CHAPTER 18
CAFé DE FLORE, PARIS
Charlie caught a taxi from her farewell with the Bells directly to Café de Flore to meet Violet for lunch.
A meal and a taxi in one day was an extravagance when the paper was not paying, but she’d dressed respectfully in a white silk shirt, grey skirt and the kitten heels Violet had bought her from the shoe cave in Tours, and she did not want to risk ruining her precious new shoes on cobblestones.
The cafe was brimming with its usual lunchtime crowd.
As the weather was unseasonably warm, patrons took advantage of the wicker chairs on the footpath while their tuxedo-clad waiters danced between them, delivering half-carafes of white wine and rosé, baskets of complimentary bread and platters of terrine and charcuterie.
This cafe had become hearth and home for Charlie and Violet’s friendship, as it was situated between their apartments as well as being close to their office for these weekday lunches.
Even if Charlie did wish to entertain, her studio was really too small to invite anyone for a meal, as someone would need to sit on her bed.
Violet and Charlie sat at their favourite marble table, facing the street. After their wine was poured and two Nicoise salads ordered, Charlie told Violet about her disastrous farewell with the Bells.
‘I failed them, Violet. The Bells left with nothing. No hope. No closure.’ She opened her notebook and removed Maisy’s letter to Gigi.
‘I understand they want to move on with their lives—God knows, George would kill me if he knew I was still spending time on this story—but it says here in Gigi’s letter that the man’s name was Ludwig and he was German.
He told her he was German. It explains the Wagner connection. ’
The name Ludwig had immediately grabbed Charlie’s attention.
She knew it from her conversation with Lady Ashworth’s driver: the last booking that Pierre Jouet had taken before he was murdered.
Even more unsettlingly, the name also appeared on the bookings sheet from the day of Maisy’s disappearance that Lady Ashworth’s driver had supplied her.
Had the police questioned this Ludwig? Or had they ignored him because they thought they were looking for a Swiss man named Louis at the time?
‘Does it?’ asked Violet with a serious face.
‘You are the reporter, but it seems to me this guy was lying to everyone about his name. And nationality. He was clearly a shyster. What’s consistent, though, is that reference to Saint-Cloud.
That he had a villa near Josephine’s. Seems to me, you need to check out who owns some fancy villas in the area. Any male with a vague Germanic accent.’
‘There’s no time. George has forbidden me from working on the Maisy Bell story and I have enough on my plate with these two murders. Two. Tours and Neuilly. Some of the wealthiest places in France.’
‘So is Saint-Cloud, by the way. You’re no slouch if you have a villa there,’ replied Violet.
‘I’m hoping to get to Versailles on Friday. I really need something concrete and you don’t get answers unless you push.’
‘Perfect. If you are in Versailles on Friday, then are you free Friday night to stay in Versailles?’ asked Violet as she ducked down to her Hermès bag, pulled out a rose-infused invitation and handed it to Charlie.
‘This invitation is to a private soiree at Lady Ashworth’s!’
Violet looked chastened. ‘I wasn’t sure how to ask you …
after everything that happened when you worked on the Ashworth feature.
But I know you’ve been there since to visit Lady Ashworth, and you catch up from time to time.
Her villa is the perfect setting—and the perfect circle of people—to do a little private showing of our upcoming collection.
Test the waters, so to speak.’ She sighed.
‘Also, it’s a chance to get some early orders for Aleksandr. It will allow him to purchase the rest of the materials for a full production run. ’
‘I understand,’ said Charlie, who would do anything to help Violet and Aleksandr. ‘Lady Ashworth’s villa has history.
Not just mine, but centuries’ worth. Kings and mistresses, decadent parties, love and loss.
’ She picked up her glass and swirled it before taking a sip and smiling at Violet.
‘Aleksandr’s dresses, your love story … they deserve something grand, something magical.
’ She frowned and laughed. ‘But why am I just hearing about this show now?’
‘I didn’t want to leave any wiggle room for you to think of a reason you couldn’t come. You are my best friend, but I’m afraid we are going to ask you to sing for your supper. Remember at the opera?’
‘You don’t mean for me to sing, do you?’ Charlie cried, horrified.
‘You? Lord, no!’ Violet took a sip of her wine. ‘We just need you to wander around the villa looking all ethereal and beautiful in the blue dress Aleksandr made for you to wear to the opera.’
Charlie nearly choked on her wine. ‘He made that for me?’
‘Yes. If we told you it was custom, you wouldn’t have worn it, or accepted it.’
‘True! But I’m afraid I’m not much of a model. You know I clatter.’ She waved her new kitten heels in a circle towards Violet, teasing.
‘That’s why I bought you some starter heels to practise in. All part of my grand plan.’ She giggled. ‘You don’t need to aim for perfection. You’re perfect just as you are.’ She leaned over and tucked one of Charlie’s auburn curls behind her ear.
‘I really can’t afford—’
Violet put her hands on her hips as she took in Charlie’s updated work uniform. ‘You can pull together an outfit and, more importantly, pull it off as well as any Parisienne. Accept the piece, work the room and make everyone fall in love with that dress.’
‘Yes, Professor Henry Higgins,’ joked Charlie as their salads arrived.
She picked up her fork, leaning across to place her other hand on Violet’s.
‘Thank you. Not just for the dress, but your support … You are a great friend to me. I’ll go to the provincial headquarters in Versailles to get some more details about this Neuilly murder.
I’ll get permission from George. But you’re right, I also need to get across to Saint-Cloud, to ask around about a certain German or Swiss man who may be staying in the area.
The case is closed, so no one needs to know. ’
‘George will be fine. Just give him the stories he wants.’
‘Easier said than done. But maybe after I speak with Allard—’
Violet’s head shot up. ‘That handsome detective from the forest?’
‘Yes, although may I remind you, his looks are no matter to a corpse.’
Violet ducked into her bag again and pulled out a second, blank invitation and handed it to Charlie. ‘Perhaps you’d like to give him this invitation?’
‘To your show?’ Charlie couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.
‘Yes. Why not? Could be a good chance for you to talk … business.’
‘He doesn’t know about my—about the Maisy Bell case. Not past the bare facts. It has nothing to do with him.’ Though something told her that Detective Gilles Allard would understand Charlie’s refusal to let the Maisy Bell story go.
‘Isn’t he in charge of provincial investigations?’
‘Homicides, yes. But Maisy Bell went missing from Paris. Also, she’s not dead.’ She swallowed and crossed her fingers under the table, hoping what she said would prove to be true.
Violet put her wineglass down and gave Charlie a long, sympathetic look, as if she didn’t quite believe that Maisy Bell could still be alive.
Charlie forged on, looking down so she wouldn’t cry. ‘The Metro Police have jurisdiction over the Bell matter.’
‘Not now, not if they’ve closed the case.
Certainly not if there’s something in Saint-Cloud.
That’s definitely provincial.’ She waved the invitation at Charlie.
‘Take it and think about it. I know you hate mixing business with pleasure, but trust me when I say that can be the best kind of business! You’ve worked so hard …
I see how thankless it can be. Just come this one night.
Have some fun.’ Violet threw her hair over her shoulder and smiled so her dimples gave her the look of a vixen as she scooped an olive into her mouth.
‘Besides, Lady Ashworth insisted you come and stay in her gatehouse as her VIP guest. She’s already had it filled with fresh linen in anticipation. ’
Charlie sighed and threw her hands in the air. ‘Who am I to refuse Lady Ashworth’s charms? Or her fresh linen? I’ll do it for you. And Aleksandr, of course. But as for Allard’s invitation …’ She tucked it into her notebook. ‘I’ll think about it.’
As she picked at her lettuce, Charlie tried to ignore the faces of Maisy Bell, Clementine Bell and Detective Gilles Allard tumbling about her brain. She would meet Allard and talk with him about the Neuilly case. That was enough.