous
. I’m looking for a project at the moment.’

‘Then perhaps, madame, we should talk.’ He took her hand into his and raised it gently to his lips. She realised with a little jolt that the middle finger on his right hand was missing.

Ambrosia had met plenty of men like Gilbert before. His oily attempts to be charming were repulsive to say the least, but for now she had to play the game. Ambrosia smiled weakly and nodded.

Of course, she didn’t really have any money to invest, but Gilbert didn’t need to know that. Ambrosia felt a flutter of excitement. She might just get to meet the talented Dux LaBelle after all.

‘Well, that was disappointing,’ Charlotte told Cecelia as they filed out of the Hall of Mirrors. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t get to hear the kids sing. Perhaps we should go to over to their hotel and find Alice-Miranda?’

‘Yes, let’s,’ Cecelia agreed. ‘I wonder where they performed and for whom?’

‘I’m sure Alice-Miranda will fill us in on all the details,’ said Charlotte, with a cheeky smile.

Meanwhile, just around the corner at the top of the garden, Alice-Miranda and the children were waiting to start their tour. Alice-Miranda had introduced Lucinda to her friends and now Lucinda and Millie were engaged in a long conversation about the things Lucinda had already seen in Paris and what else she and her family were planning to enjoy.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Millie said.

‘It sure is. I still can’t believe that we’re really here. I never thought it would happen, especially after . . .’ Lucinda’s voice trailed off.

‘It’s all right,’ Millie smiled. ‘Alice-Miranda told me about New York, but it sounds like everything’s okay now. And don’t worry, I’m sure no one else knows what happened with your father.’

Lucinda smiled tightly. She had been a little nervous ever since seeing Alice-Miranda, and wondered how many of the girl’s friends knew exactly how dreadfully her father had behaved. It seemed that he had learned his lesson now: The Paris trip was amazing, and in the past couple of months at home, he’d taken her for frozen hot chocolate, to the top of the Empire State Building and even to the zoo (with a large dose of antihistamines under his belt). He did his park duty and made some unexpected friends in Lou and Harry, two hot dog and pretzel vendors, sometimes disappearing in the after-noons to play chess with them. Her father really had seemed to have changed for the better and she couldn’t remember her mother ever being happier.

‘We’ll be heading into the garden first,’ Miss Reedy advised the group. ‘Please make sure that you keep up, and don’t go wandering off anywhere that you can’t see me.’

‘Oh no!’ Millie grumbled as she rummaged around in her backpack. Her hand shot into the air.

‘Yes, Millie,’ the teacher said.

‘I think I’ve left my guidebook in the ladies’ room.’ Millie hoped that no one else had picked it up. It had come in terribly handy so far. ‘Can I go and get it? I’ll take Lucinda with me.’

Lucinda smiled. The two girls were standing side by side. She’d only just met Millie but it was clear that she was as lovely as Alice-Miranda. Before Miss Reedy had time to allocate another adult to the task, Millie grabbed Lucinda’s hand and the two girls darted back through the group and across the large courtyard towards the ladies’ loos.

‘Miss Reedy, perhaps the rest of us should head into the grounds,’ said Professor Winterbottom. He was eyeballing the lads, who had started an impromptu game of rugby with Figgy’s hat. Some of the older girls, Susannah, Ashima, Ivory and Madeline, had wandered off towards one of the souvenir shops.

‘Yes, that sounds like a good idea,’ the English teacher said. ‘Come along, everyone,’ she called, while the other adults rounded up the students and followed her towards the gatehouse where the tickets would be collected.

‘I’ll wait here for Millie and Lucinda,’ Mrs Winterbottom offered. ‘We’ll see you on the other side.’