CHAPTER 21
VILLA TRIANON, VERSAILLES
Charlie James sat in Lady Ashworth’s reception room at Villa Trianon, draped on a large chintz chair, her arm dangling over the edge.
The room was the most extravagant in Versailles, with oversized tables, overstuffed sofas and walls covered in gold and fuchsia silk wallpapers.
Animal hides covered half the parquetry floor.
The lights were dimmed and the room glowed with the light of hundreds of candles.
The guests were about to arrive and Violet was flitting between the models arranged over sofas, propped against gilded window frames and lying on the floor, adding last-minute necklaces, adjusting a bunch of grapes balanced on a hand, draping hair across a neck or just murmuring some words of reassurance.
Violet joined Charlie where she sat poured into her blue silk dress.
‘We’re looking for languid and dreamy, darling,’ she said, kissing Charlie’s forehead and clicking her fingers for an assistant to bring more necklaces to swathe around Charlie’s neck.
The beads felt cold against Charlie’s skin and she shivered.
‘These positions are just for when the guests walk in—then I want you to walk.’ She put her hands up to mimic wind.
‘No, I want you to glide among the guests and let them see how the silk moves, how it sits across your body.’
‘And you think my glide will sell dresses?’
‘If you do it properly, then yes,’ replied Violet, tilting Charlie’s head, ruffling the necklaces and patting her on the arm. ‘I also want you to use your words. You’re not just a pretty face.’
‘Got it. Charm the guests. Make them buy dresses.’
‘Dresses. Exactly. Plural. You do look like a dream. Is the forester coming?’
‘Detective Allard. Who knows? I gave him the invitation, but as you know, he has a number of cases on his hands at the moment. They seem to be multiplying, unfortunately. I’m going to need another one of your secret brown expenses envelopes to go to Saint-Cloud on Monday.’
‘I’ll get it when I’m back in the city tomorrow.’
‘Honestly, I have no idea what I’d do without you. I’m going to Rue Véron tomorrow for a tip I want to check out, so I can meet you nearby for lunch if you like and I can grab the money then.’
‘Rue Véron? I love Montmartre. The back avenues have the best stores and markets. Also the best bars. Forget lunch, I’ll come with you to Montmartre.’
Charlie considered the name on the young Schmidt’s reference: Koch.
German. It would help to have a translator on hand just in case his French or English was unclear.
‘Great. You can be my translator. It can be payment for my modelling fees.’ She laughed, because they both knew it would take Charlie a year to pay off the dress she wore if she had to buy it.
Aleksandr walked into the room holding a bottle of champagne and started to fill the flutes on the sideboard. Lady Ashworth trailed behind him and waved at a waiter to take over Aleksandr’s job.
‘Come, come, Aleksandr, and take my arm. We need to greet our guests.’
Aleksandr did as he was told and stood beside Lady Ashworth, who was dressed demurely in a black silk wrap dress, her green hair piled high in a loose beehive.
‘Thank you, Lady Ashworth,’ he said as he threaded his arm through the one she’d propped on her hip.
‘Nonsense, the thanks is all mine. You make me feel so wonderful, I can’t keep you to myself. We only have a few coming.’ She lowered her voice. ‘But they will order well, I know it.’ She winked.
‘Look at you, Charlie!’ Lady Ashworth bent over to kiss Charlie on both cheeks and did the same with Violet. ‘You are a Titian goddess. Magnifique!’ She waved her hands and said to Violet, ‘I love what you’ve done with the place.’
‘I had a great base to work with.’ Violet blew the older woman a kiss and planted one on Aleksandr’s blushing cheek.
‘Positions.’ Violet clapped then took Aleksandr’s other arm, kissed his cheek again for good luck and guided him and Lady Ashworth to greet the arriving guests.
From her seat, Charlie could see out the main window to the entrance and wide, curved driveway.
Excited guests in couture dresses and tuxedos spilled from town cars, grabbed martinis and flutes of champagne and gasped in delight as they were ushered through the arches into the reception room, where twenty gorgeous women waited in poses that suggested they were being painted: straps fell off shoulders, seams pulled away to hint at a breast, legs were stretched long to poke out under hems. It felt like a scene from one of the many famous oil paintings on the walls, which was exactly Violet’s intention.
As guests started to move around the vast room, the models switched positions and threw alluring looks so people would step closer and admire the cloth and the cut.
Violet drove shy Aleksandr through the crowd, introducing him and encouraging him to talk about how he would create a bespoke dress for each woman.
There was no talk of money, just colours that suited, possible pleats and gathers and hemline lengths.
Charlie stood and turned, hands on her hips, so a spry middle-aged woman could look at the fall of her dress.
Aleksandr pointed to Charlie’s hip. ‘We can change this so it pulls in on you.’
And the woman replied, ‘What I would give for those round hips. I’ll have whatever she’s got! Salut!’
Aleksandr and the client clinked champagne flutes as Violet looked on, beaming with pride. She kept close to Aleksandr as everyone circled, hem of her long gold dress gathered in one hand and champagne flute tucked into the other.
As Aleksandr pointed to the details of Charlie’s dress and discussed swatches with his prospective client, Charlie looked up to see Detective Allard standing at the entrance arch, watching her. His eyes widened when their gazes met, and he bowed his head in a modest greeting.
Violet turned to see what was happening and tapped Aleksandr on the elbow gently, moving the guest to the next model.
Charlie made her way across the vast room, ignoring the admiring stares of guests, to where Detective Allard stood.
She greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks and breathed in his now-familiar scent of sandalwood.
He looked dashing in his tuxedo. She smiled warmly as he took in the room, then Charlie in her dress.
‘I’ve been wondering if you’d get here,’ she said as she dropped her hem and smoothed the tasselled peplum over her hips.
She felt like a movie star—the diaphanous silk hugged her body in all the right places, spaghetti straps showing off her shoulders and décolletage before the material plunged into a diamond brooch at the bust.
Allard’s eyes glistened with approval. ‘I wasn’t sure I would. These cases …’ He scratched his curls in frustration. He looked so attractive.
Charlie swallowed and silently admonished herself for such inappropriate thoughts. He was a colleague.
She put out her arm and said, ‘Allow me to introduce you to the crème de la crème of Paris society.’
For the next two hours, Charlie and Allard circled among the guests. The women were titillated by the fact Detective Allard was a working police officer and did what they could to pluck imaginary threads off his arm as they cajoled him to spill details of cases he was working on.
‘A detective never reveals his secrets,’ Lady Ashworth said as she rescued him time and time again from curious women desperate for gossip to take back to Paris along with their silk samples.
Eventually, Charlie found herself standing with Allard under an enormous Venetian chandelier.
‘How was your evening? I’m glad I asked you to come with me—you’re quite the talk of the town!’
Allard gave a wry smile. ‘That’s what I was afraid of. Everyone wants to know details of gory murders. If only they knew the paperwork my team have to sort through.’
‘Did you tell them they can read all about it in The Times?’ She grinned.
‘You are incorrigible, Charlie James.’
‘I am. I’m afraid, however, my one and only time as an haute couture house model has come to a close. I confirm I cannot stand in these heels any longer and my bed beckons.’ She regretted her words as soon as she’d said them.
She shivered as a gust of wind shot in the door and Allard removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders as though he’d done it a million times before.
‘Should I arrange a car to take you to your hotel?’ He coughed and looked at the chandelier, saying as an afterthought, ‘I wonder how many crystals there are?’
‘Not enough for Lady Ashworth. Or Violet, for that matter.’ Charlie looked across to where the women were deep in conversation with Aleksandr and hoped the night had been a success for the trio.
Violet turned a fraction and gave an enthusiastic wave goodbye, letting Charlie know it was fine for her to leave.
Charlie sighed, then rolled her eyes as Violet tilted her head subtly towards Detective Allard and gave Charlie a sly wink.
Charlie waved and turned towards Allard, hoping he hadn’t seen Violet’s gestures.
‘You go. I’m staying here, across the driveway at the little gatehouse.
I’m shattered.’ She led him towards the front door and they made a hasty escape from the chatter and music of the main room.
It sounded like the party was gearing up a notch and Violet would be leading the charge.
‘If Violet has her way, she’ll be swinging from that chandelier in an hour. ’
‘I believe you. She’s a firecracker.’
‘She is.’ Charlie yawned as they stepped out the front door and onto the gravel driveway.
Allard touched the small of her back. ‘Let me walk you to the gatehouse. My car is parked just outside the gates anyway. I wasn’t sure about the protocol for this evening.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not often invited to parties like this. Are you?’