A Crime of Fashion (25 page)

I gave my aunt a quick call to see if she could meet me backstage before the show started, saying I had something to tell her.

“Does this mean you've finally found the culprit? That my magazine and I will have our reputations restored?” she asked excitedly.

“I hope so, although, to be honest, Aunt V, the desire to find Belle and Darius – and see them alive – is uppermost in my mind right now – but I'd be delighted to have you and
Chic
in the clear once again.”

“Yes, well, me too.” Then, after a pause, she added, “You know, I'm very curious to see what the culprit wears…”

After having cleared security at the gates (Aunt V had sent an invitation for Sebastian), we made our way to the tents Sebastian and I had seen being set up in the garden yesterday. The large one was reserved for the runway and to the right of it, connected by a short covered walkway, was the hair and make-up tent.

I went straight to hair and make-up – I wanted to meet with the La Lunes, Aunt V and Philippe
before
the show started. Ellie told me that normally all of the La Lunes made an early visit backstage to check on hair and make-up – especially when it was held at their home. And, hopefully, with a bit of luck, Aunt V would show up at the same time. I needed to have a quick word with all of them – preferably together.

The tent quickly filled. The din of hairdryers, gossip and loud music reverberated within the white canvas “walls”. I was sitting, eyes closed, as the last touch of glitter powder was brushed on my face and shoulders, when Ellie said, “They're here. All of them. And your aunt's just showed up, too.”

Perfect – the moment I'd been waiting for. I thanked the make-up artist as I got up and grabbed my shoulder bag. Then, I crossed the tent and went straight to Aunt V and the La Lunes.

“Oh, Axelle. There you are,” Aunt V said. I air-kissed her, then said hello to the La Lunes. Not that they noticed – Dom, especially, acted as if he'd never met me before.

Whatever. Then again, Hervé had promised me that he'd speak with Dom the next time he saw him in the agency. Dom's petulance seemed to confirm that Hervé had had his chance. And, frankly, I preferred this muzzled version of Dom to the aggressive one I'd encountered Wednesday night. Hopefully he wouldn't try that again.

“Shall we go to the corner for our chat?” Aunt V asked.

I shook my head. “Actually, I need to speak with all of you – now, preferably. It's about Belle,” I added, when I saw them hesitate.

“Sorry, Axelle,” Claude snapped, “but this isn't really the moment – you're here to walk, remember? And I've got a show to put on.”

“Surely, this can—” Fiona started.

“Easy, Claude, Fiona,” Philippe said. “She's just trying to help. Surely we can spare a few minutes.” Turning to me, he said, “Axelle, why don't you start? There's a free table just here.”

“Honestly, Philippe.” Claude turned to leave but my aunt stopped him.

“I want to hear what my niece has to say, Claude. And as it concerns your siblings, I suggest you listen.”

Before anyone else tried to leave, I cleared my throat and pushed all thoughts of failure out of my mind. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ellie give me the thumbs up.

“I'm sorry to interrupt your busy schedules. Thank you, but you needn't worry – I'll need less than a minute.”

I stopped for a moment as I rummaged through my bag. I could see Claude and Fiona rolling their eyes. Dom was looking at his camera screen and Philippe and my aunt sat very still in their chairs.

“Ah! Here it is!” I said as I pulled out a small wrapped package. Slowly I peeled off the two layers of paper covering the object and then set it on the table. I heard a sharp intake of breath all around.

“It's Belle's missing shoe. I found it yesterday. It was in quite a strange place…but I'm planning on going back to that same place straight after the show – and I believe that if I look further, I'll find Belle and Darius… But I'm afraid one of us sitting at this table is behind the disappearances.”

Everyone was quiet.

Finally, Philippe spoke. “And what about Rose?”

“Don't worry about Rose – she's fine. Right now, we have to concentrate on Belle and Darius.”

I moved my eyes slowly from face to face. Nobody moved, nobody said anything.

“Anyway, like I said, I'll be looking for Belle and Darius straight after the show. And if everything goes as I think it will, I'll see you all later tonight.”

Needless to say, I wasn't allowed to leave that easily. After a moment of shocked silence, the questions and comments came:

“Who are you to get so involved?”

“I'm innocent!”

“Great. A model policewoman!”

“Where are the police?”

Without another word, I turned and left.

The show tent looked amazing. And, presumably, because it had been set up in the garden, Belle (who, according to the gossip circulating, had planned the show's decor weeks before) had opted to bring the garden theme inside the tent. What she'd done, however, was to make it surreal. Everything was white. The topiary bushes I'd seen being transported across the lawn yesterday from the florist's van were in fantastical shapes: some clipped like peacocks and rabbits, others into cylinders, cones and balls. Everything was coated in glittery, white “snow” and the special lights gave the scene a magical iridescence. It was like stepping into Alice's Wonderland.

The clothes were also white. Long white evening dresses, white trouser suits, white blouses, skirts and jackets. White handbags, shoes and scarves. It was bewitching and beautiful – Belle had done an amazing job designing it all. The only question on everyone's lips was: would she ever come back? Or was this the last Belle La Lune collection there'd ever be?

The show ran smoothly and as soon as it was over Ellie and I changed into our own clothes with lightning speed.

“I refused to give
Modelinia
a quick interview,” Ellie whispered. “If only they knew what we're about to do.”

“And I'm supposed to meet my mum back here in ten minutes. Obviously that won't be happening. How do I look?”

“Like a fashion ninja,” she answered with a smile. “It suits you.”

I was dressed in layers of soft black cotton, dark jeans and black trainers. It was comfortable and practical. I rolled up my lucky jumper and combat boots and put them into my work bag. Ellie and I then hid our bags under the floor of the tent. With what we were about to do, we didn't need the excess weight. Hopefully the tents wouldn't go down until morning. We quickly said goodbye to the other models, the hairdressers and make-up artists, then left.

Sebastian was waiting for us near the bushes, as planned. He handed us each a water bottle, torch, string, copies of the floor plan and catacombs map, and a walkie-talkie.

“In the house they should work fine. Of course, once we're deep in the catacombs they'll lose reception, but they'll work for longer than our phones.”

Then, when the coast was clear, we ran across the open gravel to the house.

“We can't go in from the terrace,” whispered Sebastian as we crouched low. “There's too much security on that side of the house. But I've had a look around, and there's an open side window in the study. From there we can access the secret passageway.”

Carefully we snuck along the wall to the study window and climbed in. It looked much as it had on Monday night – only without Inspector Witt asking questions. On the off chance that luck would strike twice I couldn't stop myself from closing and opening the fireplace damper – but nothing fell out.

It didn't take us long to find the small lever that, when pushed, opened the hidden door that led to the secret passages. Both the lever and the door were extremely well concealed in the wood panelling that lined the room – without the old architectural plans of the house, we'd never have found either. Pushing on the lever released the first spring, which in turn released the weighted lever that kept the door shut. We made sure to shut everything again from the inside – just in case the person we were looking for was behind us. As it was – they weren't. They were ahead of us.

We stood whispering as we discussed which route to take through the house and into the catacombs. Suddenly Sebastian put his finger to his lips.

“Shhh,” he said as he nodded his head upwards.

Holding our breaths, we listened. From the far end of the passageway above, we heard footsteps. Softly and stealthily, they crept along the length of the secret corridor, pausing for a moment directly above us. A few seconds later we heard a door open into the spiral staircase just near us. The footsteps quickly descended, pausing again on our floor before continuing down the stairs.

“Come on,” whispered Sebastian as he started to move forward, “they're on their way into the catacombs!”

Together we moved down the passageway. The chase was about to begin.

I insisted on going first – after all, it was my plan. And I didn't want to put Sebastian or Ellie in more danger then necessary. I would lead, Sebastian would follow me as closely as he could without being seen, and Ellie would stop and keep watch at the first fork in the tunnel. From there she could easily hide and go for help if she needed to.

Whoever we were following made quick time in reaching the catacombs entrance. In their hurry, they'd left the trapdoor open and the ladder unfolded. One by one we climbed down, then stopped to listen for the footsteps. Quickly we followed their sound – if we lost them we'd lose our chance of finding Belle. Together we followed the twists and turns of the tunnel until we came to the first fork. Here we left Ellie, with instructions to call for backup if we didn't return within the hour. Then I loosened my ball of string and left. From here on out I'd leave a trail behind me. Sebastian would follow me in ten minutes.

For some time all was well: the footsteps padded steadily ahead of me. I stayed just far enough behind that I could turn my torch on. I stopped to look at the map every so often to orient myself. It seemed we were going in circles, or maybe just taking the long way around. The kidnapper must have known I was down here. After all, just before the show, when I'd shown my aunt, the La Lunes and Philippe de Vandrille Belle's shoe, I'd also clearly announced my plan to find Belle and Darius by returning to where I'd found Belle's shoe and then
going further
. The kidnapper must have understood I meant the catacombs, so the circular route they were taking was either to find me or lose me. I was careful to stop whenever the footsteps did. I was also careful to keep my torch on low beam. I even had a scarf twisted around it to lessen the glow.

After a while the footsteps slowed down a bit, their even patter echoing like a softly ticking clock. Maybe it was the lack of fresh oxygen – we'd gone down several staircases – but a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over me, leaving me momentarily dazed. I was no longer sure if the footsteps were in front of me or behind me. I turned my torch off and stopped to listen. I could hear them, but I couldn't pinpoint them. They seemed to bounce off the walls and come at me from all directions.

I took a deep breath, the muggy air sticking in my throat, then unscrewed the cap of my water bottle and took a sip. I could hear something scurrying beside me – probably rats if my last visit was anything to go by – but dared not turn my torch on for fear of giving myself away.

I stood, ears straining for the slightest sound, my weight balanced on the balls of my feet, ready for a quick getaway. What had happened? Where were they? Had I lost them? How? And yet the hairs on the back of my neck were standing; I could sense someone nearby. But where? I was in total darkness; a slight draught ruffled my hair from behind. Somewhere not far from me water dripped, its regular splatter echoing like an underground heartbeat. I checked my walkie-talkie but I'd lost reception.

And then I heard it: a sharp whizzing sound slicing through the air. Instinctively, I ducked. Something smashed on the wall just behind me, shattering like china. I covered my head with my arms as the bits fell around me. The footsteps started again, their pace urgent. I followed, and, after a few minutes, suddenly heard something like a bowling ball rolling on the tunnel floor. Too late I realized it was headed for me.

My foot hit it straight on; I stumbled and fell forward, my knee cracking against the rock floor. Argh! I lay sprawled on the ground, my face and shoulders in a pool of water. My knee burned with pain. I was dizzy, desperate for fresh air.
Come on, Axelle, get up, get up!
With one of my hands I fumbled near my ankles until I found the ball – only it wasn't what I'd thought.

It was a skull.

Exhausted, I let it roll out of my hand. I lay on my back, catching my breath. I tried forcing myself to concentrate, to get up. Suddenly one of my fingers smarted with pain, as if something was biting it. What was it? I lifted my head, stagnant water dripping down my cheek, and shook my hand. But as I reached with my free hand to turn on my torch, I heard another whistle through the damp air. I rolled over, but not quickly enough – this time the flying skull grazed my head. I caught my breath as another sharp spasm of pain shot through me.

As I turned onto my side and sat up, I felt something grab at my hair. I shook my head in an attempt to loosen its hold and heard its high-pitched squeal fill the blackness. I grabbed it with both hands and pulled its writhing body. It jumped and jerked in my hands but wouldn't let go. Its sharp teeth tore at my skin, and still it continued to shriek its horrible, high-pitched, fevered squeal. I wanted to cry out, disgust making my stomach turn. As I opened my mouth to yell, no longer caring who heard me, its long scaly tail brushed the inside of my mouth.