The Ribbon Weaver (30 page)

‘Yes, thank you, Monsieur Laroque,’ Mr Forrester assured him as he placed his glass on a small table. ‘Indeed it is. In fact, it is very comfortable indeed.’

The Frenchman nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good, good. I always book Le Meurice for business colleagues who are visiting my establishments. I have never as yet been disappointed with the service they receive, but please, if there is anything that you require, do not hesitate to ask. I wish your stay to be as enjoyable as possible and, I hope, mutually beneficial.’ There was a twinkle in his eye as he smiled at Amy and she felt herself begin to relax a little.

‘Anyway, let us now get to the purpose of your visit, Mademoiselle Ernshaw. As I have already expressed, I have been most impressed with the designs for hats and clothing that I have already seen. You have, I hope, brought me some more to look at?’

Amy nodded and immediately withdrew a pile of sketches from the large leather bag at her side. Monsieur Laroque took them to his desk and began to study them and before they knew it two hours had passed as they sat discussing the different styles and fashions.

When Monsieur Laroque finally raised his head from the sketches he was smiling broadly. ‘I think, Monsieur Forrester, you have in Mademoiselle Ernshaw what you English call a star?’

Amy blushed furiously as Samuel smiled in agreement.

‘But now, enough!’ the Frenchman declared. ‘
Assez!
It is time to eat and then after lunch you shall see one of my salons. Come!’

Obediently they followed him from the room, back along the landing and down the metal stairs, and in no time at all they were sitting outside one of the colourful little cafés that lined the grand avenue. They ate freshly baked rolls, split down the middle and filled with a delicious variety of cheeses, and then they had tiny little choux pastries all covered in mouthwatering fruits and topped with freshly whipped cream. Amy had not felt hungry at all after eating such a large breakfast, but she tucked into every mouthful, wondering if it tasted so much better because they were outside in the open air. The meal was washed down with a large carafe of white wine for the men and delicate cups of hot chocolate for her, and when it was finally over, Monsieur Laroque sat back in his chair and patted his protruding belly contentedly.

‘Ah, that was good, no?’

Enjoying herself immensely, Amy caught his eye and grinned, sure that she would never want to eat again.

After Monsieur Laroque had paid the bill he led them back through the crowded streets of Paris to his fashion house, chatting to them amicably as he went.

‘As I promised earlier, this afternoon you shall see one of my salons,’ he stated. ‘I think you will find it most interesting,
n’est-ce pas
? Here we do not have the same sales techniques as you have in England, but we shall see, eh?’

When they got back to the salon, he spoke for some moments to one of the women, then turned back to his guests.

‘My assistant informs me that there is presently a customer in the salon, so you shall please come with me and see how we sell gowns in Paris.’

Leading them to a second, velvet-draped doorway, he stood politely aside and ushered them into what he referred to as ‘the salon’.

Amy stared around in awe. A raised platform ran along one wall, and in front of it were dotted elegant little settees with dainty gilded legs.

On one of them was seated an immaculately dressed elderly lady, with a large plumed hat on her head, and a much younger, but equally beautifully dressed woman at her side.

The older woman raised her eyes imperiously at their entrance, but then as the heavy curtains at the end of the platform parted she turned her attention back to the show. A very attractive young woman appeared, dressed in a stunning sapphire-blue ballgown, and walked slowly up and down the platform with her hand on her hip, twirling this way and that so that the gown was shown to its best advantage. The moment she disappeared, another equally confident young woman swept through the curtains in a totally different style of gown.

‘In Paris, this is how we display our gowns to our customers,’ whispered Monsieur Laroque. ‘Two models parade in the gowns until the customer sees one that they like. Only then do they order a copy and give their measurements.’

Amy sat entranced as the two models, with smiles seemingly painted on their faces, came and went.

‘You approve of our designs, yes?’ Monsieur Laroque enquired. He leaned forward and went on in a hushed voice, ‘My salons are frequented by the very elite of Paris society, so they expect to be … how do you say … pampered?’

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly as Monsieur Laroque gave them a tour of his fashion house. He took them upstairs to meet the seamstresses and some of his designers who worked in a separate room.

That evening, as Amy and the Forresters enjoyed a leisurely dinner together in the hotel dining room, she could talk of little else. She and Josephine retired, tired but content, leaving Mr Forrester to partake of a nightcap with some other gentlemen in the bar.

After hastily washing, Amy pulled on her nightgown and took the pins from her hair, She then brushed it until it shone before leaping into the huge comfortable bed where she snuggled down and slept like a baby.

The following day passed much as the first. Monsieur Laroque took them to visit another, if possible even grander one of his salons, situated on the other side of the River Seine – known as the Left Bank – near the Palais du Luxembourg. While they were there, he left some of Amy’s designs with his head designer to peruse.

During the afternoon, as they rattled back to the hotel over the Pont Neuf, heading once more for the rue de Rivoli, he enquired politely, ‘Please to tell me. Have you made any arrangements for this evening?’

Still struggling to understand his deep accent, Amy was relieved when Mr Forrester answered for them. ‘No,
monsieur
, I think we were intending to stay in at the hotel.’

‘Ah, good, good. Then may I ask if you would care to join my family and myself for dinner at our home – the Château de Chêne.
Le chêne
is an oak tree – I believe you British have the hearts of oak,
n’est-ce pas
?’ He beamed at them. ‘My wife, Edwige, and my son and daughter, François and Adeline, are most eager to meet you.’

Amy’s eyes danced with excitement at the prospect as she glanced towards Mr Forrester to see what his reply would be.

‘That is most kind of you, monsieur. My wife and Miss Ernshaw and I would be delighted to accept your invitation.’

‘Then that is settled,’ said their host. ‘My carriage shall call for you at seven o’clock. I trust that will give you both time to prepare?’

Amy hugged herself in anticipation. Oh, what a lot she was going to have to tell Molly and Toby when she got home. They were never going to believe her, not in a million years.

Chapter Twenty

With her hands on her hips and her head to one side, Amy stood eyeing the three evening dresses that she had hung on the wardrobe doors, wondering which one she should wear. Although the family was still officially in mourning, they were away from home and knew that Maude would have scoffed at the convention of dressing all in black.

As well as the green satin gown that she had worn to the theatre in London, Amy now possessed a further two. Mrs Forrester had insisted that she should have them, convinced that she would need at least three during her stay in Paris. So now she was spoiled for choice. The first of her newest gowns was a rich cornflower-blue colour. The second was a warm deep burgundy with a full skirt in a stiff taffeta, trimmed all around the neckline and the hem with fine silk ribbon.

If she wore the green she knew that she could wear the beautiful emerald and diamond necklace that the elderly mistress had bequeathed to her, but she dismissed that idea almost immediately, wishing to save it for a very special occasion. Eventually she decided on the taffeta. It was elegant in its simplicity, and once she was dressed and had pinned up her hair in a simple style, she eyed her image in the mirror with satisfaction, pleased with her choice. Even if she had not been, she was fully aware that it was too late to change her mind now, and so snatching up her shawl she tripped down the stairs to join the Forresters in the foyer. Josephine was standing at the bottom looking pretty in grey silk and pearls, and Samuel was looking extremely handsome in a dark dinner suit and a colourful cravat. He eyed Amy admiringly as she approached them.

‘Why, you look lovely, my dear,’ he complimented her, and Amy blushed happily. She was looking forward to the evening tremendously and could hardly wait for Monseiur Laroque’s carriage to arrive and take them to the château which lay, she had been told, beyond the north-west corner of Paris, in an idyllic small town called Neuilly-sur-Seine. Once it came, they swayed along the boulevards and through winding streets until eventually they began to leave the city behind. Some time later they drove through decorative wrought-iron gates and turned into the drive that led to Monsieur Laroque’s château. As they approached it, Amy was shocked to see that it was even larger than Forrester’s Folly. When the horses drew to a halt and the coachman assisted them down from the carriage, she stood open-mouthed at the sight before her. The sprawling château, lit by flaming torches set high on the portico, nestled into a deep oak wood, the stars twinkling in the night sky far above.

They were greeted at the door by a manservant, and found themselves in a magnificent vestibule. On either side of it an elegant staircase twisted upwards to a fine galleried landing, all lit by candles.

It was all too much. Amy’s excitement vanished and she gulped nervously, feeling like a fish out of water. It was at that moment that Monsieur Laroque appeared from one of the many doorways leading off from the hall. He hurried forward and greeted them in his usual way, with a firm handshake for Mr Forrester and a kiss on the hand for Josephine and Amy. Smiling broadly he then invited them to follow him and they entered an elaborately decorated drawing room. Two women immediately rose to greet them and Monsieur Laroque proudly drew the older of the two forward.

‘Monsieur Forrester, Mademoiselle Ernshaw, please to meet my wife, Edwige.’

Mr Forrester bowed politely as Amy bobbed her knee respectfully. Although Edwige Laroque was well past the first flush of youth she was still an extremely attractive woman. She was taller than Amy and slender with thick brunette hair that was piled high on her head, and the way she held herself suggested that she was from the upper class. But her dark eyes shone kindly as she flashed them a brilliant smile displaying a set of straight white teeth.

‘And this is my daughter, Adeline,’ Monsieur Laroque now told them as he introduced his daughter who had come to stand beside her mother. Amy found herself looking at a young woman who appeared to be about the same age as her. But there any similarity between them ended, for in looks they were as different as chalk from cheese. Adeline Laroque towered over Amy, and her hair was as black as a raven’s wing; she had just missed being beautiful, for her nose was a little too straight and her chin a little too prominent. Even so, her dark eyes, which were her best feature, sparkled with fun and as they smiled at each other, Amy instantly took a liking to her.

‘My son François has been delayed in Paris on business today, but I am expecting him to join us for dinner at any moment,’ Monsieur Laroque told them. ‘So we shall have a glass of wine whilst we wait for him –
oui
?’

They were soon all seated and the next half an hour passed pleasantly as they chatted about all manner of topics

The manservant who had admitted them eventually appeared at the door and muttered something to his master. Monsieur Laroque smiled apologetically.

‘Pierre informs me that dinner is about to be served. We can delay no longer, or the meal will be ruined. I am sure that François will join us as soon as he can, so come, let us eat.’ He took his wife and daughter, one on each arm, and sailed towards the door.

‘Please to follow me,’ he told his guests solemnly, and Mr Forrester copied his host and put his wife on one arm and Amy on the other.

Amy had to bite on her lip to stop herself laughing at the ceremony of it all as a picture of herself and her gran sitting at the kitchen table in the cottage eating a bowl of rabbit stew flashed into her mind. Everything was so grand here and she felt like pinching herself to check that this was really happening.

They had just entered the hallway when the enormous front doors burst open and a man whom Amy judged to be in his late twenties, almost tripped into the house. As she watched a servant take his outer garments and hand him a bowl in which to rinse his hands, time seemed to stand still and Amy’s mind was clear of anything but his face as she felt hot colour flood into her cheeks.

Monsieur Laroque turned to them.

‘Monsieur et Madame Forrester, Mademoiselle Ernshaw, I am proud to introduce you to my son, François. He apologises for being delayed in Paris but he has made a great effort to join us.’

François formally shook hands with them, but then as he turned to Amy and smiled down at her, their eyes locked.

He was without question the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on and her heart began to race.

He bent and kissed her hand, squeezing it gently before releasing it.

‘Please allow me to escort you to dinner,
mademoiselle
,’ he whispered, and taking her arm he tucked it firmly into his, leaving Amy with no other choice but to follow him.

The little procession then made its way into a beautiful dining room. The long table that stood in the centre of the room was laid with the finest silver and china, and in the centre of it stood a huge candelabra, its many candles casting dancing lights upon the tiny cut-glass vases full of flowers that were dotted here and there along its length. For now it was all lost on Amy and she had to concentrate very hard to stop herself from staring at François. Could she have known it, she was having the same effect upon him, and as he pushed the exquisitely served food about his plate he found that his appetite had completely vanished.