Chapter 14
Fourteen
It was in that relaxed mood that she tried Pierre Cazenave’s number again.
It still went to voicemail. She hoped he was okay, and that the family emergency wasn’t too awful.
She hesitated about leaving another message, and in the end sent a brief text.
Hope you and your family are okay. Call me when you can.
With all my best wishes, Isabelle. There, that would let him know she understood if he couldn’t answer straight away.
And meanwhile, the letter would be safe at his place.
She still had two nights at the hotel, but depending on how long he was away, it meant she’d have to stay in Paris longer than she’d originally planned.
Fortunately the hotel could accommodate her, so she booked for another four nights, to be on the safe side.
But she had to tell Carlos, to stave off any questions.
On her way to the meeting with Audrey, she typed out a message to Carlos. Have to be away a bit longer, she texted. Probably won’t be back before you go to Toulouse. Hope all is well. Je t’embrasse.
By now, she was at her destination. Dismissing the unproductive thoughts, she put her phone on silent, stowed it in her jacket pocket and walked into the café, spotting Audrey almost at once.
She was dressed in a simple lavender-coloured top and flowery Liberty-print skirt which made her look very summery, her hair—a true golden blonde of the sort you rarely saw outside of films—skimming just below her shoulders in a shining layered fall.
As Isabelle approached, she turned her head and smiled.
‘Hello,’ she said, speaking in French fluently, but with the hint of a soft anglophone accent. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Madame Bernard.’
‘Isabelle, please. And it’s I who should thank you for meeting me, Madame …’
‘Audrey,’ the other woman said at once, reaching out to Isabelle’s free hand.
Isabelle saw that as well as a diamond engagement ring on her left hand, she was wearing another on her right.
It was exquisitely crafted: a lustrous pearl surrounded by small emeralds on a delicately carved platinum setting.
Isabelle recognised it at once as being Art Deco, perhaps early 1930s.
Audrey saw her looking at it and a smile lit up her rather serious grey eyes. ‘It belonged to Alice, my great-grandmother,’ she said. ‘It was her engagement ring. I never met her, but her daughter, my grandmother, left it to me when she died ten years ago.’
‘It’s absolutely superb,’ said Isabelle, sincerely. ‘And very unusual, with the emeralds rather than diamonds.’
‘Emeralds and pearls were her birthstones—she was born on the cusp between Taurus and Gemini,’ Audrey said as they sat down.
‘That’s why Charlie—my great-grandfather—chose it for her.
But then you must see a lot of beautiful things in your work.
I looked up your website and Instagram page. They’re very enticing.’
Isabelle smiled. ‘Thank you. It’s easy to make them enticing given what I deal in. To my mind, the 1920s and 1930s is one of the most beautiful fashion periods ever—possibly the most beautiful. There was so much innovation, but also so much grace. And a real understanding of what women wanted.’
‘Perhaps because so many of the designers were women,’ Audrey suggested, as the waiter approached.
‘Oh yes!’ Isabelle broke off as they ordered two coffees, then went on, ‘But even the men knew that the modern woman was not going to submit to wearing ridiculously restrictive or cumbersome clothes anymore, even if they were technically stunning.’
Audrey nodded. ‘You’re right. It was a most unusual time.’ She paused. ‘Romy told me you were interested in Elisabeth Fontaine, and that you’d spoken to Professor Cazenave about her. Is it because you’ve discovered one of her creations?’
Isabelle took a deep breath. ‘Not exactly … Look, Audrey, I read an article about the book you’re writing, which stated that you’re partly basing it on a notebook from the time.’
Audrey nodded. ‘That’s right. Alice’s notebook.’
‘Does she write anything about Elisabeth Fontaine?’
‘Yes. She describes going to the showing of Fontaine’s first collection, and she also glimpsed her once in the fabric shop where her friend was working. She was starstruck. Fontaine was one of her heroes.’
‘It sounds amazing,’ Isabelle said, trying to hold her excitement in check. ‘This might seem like an odd question, but what was your great-grandmother’s surname?’
‘Her surname?’ Audrey echoed, staring at her.
The coffees arrived, and Isabelle waited till the waiter had gone before reaching inside her pouch and drawing out the envelope in its plastic wallet. She put it in front of Audrey. ‘Because of this,’ she said.
Audrey looked down at it, then up at Isabelle. ‘I don’t understand.’
So Isabelle explained how she’d come by the letter and how it had brought her to Paris.
‘The address on the envelope is where Romy lives now,’ she continued.
‘It’s where I first met her a couple of days ago.
But back in the time of Elisabeth Fontaine, a Mademoiselle Houssaye lived there.
The letter was for her, from Elisabeth Fontaine, and was signed by her.
It’s an important letter and’—holding her breath, she looked right into Audrey’s astonished gaze—‘I was wondering if Alice’s maiden name was Houssaye. ’
Audrey shook her head. ‘No. Her maiden name was Peyrac.’
Ah. It would have been too easy, Isabelle thought, pushing down a surge of disappointment.
For a while there, she’d imagined that was the answer, that everything would have fitted neatly, and they could then have turned their attention from the identity of the receiver of the letter to the fate of the copies.
And maybe Audrey could have helped them, as there might have been other clues in Alice’s notebook. But now she was back to square one …
‘Look,’ Audrey said, interrupting Isabelle’s thoughts, ‘it’s possible that this Mademoiselle Houssaye was someone Alice knew, even if I don’t recall the name being mentioned.
She mostly only mentioned people’s first names unless they were people in authority, like the woman who employed her and her landlady.
But I can take another look at her notebook.
I have it scanned on my laptop here. However, I need to know what the letter was about. Can you show it to me?’
What Audrey said made sense, and Isabelle felt hopeful again.
She, of course, didn’t have the physical letter, but she had taken photos of it when she’d first discovered it.
Taking out her phone, she found the photo and handed it to Audrey.
‘The actual letter is unavailable at the moment, but this is what it says.’
She watched Audrey’s face as she read the letter. First there was a kind of puzzlement, then shock, then excitement. Audrey read it again, then looked up at Isabelle, her eyes bright. ‘My God. This is—I don’t have words for what this is.’
‘I know.’ Isabelle knew the writer felt the same thrill as she had when she’d first seen the letter, and the same for Romy and Pierre. ‘It’s genuine. I’m certain of it.’
‘It’s so poignant,’ Audrey said softly. ‘Poor Elisabeth. And poor Mademoiselle Houssaye, who never received her friend’s letter.’ She looked at Isabelle. ‘Would you like to help me look through the notebook and see if we can spot anything that might be relevant?’
Isabelle beamed. ‘Oh yes. Please. Yes, I would. And perhaps Romy—’
‘Of course. Do let her know.’ Audrey gave a faint smile. ‘She didn’t reveal your secret, you know, even if she must have been bursting to do so. She left that up to you. She is a person of sensitivity and tact.’
‘Absolutely, she is a good woman,’ said Isabelle. ‘Even if that sounds slightly old-fashioned,’ she added quickly.
‘It does not sound like that at all,’ said Audrey, her smile wider now. ‘I know exactly what you mean. Now, shall we go?’