A Crime of Fashion (24 page)

“Uhm…I've had something of an adventurous day, so basically I just wanted to slip into something warm and comfortable when I got home.”

She stepped out from behind her screen. “An adventurous day? What did you do?” Through her sunglasses, I could feel her eyes boring into me as she stood, tying the heavy sash around the waist of her dressing gown.

Changing the subject, I asked, “Aunt V, wouldn't you be more comfortable without your sunglasses on?”

“More comfortable? Axelle, darling, after a night like tonight, preceded by a full day of shows, I'm feeling half blind. Anyway, after a good night's sleep I'll be like new. So, tell me, what did your adventurous day entail? Are you getting any closer to finding Belle?”

“Actually…yes.” Unfortunately I'd reached a point where I didn't have much I could share with her – and I was lucky she hadn't insisted on seeing the letters this morning. But most of all, my common sense told me not to say anything to anyone about our visit to the catacombs or even about the maps and plans that Sebastian had found. We had, after all, broken into the La Lune mansion…and, unless I found Belle, I didn't think my attempts at deduction would amuse anybody.

Plus – for whatever reason – my intuition seemed to be on red alert. I suddenly felt edgy and uneasy, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

Instead, I went into the details of the
Elle
shoot. I even showed her the photos on my phone of the different make-up looks. She was sitting at her dressing table, removing
her
make-up – she'd finally slipped her sunglasses off – with something she'd poured out of one of the many bottles standing on the mirrored tabletop.

“So you're not really any closer then? To finding Belle, I mean?”

“Well…some things are beginning to come into focus.”

“Such as?”

“Well, did you know that Versailles and the La Lune mansion were designed by the same architect, Louis Le Vau?”

She was now standing in front of her hidden safe, putting the bits of jewellery she'd worn that night carefully away into their respective boxes.

“Hmm…yes, I do seem to remember reading something about that – I studied interior architecture for a few semesters here in Paris, you know. Before I moved into fashion.”

After shutting the door to her safe, she turned to face me. “Why? Do you think that has any bearing on the case?”

The stress of being a suspect was clearly wearing on her. She stood still, head high, arms calmly folded in front of her like always, but, for once, she seemed to be posing. Her soft cashmere dressing gown and the thick cream covering her face did nothing to lessen the impression of a very brittle twig on the verge of snapping.

“Are you ready to give Inspector Witt the helpful nudge he so obviously needs? Can we call him? Do you know which La Lune it is? Or have you found a Merlette?”

“Like I said, I'm getting closer,” I answered slowly. “By tomorrow at nightfall, I'll know… I…I have a plan.” I surprised myself when I said this. For, until a few minutes ago, I'd had no plan. But suddenly an obvious idea had come to me. I needed to call Sebastian.

“Well, just be careful that whoever is behind all of this doesn't feel that you're too close on their tracks. If something were to happen to you…”

“Don't worry – nothing is going to happen to me. Besides, wherever I go I'm always either with Ellie or Sebastian. We're always together.”

“Good.”

I watched as she screwed the lid back onto her eye cream. “Uhmm…Aunt V?” I asked, as I stood before the photograph of Diana Vreeland with the silver dress.

“Yes?”

“What is this dress made of? It looks amazing.”

“It
is
amazing – I've seen it at the Hermitage in Russia. It's Catherine the Great's wedding dress. It's made of silver –
real
silver – thread embroidered on silk. It shimmers like the moon.”

“Has Diana Vreeland always been an inspiration to you?”

Aunt Venetia was now standing beside me, looking at the photograph. “Yes, she has – for her sense of style, anyway, if not her lifestyle.”

“Why not her lifestyle?”

“She died quite penniless and, to my mind, had become rather tiresome towards the end – which was why she was pushed out of magazine editing and given a job as curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.” Aunt V stopped for a moment of pensive reflection. “That's certainly not how I plan on ending my days.”

Then she turned and walked to her dressing table, where she picked up her latest anagram puzzle book before coming to give me a kiss goodnight.

“I probably won't see you in the morning – I've promised Miriam I'll look at a young designer – this one is supposed to be the next Valentino,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, these young guys only get the very early or very late time slots, so I'll be out of here by seven. But I'll see you at the Barinaga show and then the La Lune show. Oh, and I'm going to have someone fetch your mother from the Gare du Nord. Thereafter she'll be accompanying me. I thought that might be easier for you,” she added with a smile. “So you'll be quite on your own for the entire day.”

“That's fantastic, Aunt Venetia. Thank you.” What a relief! I'd be able to put my plan into action without any trouble now…

“Goodnight, Axelle darling.”

“Goodnight, Aunt V.”

Back in my room, I picked up the book on Le Vau and read for a while. Finally, I drifted into a fitful sleep, during which I slipped from one dream to the next. Dom, Rose, Fiona and Claude – even Philippe de Vandrille – flitted in and out of my mind without any pattern or message I could fathom. Frustrated and angry, deep sleep eluded me. And then, in my last dream, my gran appeared. We were sitting at our kitchen table in London. “Ah,” Gran said as she looked at me, eyes twinkling, “always remember to follow your intuition, Axelle, follow your intuition…”

Yeah, thanks, Gran, but where to?

I awoke at this point. Through my open window I heard the faint beginnings of the gradual crescendo of morning sounds that would peak at about nine o'clock: the dry-cleaning van picking up laundry, the owner of the corner bistro whistling as he swept the pavement, my aunt's concierge chatting with a neighbour, the occasional jogger, and a varied assortment of scooters, motorbikes, vans, cars, trucks and taxis zooming along the surrounding streets.

I stretched a bit and turned to lie flat on my back, the image of Diana Vreeland's portrait returning to my mind. I lay in this relaxed state for a few minutes – until, cursing my stupidity, I sat up with a jolt, kicked back my duvet and grabbed the nearest pencil and scrap of paper. As quickly as I could I wrote the following:

DAVID LE NéANAR

The thought that had been trying to form itself in my mind last night was now crystal clear…and surely, I thought, surely it wasn't just a coincidence?

It was hard to imagine the world teeming, alive, around her. Even fresh air had become a distant memory.

An incessant dripping came from somewhere in the room. Otherwise, there was nothing but silence and the occasional scuffle of a rat. Since she'd been dragged into the other room, she'd heard nothing more from her brother.

How much longer could they last?

The La Lune Curse Strikes Again!
screamed the morning headlines.

Rose was missing.

Anonymous sources implied she'd left a letter behind, assuming blame for the disappearances. The same sources claimed that her highly-strung nerves had buckled under the weight of her guilt – but was it true?

According to the newspapers, Fiona was beside herself, her third child missing. And, if the front-page photos were anything to go by, her icy façade was rapidly melting. Even Claude looked scared.

I finally set aside the papers and answered my ringing phone.

“This is what you meant, isn't it? When you said there would be another disappearance?” It was Sebastian. I felt groggy and tired. My head hurt – and his accusatory tone did nothing to help.

“Axelle? Aren't you awake yet? Don't you have to be at the Louvre for Barinaga in twenty minutes? And what about Rose? It's what you meant, isn't it? And you didn't want me to call my father! I shouldn't have listened to you! I'm going to call him now.”

“No, wait, Sebastian, don't! You're right – I was talking about Rose. But she's okay.”

“How do you know? Did she call you just after she'd disappeared?”

“Isn't it a bit early for sarcasm?” I got up from the kitchen table, where I'd been sitting in my PJs, and walked to the bathroom to get the shower started. “Listen, yes, it was Rose I meant. But I know she's okay. I…” I didn't really have a good reason – at least nothing I could explain logically. “Look, I can't really say why… Can you just trust me on this? I'll explain straight after the show, promise.”

“Yeah, but maybe you're wrong! Maybe she's—”

“Please, Sebastian, just trust me, okay?”

He was silent for a moment. “Okay – but you'd better explain at lunch. I'll meet you at the Rue de Rivoli exit straight after the show.”

“Wait! One more thing…bring the map, would you please? The one of the catacombs…”

“And I suppose you'll explain that later too?” he said, the teasing tone sneaking back into his voice.

“Maybe.” We said goodbye and I rushed to get ready.

David le Néanar, David le Néanar… His name raced through my mind. I could have kicked myself for having missed it!

I had ten minutes to get to the Louvre. I'd told Aunt V not to order me a taxi, saying I'd walk across the river and through the park. Why hadn't I accepted her offer? With the shows going on, I'd never find a taxi on the street. At this point I had no choice but to run through the park.

Pulling my bathrobe on, I bounded into my room and grabbed a new little top that Aunt V had given me. I was about to pull it on but then decided otherwise.
Today
, I told myself,
I'll need all the luck I can get
. I dug into the back of the wardrobe and pulled out my lucky jumper. Then I slipped into my most worn pair of jeans and my motorcycle boots. My two concessions to fashion were the long scraggly scarf and my H&M jacket. A quick glance in the mirror told me I looked fine – and I didn't care who thought otherwise. As I ran out of the apartment I stopped long enough in the kitchen to grab a croissant and a banana. Carmen shook her head as I ran out of the door. Then I flew down the stairs and out onto the street. After running all the way, I reached the Louvre only ten minutes late.

“Make-up artists and hairdressers to the left, please.” As I walked into the space reserved for Barinaga, a large hand suddenly stopped me in my tracks.

“Buhh I'm won om dhe bodels!” I said as I searched in my bag for my ID.

“
Excusez-moi
,
mademoiselle?
”

Pulling the banana out of my mouth, I showed my ID and said, “I'm one of the models. See?”

The security guard eyed me suspiciously until suddenly a familiar voice rang out: “Axelle! There you are! Come on! You're late!” It was Ellie and she was waving frantically at me from behind the rope.

“
Humpf!
” He still didn't believe I was one of the models. He shook his head and grudgingly let me past. “
Allez-y
,
allez-y
, but if you get caught it's not my fault.”

“And a good day to you too,” I murmured as I squeezed past him. But, then again, I thought as I caught sight of myself in a mirror, I wasn't looking especially fantastic this morning. That was confirmed to me when I saw Ellie's face as she greeted me.

“Uh…Axelle? What's happened to your hair?”

After four days of professionally-done hair, I'd forgotten what it was like to have a bad hair day. I peered into the nearest mirror again. Was that really me?

“Yes, it's you,” laughed Ellie over my shoulder. “What did you do?”

What I'd done was have a night of vivid dreams, got dressed really late, then run through the park with wet hair. I had to admit that, even for me, the end result was not pretty. “I was trying to go for a natural look,” I said to Ellie.

“Well, it worked! Most trees don't have as many leaves. Let's hear what Benoit has to say.”

Benoit was the Barinaga hairdresser-in-chief. To his credit, he didn't scream in horror at the sight of my hair. In fact…he kind of
liked
it.

“Wow.
Intéressant
,
non?
” he said as he circled around me. He acted as if he was seeing someone's hair for the first time in his life. Of course, he probably was seeing hair
like
mine
for the first time. “You know, I kind of like it,” he finally pronounced. “It's, like, wild. Like a forest fire. Like those Jean Cocteau profiles. And so seventies at the same time. Would somebody get me Alexander, please. Now!”

Alexander was the creative director of Barinaga. As I stood in place, a small crowd began to gather around me, but they all parted like the Red Sea when the creative director Alexander appeared. Judging by the look on his face he, too, was surprised by the apparition growing on my head. But after walking around and listening to Benoit's sales pitch, he suddenly broke into a smile and pronounced it to be “
Superbe!
But maybe we should exaggerate it even more…”

Suddenly a beehive of activity broke out. “This is it!” yelled Benoit as he pointed at my hair. “This is it!
This
is Barinaga Autumn/Winter! This is what I want you all to look at!” he told the assembled hairdressers on his team. “It's sexy, it's wild, it's
très différent
! Come on, let's get going! We haven't got time to waste…”

And that's how I inspired a look…

“Gosh, Axelle,” Ellie said a while later, as we were getting our make-up done. “Your jumper really is lucky. Imagine that you just walk in like that and inspire the hair for the entire collection – even I've never done that! How fantastic. Where did you say you got that jumper?”

The show went without a hitch, ran on time, and my hair was the undoubted star of the event. It was odd to see all the models with “my” hair. But what I'd found really amusing was when Benoit sent all the hairdressers and their assistants on a leaf-foraging expedition in the park. Who would have thought that a bunch of fashionistas would still have their hunter-gatherer instincts intact? But back they came, one by one, each with an assortment of fashionable bags stuffed with leaves. “Hurricane chic” was the new term coined for my hair.

After slipping out of my last Barinaga outfit – rock-star leather trousers with a long, sparkly jersey jumper – I signalled to Ellie and together we left for lunch. Miraculously she had the afternoon free, so she'd be able to help me later.

As planned, Sebastian was waiting at the Rue de Rivoli exit. After walking the five minutes to Cafe Ruc, we were shown to a cosy corner table. Immediately Sebastian and I ordered our burgers and fries, Ellie her salad.

“So what happened to Rose?” whispered Sebastian.

“She's gone to Spain with Alejandro – the hairdresser.” Looking at Ellie, I said, “The one who did our hair on Wednesday at the Chanel show.”

“What?! Alejandro?” Ellie said. “How do you know?”

“Because of the bracelet.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Could you please explain what a bracelet has to do with Rose running away with a Spanish hairdresser?”

So I explained, beginning with the bracelet, then continuing through to the Spanish lessons and erratic hairstyles.

“I thought she was just odd,” Sebastian said.

“Yeah, well, you're not the only one, but that's the thing, isn't it? People are constantly misreading each other – especially family members. Often they don't even notice what's right under their noses. And that's the case with Rose. Think about it: new hairstyle, sudden interest in Spanish lessons, then going to a fashion show – something she normally doesn't do unless it's a family show. And, then – instead of watching the show – she hangs out backstage! Something had to be going on. And hair like hers can't just be straightened at home – it needs the help of a professional. And why Spanish? Especially when the little I heard doesn't lead me to believe she has a talent for languages.”

“Yeah, but how did you go from Spanish lessons and blow-dried hair to a long-distance love interest?” Sebastian said.

“Observation,” I answered. Quickly I gave silent thanks to the many hours I'd spent since childhood “spying” (as Mum called it) on friends and neighbours. “I've noticed that when someone suddenly starts paying attention to their appearance or changing their normal routine it's often because of a new interest – be it another person or a job… But because no one has ever seen Rose with a boyfriend, because everyone always thinks of her cosying up to a calculator in some dark office, it's been impossible for anyone to imagine what's been going on, let alone see it.”

“But it's not like she's been showing up everywhere with him on her arm.”

“You're right – she wasn't flaunting him – but she wasn't hiding him either. If her family had paid a bit of attention to what she was doing and asked themselves why, instead of just assuming her new interests were more odd behaviour, they'd have figured it out… Plus, like I said, there's the bracelet. That little silver heart screams romance. Once I realized it was the same one that Alejandro was wearing, everything sort of clicked.”

“I have to say,” Ellie said, “it was pretty sharp of you to see that. I never noticed…”

“What confirmed it for me was that she stayed backstage during the Chanel show, even though she'd told me she planned on watching it. What made her change her mind? Or had that been her intention all along? And, if so, then why? What was she doing all that time?”

“Actually, while I was changing, I did notice her backstage talking to the hairdressers – or maybe it was just Alejandro,” Ellie said.

“I saw that too. And as you'd mentioned to me that Alejandro was Spanish, another piece of the puzzle clicked.”

“Well,” Ellie sighed, “she'll never have a bad hair day again if she marries him.”

“Okay. But, still, if she's not guilty, why run away?” Sebastian asked.

“I think she has no idea how to talk to her family about the new life she wants. I mean, I've seen how they treat her. And remember Monday night, when we were climbing the rose trellis to get into their house? At one point Rose heard us and opened the terrace door to listen. Claude said sarcastically, ‘Don't be silly, Rose, it's only your imagination – as usual.' I mean, they all talk to her as if she's twelve years old. Plus the fact that she showed up at the shoot on Tuesday – crying – shows she's clearly struggling. And I don't think it's only because of the disappearances – horrifying as they are. And now…”

“And now you think she wants her own life independent from her family,” Sebastian said.

“That's sad…” Ellie said.

“It is…but…” I paused as I took a few sizzling hot fries and dipped them in the mayonnaise and then the ketchup. Why do French fries in France taste so yummy? “But I think that after tonight the La Lune family dynamics are going to change drastically…and Rose will be happy again.”

“Why?” Ellie and Sebastian asked.

I kept eating my fries.

“You know who's behind the disappearances, don't you?” Sebastian leaned back and watched me.

I nodded.

“So are you going to tell us who it is?” Ellie asked.

I thought about it for a moment before answering, “No, not yet.”

In order for my plan to work, I couldn't risk Ellie and Sebastian giving anything away – the element of surprise was necessary. They'd have to wait for the answer.

After lunch we headed straight for the La Lune mansion. My mum, thank goodness, was busy seeing the shows. Apart from a call before lunch to tell me that she'd arrived and was SO looking forward to seeing me on the runway later, I hadn't heard any more from her. The show was to begin at six, hair and make-up at four. I wanted to be early, though, so that I could put my plan into action.