A Crime of Fashion (23 page)

“That's exactly what I'm asking myself…”

Sebastian eventually found the door leading out of the room we'd climbed into. Fortunately he remembered the way the passages ran and, without too much trouble he led us into some kind of laundry room. There he pulled out his floor plan of the house.

“We're here,” he said, pointing to a small room on the basement level. “If we take this passageway to the secret stairwell, we can get up to the ground floor. From there, we can try going out through one of the terrace doors like we did the other night.”

“And if we position ourselves by the hedges again…”

“We can follow someone out… That's the advantage of trying to break out of a fashion family's house,” he said, as he looked at his watch. “They always have fashionable events to attend. It's nearly eight o'clock now. They should start leaving at any moment for some dinner party or more fashion shows.”

When you knew it existed, the labyrinth of secret corridors was easy to move around in. Dry and well ventilated, it was a luxurious treat after the catacombs. The doors all opened easily and quietly, testifying to their recent use. They operated with a variety of spring mechanisms, all still original, all still functioning.

“The architect sure— Argh! That hurts!” Sebastian hissed. He'd stubbed his toe on something hard. “Wait. I need a moment,” he whispered as he hopped on one foot.

I stooped to the ground and ran my hands over the dark floor, searching for whatever he'd stubbed his toe on. I picked up a bulky wooden shape; running my hands over it, I touched velvet… I'd found the shoe!

“But why here?” asked Sebastian. He was leaning against the wall now.

“That's what I've got to figure out. Would you mind carrying it for me? I don't have a pocket or bag.”

“Here.” He lifted it from my hand and tucked it inside his shirt.

Then we slipped along the secret passageway until we reached the hidden staircase. From there we went up a floor and into the main part of the house.

We entered the large drawing room; it was dimly lit and quiet – or so I thought. Once we'd caught our breath and our eyes had adjusted to the low light, we realized we could hear voices. Looking at Sebastian, I put a finger to my lips and tiptoed to the chimney. As I bent my ear to the flue, Sebastian came to my side. Together we listened as upstairs, in the library, Claude and Rose were talking.

“I've never seen your hair look so messy,” Rose was saying.

We listened as Claude poured himself a drink. “Just because your hair – for once – isn't looking like a rat's nest is no reason to get catty. Besides, I've had a long day.”

“And you're white as a ghost. Maybe
you're
the one making the noises I hear at night?”

Claude didn't answer.

“What? You're not going to tell me that it's my
imagination
?” Rose continued. “Beginning to believe in the curse, are we?”

After a moment's silence, Claude said, “If you don't mind, I've got to bathe.” We listened as he poured himself another drink and left.

“After leaving us for dead, I'm not surprised he wants to wash the evidence away,” Sebastian said.

“I'm not sure it's him,” I answered as we pulled away from the chimney. “The more I think about it, the more I don't think he'd leave so obvious a clue as
CAT
in his agenda.”

Sebastian and I crossed the room. It was dark outside; moonlight splashed the terrace with a yellow glow. But beyond the terrace, near the bottom of the lawn, a well-lit construction site was buzzing with activity. Workers were laying down some kind of flooring while many more were busy attaching long sheets of canvas to a large metal frame that had been erected on the grounds. Furthermore, potted topiary in all shapes and sizes was being unloaded from a florist's van that was parked not far from the house, to the right of the terrace.

“They must be putting up the tent for tomorrow's show,” Sebastian whispered. “This could make it easier for us to get out of here.”

“Let's hope so,” I said as I unlocked the terrace doors and put my head out to listen. The sounds of music and a lone hairdryer floated out from the upstairs windows; from the lawn, the sounds of hammers, drills and shouting drifted towards us.

“I think it might be best to make as if we belong here,” I said quietly. “The workers, if they notice us, will hopefully think we're a part of the family or close friends, or something…”

“And the family will think we're with one of the crews.”

I nodded.

Sebastian and I stepped out and shut the doors behind us before retracing our steps from Monday night. Silently we weaved our way around the patio furniture, careful not to hit any of it. I didn't want a noise to bring Claude or Rose to their windows – from this distance they might easily recognize me! Of course, I couldn't be certain that we were going unnoticed from above, but that was a risk we had to take.

We moved as stealthily and as quickly as possible until we reached the side of the terrace. Once there, and with the florist's van parked only a few strides away, we relaxed and simply walked quietly along the side of the house and towards the courtyard at the front. Once we'd arrived at the courtyard, we hid behind the bushes bordering it. Contrary to the scene in the garden behind the house, here there was little outside light – and most of it was directed at the courtyard just in front of us. The gate stood open to the street – but there was a security guard with a walkie-talkie posted at it.

“We should make a run for those tall bushes near the gate,” said Sebastian. “And then from there we can hide alongside a car as it exits. Surely one of the La Lunes will be leaving soon…” We waited, our weight on the balls of our feet, ready for action. After a few moments we heard the security guard's walkie-talkie crackle to life. “Ready to run?” Sebastian asked.

I nodded, and taking a deep breath, sprinted across the courtyard, Sebastian by my side. We were halfway across when a car came in from the street. “Get down and roll!” Sebastian hissed.

We dropped out of sight just as Fiona drove in. “Her hair looks too perfect – there's no way she could have been the one who hit us in the catacombs,” I pointed out from behind the safety of the low hedge lining the driveway.

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. “Her hair is like a helmet: it could probably withstand a tornado. A trip through the catacombs would be nothing for hair like that. But I doubt she has the strength to drag unconscious bodies around.”

From the house, the sound of clicking high heels was followed by the opening and shutting of a car door. An engine revved and gravel crunched as a car turned to drive out of the courtyard. It was Rose. I had the feeling she wasn't the best of drivers even during good times, but now, with her fear of the curse hanging over her, she looked so nervous behind the wheel I was surprised she didn't just call for a taxi.

Carefully, we climbed over the low hedge and waited for Rose to drive up beside us. The security guard was again busy on his walkie-talkie (and, fortunately, on the other side of the gate from us). As Rose slowly eased forward towards the opened gate, we crept to the side of her large car and crouched low beside the back door. I could see her taut features reflected in the wing mirror. The darkness hid us well and, careful not to get our toes under her wheels, we followed her as she nudged her car out of the gate and onto the street. When we reached the sidewalk, we quickly stood up, looking as if we'd been politely standing and waiting for her to drive out before continuing on our leisurely evening stroll. She was so distracted that she even lifted her left hand off the steering wheel in a quick gesture of thanks!

From the La Lunes, we'd walked to the river to fetch Sebastian's scooter, and from there he'd taken me home to Aunt V's. We now stood outside her building, our day over. The street was quiet, the sky cloudy – the only light came from the lone street lamp on the corner. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, Sebastian fiddled with his helmet, neither of us sure how to say goodbye after the day we'd had.

“We have a lot going on tomorrow,” I said finally.

“Yeah…plus,” he smiled widely, “your mother arrives.” His blue-grey eyes crinkled at the corners as he teased me. After the afternoon we'd had, his hair was more tousled than ever. At least Sebastian still looked cute, his ripped shirt and the brown guck smudging his face only enhancing his looks. I curled my toes thinking about what kind of vision I presented. Good thing the street was dark.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Lunch after Barinaga?”

“Uh-uh. Perfect.”

“You still have fifteen hours – more if your aunt can keep your mother busy.” He was smiling.

“Yeah, well, I'll need every minute,” I said as I stretched my back.

“Are you sure you're okay?” I watched as he slowly looked me up and down before his eyes settled on my face. “Your shoulder's not too sore?” His eyes and voice were serious, the light, mocking tone gone. “I'm sorry, you know, about…about dragging you down there and nearly getting us killed. If I'd known or thought—”

“Forget it, Sebastian – how could you have known? It was my fault. I'm the one who's dragged you into this, remember? Anyway, look, I'm fine,” I said as I slowly rotated my shoulder. “I'll be good as new tomorrow.”

Carefully, he reached out with his right hand and slowly ran his finger from my left shoulder across my collarbone to my right shoulder. “Sure?” he asked again softly.

“Sure.” I stood quietly as he gently pushed the ends of my hair behind my shoulders.
Who cares about our work relationship?
I thought, as the moonlight threw his strong features into sharp relief. Surely weak knees and thoughts that had nothing to do with the mystery wouldn't change anything between us? Would they?

His finger traced the contours of my jaw, then the outline of my lips. I leaned against my aunt's door, our eyes locked. Again I had the impression that he wanted to say something, but just as he ever so slightly leaned in to me, a group of dinner-party guests tumbled out of the building next door. We pulled back, the noise catching us by surprise, and watched the lively party until they'd turned the corner.

“Right,” I said as I took a deep breath. My hands were in his and he was smiling at me. Why did we have to do anything tomorrow – or now, for that matter? Why couldn't we just keep looking at each other in the warm night air?

Because you have a case to solve, remember, Axelle?

Slowly I pulled one hand away from him. Smiling, he refused to relinquish the other. Finally, he took it to his lips and kissed it. “
À demain,
Holmes.” The teasing light was back in his eyes.

“
À demain,
Watson.”

He opened the heavy wooden door and held it as I went in. But just as the door shut behind me, I heard my name called. I turned around and pulled the door open again.

“You forgot Belle's shoe – the velvet platform,” Sebastian said, handing it to me.

Then he smiled and left.

In a warm, fuzzy haze I quickly changed out of my wet, dirty clothes and gratefully ate the club sandwiches and warm soup Carmen had left me, then scooped up Miu Miu in my arms and went to the balcony off the sitting room (carefully sidestepping yet more expensive art deliveries) for some fresh air – it was time to start thinking straight. I let the cold night air sweep over me until, finally, I felt my old self ticking again – without distraction. My sidekick was cute – gorge really – but I had a mystery to solve.

Taking a deep breath, I stood with my hands on the railing and tipped my head back. Somewhere in the back of my mind a niggling thought was slowly forming itself, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was…nor was I sure I liked it. But the thought was there, quietly turning over on itself, waiting until the moment when I'd finally pluck it out and make sense of it… It was as if I
knew
it already, but just couldn't remember it.

I didn't have time to think further, though. A car came to a halt down below and Miu Miu stood with a start. After a quick stretch, she left in a hurry and with her tail straight up in the feline form of a happy greeting. At this hour that could mean only one thing: Aunt Venetia was home.

Peering over the railing, I saw Aunt V down below; a minute later she was inside. “Axelle, darling, are you here?” This was followed by the clicking of her heels as she made her way down the corridor. Stopping in the doorway, she looked in. “Oh, you're here,” she said. She seemed surprised to see me. “I thought you'd still be out…”

“Actually, I've had a long day. I came home as soon as I could.”

“I see… Anyway, how nice you're still up. Why don't you follow me to my dressing room and tell me about your day while I step out of these shoes – they are killing me!”

I accompanied my aunt into her dressing room. As she set down her handbag (a La Lune Clothilde bag in lilac ostrich – drip-free tonight, I noted) on the polished surface of the round table that stands in the middle of the room, I padded across the plush cream-coloured carpet to one of a pair of delicately carved chairs set against the wall and perched myself on its edge. My aunt, meanwhile, slipped behind a tall upholstered screen to undress.

Not ten seconds later came The Question: “Axelle, darling, what
are
you wearing?”

For once I actually felt the question was justified: I was wrapped up like a mummy. I was wearing a few layers of mismatched jumpers, together with baggy tracksuit bottoms. Slouchy socks covered my ankles, my hands were tucked into my sleeves, and I had a scarf tied loosely around my neck. Even I had to admit the effect wasn't especially alluring.