Chapter 34
Thirty-four
‘Change of plan,’ Isabelle said to Carlos.
‘We’re not meeting my friends tonight.’ After a couple of earlier tries, she’d finally managed to get hold of Audrey to give her the news about Cazenave and the letter, but even though she was very pleased, she said she was on the train to Senlis where she’d be for a couple of nights, and wouldn’t be able to meet up tonight as planned.
Isabelle knew that the family of Elisabeth Fontaine’s husband, Edmond, had come from Senlis, but it did seem rather sudden.
Then Audrey told her in a rush that Alex was coming too, and Isabelle understood and was glad for her friend who sounded truly happy.
‘The debrief can wait,’ she’d told her. ‘We’ll have more to discuss later anyway. Enjoy yourself!’
‘So what would you like to do instead?’ she asked Carlos.
They were in her hotel room, getting ready to go out.
After leaving Cazenave’s flat, Carlos had suggested that they go to the recently reopened Notre Dame.
It had been exactly the right thing to do, for in the peace and gloriously rebirthed beauty of the cathedral, which had borne witness to so much love and devotion, Isabelle felt the last of the anger and bitterness leave her.
She lit a candle in memory of Elisabeth and her Edmond, and another one in memory of her brother, and offered up a silent prayer of thanks for her blessings before she and Carlos left, holding hands.
They’d bought sandwiches and eaten them in a small garden then walked back to the hotel, where they went straight to bed.
Strangely, she had been almost shy at first, but he had been loving and considerate, careful of her shoulder, but also with a leashed passion that had aroused her.
They’d spent most of the rest of the afternoon in bed, making love, and talking too, about all that had happened.
Now she felt both relaxed and energised, hopeful yet calm, in a way she hadn’t for a very long time.
‘What would I like to do tonight, apart from what we’ve been doing most of the afternoon, you mean?’ Carlos replied, in a teasing tone.
‘Yes, apart from that,’ Isabelle said, with a catch in her voice. ‘For the moment anyway,’ she added.
‘Well, then, let me think,’ he said, kissing her on her shoulder. ‘Let’s go swim in the Seine, or dance naked on the rooftops, or drink ourselves under the table in some louche wine bar, or maybe just go for a walk to the Marais and find a nice restaurant.’
The latter is what they ended up doing, and after a leisurely dinner, they strolled arm in arm along the streets and quays, as Isabelle recounted what she had learned about Elisabeth Fontaine and her world.
She had already told him about their momentous visit to Patricia’s flat, and the plans they had for the revelation of the letter and drawings, and the creation of the gown, and how it would all inform the book, but this was different.
This was about Elisabeth Fontaine—but not only her.
It was also about Annie and Mariette and Alice, who were all part of her story, but who also had stories of their own, and didn’t deserve to just be footnotes to fame.
Carlos listened with obvious interest and put in the occasional remark, which was always to the point, and she found herself marvelling at how she could not have noticed that before.
Had she really been so obtuse, so determined to see him as a type to be categorised then dismissed?
‘Never mind what’s past,’ Carlos said when she voiced her regret at having misjudged him, ‘it’s now, it’s the present, let’s enjoy it, and we can build on that.’
‘What an optimist you are,’ she said, and he smiled and replied, ‘And why wouldn’t I be, with this most surprising and lovely woman beside me?’
She knew he’d meant it—it wasn’t flattery, not a hollow compliment—he really did see her like that, and it made her heart sing.
Across the river, Romy and Mickael had decided to go out to the restaurant Isabelle had recommended, Le Mabillon, on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.
But it was crowded and so they’d wandered away down a side street and found a smaller, less popular place which still had tables.
It sold simple, delicious Italian food and they sat over plates of pasta and glasses of red wine and talked about what would come next for the dress, Elisabeth’s beautiful Paname.
They’d transferred the tracings they’d made to sketch paper, then traced over those again and compared them to Elisabeth’s drawings.
Once they were satisfied—which could take a while yet—they would visit fabric shops to decide on the right materials.
This had to be done before Mickael could make a start on creating the pattern, because you needed a sense of the weight and drape and fall of the fabrics you would use, so that could be factored into the pattern, along with the measurements—Romy’s would be used as the base—and other aspects.
Pattern-making was a complicated process, and even though there were excellent software programs these days to help, the pattern-maker still needed to be hands-on and have a good eye.
After that, there would be much more to come, of course, but that was all they could hold in their minds right now.
Besides, it would soon be the last week of term at the school, their final projects would have been handed in, they’d get their results and after that would come the long summer holidays when they’d have time to really concentrate on it before school resumed in September.
Their conversation veered to other matters, and Romy found herself telling Mickael about what had happened when her family found out she was walking away from her high-powered financial career to follow her dream in fashion design.
‘My father made life really hard. He was so disappointed in me and didn’t understand at all,’ she said.
‘For him, I was throwing my life away, no two ways about it, and he tried very hard to dissuade me, as did my sister, Alma. I’ve been thinking about it and I feel like they imagined they were protecting me, keeping me safe, rather than imprisoning me to live in their own image of life.
Papa especially thinks the world is a harsh and unforgiving place—which I guess is true in some ways—but he also doesn’t see the rest of it. And that makes me feel sad for him.’
‘Yes, I can understand that,’ Mickael said.
‘People who see the world like that—there’s no real pleasure in it for them, even if they are successful.
It’s sad for you too, though. It means he’s never happy for you, because otherwise it might make him question his own assumptions and priorities.
’ He paused. ‘But what about your sister?’
‘Alma’s always been Papa’s girl. She admires him enormously, and tries to model herself on him.
She doesn’t like that I’ve hurt him—as she sees it.
And I didn’t want to, I never did, but I can’t live like she does.
She likes her work and she married a good guy and they’re having a baby soon, but somehow …
we’ve not been able to connect properly.
Alex is the only one who really gets it.
But then he knows what it’s like being the black sheep, because he went through that with my grandparents. ’
‘What?’ Mickael exclaimed, eyebrows raised. ‘Alex Valence, owner of some of the best and most successful bars in Paris, is the black sheep of the family? Wow. That’s a little weird, to be honest.’
Romy smiled. ‘I know! But my family just live in a different world. Different planet, different galaxy even.’
Mickael laughed. ‘Ha, the perils of travelling across the galaxy, eh!’ His expression turned serious.
‘My family doesn’t really get what I’m doing either, but it’s okay, they tell me their doings, I tell them mine, and we cheerfully discount the fact that we live quite differently from each other.
We just enjoy catching up. That works for us.
And maybe …’ He hesitated, before continuing, rapidly, ‘Look, tell me to mind my own business if you like, but …’
‘You think I should tell them what’s been going on.’ Romy smiled when he looked startled. ‘You think they might be impressed at last.’
‘Now you’re reading my mind, that’s not fair,’ he complained, good-humouredly. ‘But I’m probably totally and disastrously wrong, so ignore me.’
‘No,’ she said, giving him a mischievous look. ‘I’m going to follow your advice right now, and if it goes totally and disastrously wrong, then I’ll know who to blame, won’t I?’ And so saying, she picked up her phone and keyed in Alma’s number.
Fifty kilometres away, Audrey and Alex had just checked into their apartment in an eighteenth-century building in the historic centre of Senlis.
On the train, they’d sat close to each other and talked softly, the way they’d talked in the jazz club, but this time about Edmond’s connection to Senlis, and Elisabeth’s love of silk, and Alice’s mother and her hats, and a host of other things.
It had been a peaceful time, but also a suspended time, and now they were here, at journey’s end.