Chapter 27 #2
Paname, Elisabeth Fontaine had called her creation, Audrey thought, goosebumps prickling all over her skin.
A slang term for Paris, Patricia had said, but it was so much more than that.
In Fontaine’s time, the name Paname had been sung and celebrated, for it stood for that ineffable quality that then and now makes Paris perhaps the most famous, most beloved city in the world.
An unusually harmonious blend of grace and character, of splendour and lightness, of romance and earthiness.
A city where people come to follow their dreams or fight fate, for love or for challenge, and most especially, to be inspired to create beauty, like this in front of them, this miracle of a design which breathed the City of Light.
Yes, the design had never been made, and it could be seen as just a melancholy ghost from the past, the last echo of a tragic fate—or it could be seen instead as a resurrection, of a genius bursting back into the light once again, a genius untethered by time, expressing through a few simple yet perfect lines the feeling of the gloriously timeless city that had both inspired and honoured her.
Yes, Audrey knew which version she preferred, and it most certainly wasn’t the melancholy ghost.
‘This shouldn’t just be a discovery to claim or the solution to a mystery or an illustration to include in a book,’ she said. ‘It should be made. And it should be worn.’
The others looked at her and she saw that her words had reached fertile ground. They thought it too. They felt it too.
‘Yes,’ Isabelle said. ‘It must come alive, in the hands of a new generation,’ and she looked directly at Romy, who coloured and said, ‘Last night, I had thought of creating the dress—not to reimagine the dress, but as a kind of homage to Elisabeth. I was going to mention it to you later, but now …’ She trailed off, staring at the drawing.
‘Now I see this, and it’s so beautiful, so perfect …
and yes, it must be made, it absolutely must be made, but by someone—someone professional who can do it justice. ’
‘Nonsense,’ said Audrey, understanding the younger woman’s anxiety, her modesty, and knowing all too personally the withering effect of the voice of the impostor syndrome that could clip your wings, stymie your confidence and stop you from advancing.
She’d had to fight it off at the beginning of her career and even now it still reared its ugly head at times.
‘You have the passion. You have the heart for this. Yes, it will take a lot of work. You’ll have moments when you’ll wonder why you took it on at all.
But we’ll be there to cheer you on. And one thing I do know—if you don’t try, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.
’ Her eyes met Romy’s, and what she read there gave her goosebumps all over again, for she saw a woman whose whole life was suddenly opening up.
‘Thank you,’ Romy whispered, and reaching over, she clasped Audrey’s hand.
‘And thank you too, Isabelle,’ she said, smiling at the other woman, who replied, firmly but with a twinkle in her eye, ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t trust this project with anyone but you, Romy.
’ Then she seemed to remember there was someone else involved—the present owner of the drawing—and turned to Patricia.
‘If, of course, you give us your permission.’
‘Of course,’ said Patricia, beaming. ‘I can’t wait to see it!’ Rolling the tracings up carefully, she replaced them in the fabric roll, then handed the whole thing to Romy. ‘I think you should take it with you now.’
Romy took it reverently. ‘I will take the utmost care of this. And I promise to try and do justice to this incredible privilege I’ve been given.’
‘Just wait till you hit the first hurdle, then you might be cursing that privilege,’ Patricia said, and they all laughed, not because it was funny, Audrey thought, but because they were all feeling as light as air, filled with hope, anticipation and an excitement that they could hardly have imagined before they had arrived at Patricia Landry’s door.
A short time later, they took their leave—Patricia was due at her daughter’s for dinner, but she promised to be in touch with them again very soon.
The three of them left her apartment and emerged back into the street where the evening crowds were starting to gather.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ Isabelle said, ‘if Cazenave hadn’t stolen the letter, then we wouldn’t have met Patricia … ’
‘Yes,’ Romy said. ‘And we wouldn’t have known who Mademoiselle Houssaye was, or found the tracings.’ She patted her bag. ‘I still can’t believe I’m actually carrying a treasure like this. It’s like a fairytale come true.’
‘It sure is. And we need to toast that right now with a drink stronger than elderflower,’ Isabelle said, cheerfully. ‘And I think it has to be champagne, right, les filles?’
‘Absolutely,’ Romy and Audrey chorused. ‘Look, here’s a bar that looks just the thing,’ Audrey added, and they went in.
They drank one glass, then another, talking all the while about plans.
Romy would set to work at once with Mickael, creating new sketches to prepare for making a pattern from the design, while Isabelle and Audrey, with Patricia’s help, would start documenting the whole thing—starting from the contemporary events with the finding of the letter, then reaching back into the past, first the time when Patricia had acquired the tracings, and then back into the more distant past, and the events that connected Alice, Mariette, Annie and Elisabeth.
It would be a big job, but exciting too, and it would not only provide solid provenance for their finds, but also be very useful for Audrey’s book.
There was only one thing they skimmed over: how to get the original letter back from Cazenave.
But Isabelle said that was a task for another day and that she didn’t want to spoil the mood by wasting breath on him, to which Audrey and Romy both heartily agreed.
By the time they parted ways an hour later, they had a very useful outline for the work they needed to do.
Tomorrow, they’d start on their different parts of the project, and afterwards would meet over dinner, to debrief then consult Patricia as to when she might be available to meet with them.
Of course, things might change as they went along, Isabelle thought, but it was good to have a clear way ahead.
Audrey was back at her hotel, getting ready to go out, thinking of the momentous things they’d learned today, and filled with an excitement that wasn’t just about the wonderful discovery they’d made at Patricia’s place.
This morning, while she was at the art school, Alex had called to invite her, not to dinner, but to come dancing.
When he’d suggested it, she was astonished, because in one way it seemed like such an unusual thing to do in their situation, but in another, it was such a delightful prospect that she’d found herself saying yes almost at once.
Now, as she put on the dress she’d bought in Montmartre the other day, she thought it looked like it had been made for such an occasion.
It was super comfortable but also becoming, the light-as-air material skimming over her curves, and with green drop earrings and Alice’s pearl and emerald ring, it definitely had a dance party air.
Slipping on her slingbacks, she gave herself a last look in the mirror, patted her hair, picked up her bag, and went down to the lobby where she was to meet Alex.
He arrived almost instantly afterwards, so there wasn’t any time for second thoughts to take hold.
But when he came into the lobby, casually stylish in a white shirt, black cotton jacket and jeans, her heart leaped, and the expression in his eyes as he saw her made the heat rise in her body.
Struggling to keep her voice level, she said, ‘You’re still as punctual as ever, then. ’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, smiling, ‘but you’ve obviously changed. You used to be late for everything.’
She shrugged, pretending to be offended. ‘You just had a thing about being bang on time. People don’t expect you to be, you know. Some people even think it’s rude.’
Alex laughed. ‘So I hear.’ He looked directly at her. ‘You look beautiful, Audrey. That hasn’t changed at all.’
‘Why thank you, kind sir.’ She tried to keep her tone light even as her heart raced. ‘And you’re not too bad still, despite your great age.’
‘Our great age, remember, Madame,’ he said, matching her tone and gesturing to the door. ‘I have a taxi waiting outside. Are we ready to go?’
He took her to the Caveau de la Huchette, a legendary jazz club in the 5th, a hot, crowded, dark basement which was a unique temple to swing, with a retro atmosphere and energetic bands, beloved by Parisians and tourists alike, of all ages.
Paris had always been a drawcard and haven for jazz musicians, and Audrey knew why Alex had chosen this place—it was just the kind of music that Alice and Mariette and their friends might have jitterbugged to, all that time ago.
And the same kind of place too; the dance floor was heaving with people, and it immediately reminded Audrey of a funny description in Alice’s notebook where she wrote of going with Mariette to a Montparnasse nightclub which was so crowded that you touched other people’s shoulders when you danced.
She whispered that in Alex’s ear and he whispered back that some things never did change, and then just to prove it they were swept up into a vigorous rendition of ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz’.
Audrey only vaguely knew the quickstep but Alex was very good at it, and she simply followed him, getting confused at times, bumping into people, but nobody seemed to mind and, surprisingly, neither did she.
Normally, to be in a place like this would have made Audrey feel awkward very quickly, but not tonight—tonight she felt like she belonged, she and Alex, among the other people all thoroughly enjoying themselves and letting the fabulous music flood over them.
The music might have been old but its joyful energy was as youthful as ever and Audrey could feel her own energy, her own force, released in a wild surge she hadn’t felt for years.
They had a break, downed a tall glass of cold water followed by a glass of champagne—that was certainly flowing today!
—while Audrey told Alex what had happened at Patricia’s, about the tracings, and what they were going to do with them.
Alex was almost as excited as she was, asking questions, adding insights, and it felt so natural, so easy, so right, to talk like this with him, not feeling as if she was monologuing, but truly having a proper conversation with someone who was really there, and not thinking about something else or checking their phone or only half-listening.
She’d never have been able to talk to James about it like this, she thought.
Sure, he would have heard her out, and made some vague comments, but he wouldn’t have been really listening, nor genuinely interested, because he didn’t understand at all why she would be so passionate about such trivial things, as he saw it.
Indeed, if she was honest, he had never really tried, even though he seemed to take it for granted that she would completely understand why he was so bound up in his own work.
And she did, totally. But it would have been nice to have had some reciprocity.
The clarity of that realisation hit her with force, but not bitterness.
How could she be bitter on this extraordinary evening?
Instead, it energised her, so that when they were back on the dance floor and into another upbeat number, ‘Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off’, and the crowd started singing the ridiculously fun lyrics depicting lovers separated by pronunciation, tomayto, tomahto, Audrey found herself bellowing along—she who normally would have shrunk from displaying her off-key voice in public.
Alex sang along too; he’d never been shy of such things, and he had a great voice, deep and warm.
But still she suspected it was as unusual for him now, to let go like this, to have pure, unforced fun, as it was for her.
When they finally stumbled out of the club, exhausted and exhilarated, he said, ‘I’ll ride with you back to the hotel,’ and she nodded. She didn’t want this to end; she wanted him to stay with her. When they got to the hotel—well, they’d see. No second-guessing, no plan, just the moment …
On the way back in the taxi, she took his hand and he held it and didn’t let go, his eyes on her face. Even though they didn’t say a word, they both knew what it meant, and the knowledge filled Audrey with a hot delight of a kind she hadn’t experienced for a very long time.
They reached the hotel, entered the lobby and were about to head to the lift, when the receptionist looked up and said, ‘Madame Oliver, there’s someone waiting for you.’ He gestured towards the sofa where a familiar figure sat gazing down at his phone, a small silver wheelie bag beside him.
Audrey’s throat tightened, her pulse racing. She gave Alex a horrified look and was about to speak when the man on the sofa got up.
‘Surprise,’ James said, coming towards her with a wide smile.