Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 (17 page)

The other children arrived in the foyer.

‘Can we tell them the news?’ Lucas whispered in his stepmother’s ear.

She nodded. ‘But only if they promise not to tell anyone. I couldn’t stand having the paparazzi staking out the house for the next five months.’

Lucas tugged on his cousin’s shirt. ‘Let’s tell them later,’ he said, nodding at the other kids. ‘I think I want this to be our secret just for a little while.’

Alice-Miranda agreed.

Fabien Bouchard’s eyelids felt like lead weights. The golden glow around the edge of the curtains told him how long he had worked. Now all he wanted was to climb into bed and sleep, at least for a few hours. But his mother would be up soon.

He had worked through the night to finish the last design for the collection. He had discarded many sketches but finally he had his gown.

The door handle turned and Sybilla Bouchard entered the room, carrying a tray with tea and toast. She looked at the bed in the middle of the room and gasped. It had not been slept in.

‘Fabien?’ she called urgently. ‘Where are you?’ Her heart hammered inside her chest and she had to catch her breath.

He had drifted off to sleep again at the drawing board. ‘My son,’ she exhaled loudly as she saw the lad with his head resting on the angled board. She looked at his profile and touched him gently on the cheek.

Fabien jolted awake. He sat up and yawned widely.

His mother’s eyes fell to the sketch on the board. ‘This is beautiful. It reminds me of . . .’

‘Of what, Mama?’ Fabien asked.

‘Nothing. You have worked hard and I am pleased. That’s all that matters.’

She pushed the papers around on the drawing board, looking at the half-finished sketches.

‘These are good too,’ she said. ‘But you are tired. I’m afraid I will be working all day to get this done, so sleep and read, my darling, and I will be back this evening with your supper. There is food in the kitchen for your lunch.’

‘Is Uncle Claude home?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Your uncle has important business. But we had breakfast together this morning before he left.’

Sybilla leaned down to kiss Fabien’s cheek. ‘Your uncle will be so proud.’

And with that she left the room. Fabien stood up from his desk and stretched. He remembered that he was still wearing the same clothes he had on the day before, so he showered quickly and found some fresh trousers and a shirt.

He ate his breakfast and flicked through one of his old sketchpads. It didn’t take long before he was restless. He wandered to the window and saw a group of children from the hotel across the street. They were standing by the door, with two women hovering. One of the boys looked up towards him. He smiled. Fabien raced downstairs and opened the front door. He snibbed the lock so he could get back in later. He watched them from there until they reached the end of the street and turned left. Then he did something he’d never done before. He pulled the door closed and headed out after them.

Alice-Miranda could hardly have imagined a more perfect day, except perhaps if her father and Uncle Lawrence had been there too. For now she was enjoying the surprise of having her mother and aunt, and of course Lucinda and her friends, together in Paris. She was bubbling with excitement about Aunt Charlotte’s baby news too.

Last night she’d thought and thought about that photograph of Monsieur Christian’s wife but in the end decided that she must simply look like someone else.

The group wandered along the Boulevard St Michel, poking their heads into the shop windows and looking at the Parisians going about their business, until Cecelia led them through a grand entrance into a spectacular garden. They stopped to take in the view.

‘Whoa! What is this place?’ Lucas asked.

‘Well, it says here that it’s the Jardins Du Luxembourg, which I think means the Luxembourg Gardens. There’s a palace too,’ said Millie. She pointed at the stunning chateau in the middle of the grounds and then went back to scanning her guidebook. ‘It used to be for the royal family but now it’s part of the government – the building, anyway – and the rest is for the general public.’

‘You’re very well informed, miss,’ Cecelia told the flame-haired child.

‘We couldn’t go anywhere without her,’ added Jacinta. ‘She knows more about Paris than the rest of us put together.’

Millie grinned sheepishly. She’d been worried that the other kids were getting sick of her and her guidebook.

‘Thanks for bringing us here,’ said Charlotte as she linked her arm through her sister’s. ‘I loved this place when we were younger and I haven’t been here in years.’

The group walked further into the park. There was a pretty area with trees and a bandstand, a long water feature with an ornate fountain and loads of open space.

‘All right, children, gather round. The park is huge but it should be quite safe for you to explore without the two of us hovering. I think Charlotte and I will pop into the cafe over there and grab some drinks and then we’ll find a sunny spot down by the lake. They have little sailing boats for hire. It might be fun to have a regatta later,’ Cecelia suggested.

‘Just like New York, Mummy, in Central Park,’ Alice-Miranda fizzed. ‘We could have a race.’

‘Cool,’ Lucas replied.

Lucinda grinned. She was so thrilled to be in Paris with Alice-Miranda and her friends from school. She could hardly imagine that this was really her life.

‘Yes, darling, that’s a great idea. Why don’t you have a look around and then meet us by the lake in an hour,’ said Cecelia. ‘Just stay together and don’t leave the park.’

The children nodded. Some free time sounded like heaven.

‘Who has a watch?’ Cecelia asked.

‘We all do,’ Jacinta said, holding up her left arm. ‘We had to have them for the trip so we wouldn’t be late anywhere.’

‘Good thinking,’ Cecelia replied. She glanced at her own wrist. ‘All right, then. We’ll see you at half past eleven. We have to be back by four so there’s time for you to get ready to go to Notre Dame.’

The children raced off into the grounds with Alice-Miranda and Millie leading the way.

‘Hey, wait for me,’ Sloane grumbled.

They stopped outside the front of the palace. ‘Where do you want to go first?’ Millie asked.

‘What’s there to look at?’ Lucas replied.

‘Well, there are some tennis courts and a basketball court,’ Millie said.

‘But we haven’t got any equipment,’ Sloane sniped.

Millie scanned the rest of the page. ‘There are loads of statues and things to look at.’

‘Boring.’ Sloane rolled her eyes.

‘We could play hide and seek, if we just stay in one area,’ Sep suggested.

‘How old are you, big brother?’ Sloane shook her head. Something seemed to have put her in a spectacularly unpleasant mood in the past few minutes.

‘Are you all right, Sloane?’ Alice-Miranda asked. She noticed that Sloane was wearing sandals. ‘Is it your blisters?’

Everyone else looked at Sloane’s feet too.

‘What did you wear those for?’ Sep asked. ‘You complained all of the first day when you had them on.’

Sloane pulled a face at her brother. ‘I thought I might have worn them in and my blisters had started to go away. I wanted to look nice, like all these Paris people. You don’t see them wearing daggy sandshoes.’

Lucinda Finkelstein slipped her backpack off her shoulders and fished around inside. ‘Here.’ She passed Sloane two large bandaids. ‘I always get blisters too.’

Sloane smiled at the frizzy-haired girl. ‘Thanks.’

‘Mrs Winterbottom in training?’ Lucas joked.

‘Who’s that?’ Lucinda asked.

‘Our headmaster’s wife. Her backpack is like a Tardis. She gave Sloane bandaids on our first day too. And the other day Jacinta stepped in a giant dog poo and Mrs Winterbottom came to the rescue with wet wipes, rubber gloves and a disposable face mask, like a cross between a nanny and a handyman. We’re still wondering what else she carries around with her.’

‘Oh, don’t remind me about that,’ Jacinta wailed. ‘It was gross.’

‘You know, yesterday she pulled out a paperclip for Mr Trout, throat lozenges for Miss Grimm and a giant safety pin for Figgy when the button on his pants popped off,’ Millie laughed. ‘I’m just waiting for her to whip out a fold-up bicycle or an electric car.’

The children giggled.

Sloane put the bandaids in place and her mood went from fug back to fizz almost immediately. She and Lucinda struck up an easy conversation and Sloane told her all about her ambitions to go to New York. By the time the group reached the avenue of trees at the other end of the park, Lucinda had invited Sloane to stay with them whenever she came to the United States.

‘Look, they’re playing boules,’ said Alice-Miranda. She was pointing at a group of elderly gentlemen who were standing in a flat rectangular area with a low wall around it. Silver balls were strewn around the red granite surface.

‘What’s that?’ Sloane asked.

‘I think the particular game they’re playing is called pétanque and it’s sort of like lawn bowls,’ the child explained. ‘We play it at home sometimes, but I’m not entirely sure of the rules.’

The children approached the game to watch. Alice-Miranda noticed another set of balls sitting to the side.

‘
Bonjour
, monsieur,’ she said to a gentleman wearing a red beret, who was waiting for his turn.

He smiled back at her. ‘
Bonjour
.’

‘
Anglais?
’ she asked.

The man shook his head. He didn’t speak English. Alice-Miranda pointed at the wooden box and then at her friends and in a swift series of actions managed to establish that they could indeed borrow the pétanque set and have their own game on the vacant court beside his group.

Fortunately Millie’s guidebook also had a section on traditional French games, and within a few minutes she had outlined the rules and two teams were established. As there were seven children, they needed someone to sit out each time. Millie volunteered to be first as she could help with any questions about the rules.

‘So you need to throw the little ball up into the air and then the rest of you each gets a turn . . .’

Lucas’s team won the first round. Lucinda volunteered to sit out the second round. She was watching her new friends when she realised that someone else was doing the same thing. A young fellow with white-blond hair and blue eyes was standing off to the side and seemed engrossed in their activity. At home she would have ignored him completely as she rarely spoke to boys unless they were her brothers. But there was something about being in Paris that gave Lucinda a burst of confidence.

‘
Bonjour
,’ she said and smiled at the lad.

He nodded.

‘Do you live here in Paris?’ Lucinda asked.

The boy nodded again.

‘It’s a beautiful park,’ she said.

‘
Oui
, mademoiselle,’ he whispered.

‘Do you come here often?’ Lucinda asked.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t get out very much.’

‘Oh, I didn’t either until I met Alice-Miranda. She’s the girl over there.’ Lucinda pointed. ‘I used to be like a prisoner until she helped me escape.’

‘Escape?’ The lad furrowed his brow.

‘My papa didn’t let me go anywhere but now he’s brought the whole family to Paris for a holiday and I have Alice-Miranda to thank for that,’ said Lucinda.

‘I am like a prisoner too,’ he said, and looked into Lucinda’s eyes before glancing away shyly again. ‘But not today. Today I am as free as a bird.’ Fabien’s heart skipped a beat as he said this. He hoped that his mother was as busy as he thought she would be.

There was a cheer as Alice-Miranda’s team was declared the winner of the second round.

‘Lucinda, your turn,’ the tiny child called. Then she noticed the young man standing nearby. He looked about fifteen or sixteen. ‘
Bonjour
. We could do with another player,’ she said as she jogged towards Lucinda. She held her hand out to the boy. ‘My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and it’s very nice to meet you.’

‘
Bonjour
, mademoiselle,’ he replied, taking her little hand into his.

‘Oh, your hands are so soft,’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s your name?’