Chapter 4 Hotel Ritz, Paris #2
Charlie nodded. ‘A typical Lady Ashworth soiree. I was here myself, late from work. It was a lovely evening. I didn’t speak with Maisy, but I certainly noticed her.
She struck me as rather confident and self-contained.
Beautiful, obviously, but that’s neither here nor there.
I regret not introducing myself. I imagine, as outsiders in Paris, we would have a lot to talk about.
I write a lot about the arts for the paper, so we have that in common too. ’
Charlie was bringing Maisy to life in her head but also keeping her front and centre for the relatives. Building that connection with Clementine and Mason Bell was vital if she was going to find Maisy.
‘Can you think of anyone else you spoke to who might remember meeting Maisy?’
Clementine considered this for a moment as Mason looked on, apparently willing his sister to remember something. Anything.
‘The Windsors were there. The Duchess looked divine, with a black dress just so’—she dabbed at the top of her bust—‘to show off the di-a-mond necklace given to her by the lov-er-ly husband of hers, the Duke. What a devil he is.’ Clementine giggled and turned bright red as her brother shot her a disapproving look.
‘Well, now,’ Clementine continued, ‘we were looking for Lady Ashworth—she was the one who invited us to have a cocktail at the bar. It was hard to see with the roses and lilies, and the people were pouring in the door faster than a race full of bulls at a rodeo. The waiters were no help. We met a charming man. He called himself Louis. He was Swiss, I think. Definitely had an accent. Not a French accent, I mean. Not English. But definitely Continental. Yes, Swiss.’ Clementine furrowed her brow and bit her lip.
‘Louis could be a Swiss or French name,’ replied Charlie as she wrote the name in her notebook. In her experience, witness accounts could be wildly misleading but it was crucial to get all perspectives.
‘Maybe it’s a nickname, y’know. Make it easy for the English speakers.
The dumb Americans.’ Clementine rolled her eyes and Charlie felt herself warming to this woman, who clearly had a bit of Southern sass.
She nodded her agreement. Her time in France had taught her that visiting Americans were often regarded with scepticism and as being on the lowest social rung, just a fraction higher than the Brits.
‘The thing is…Maisy got talking to this Louis gentleman. She was all aflutter about it when we were back in the suite getting ready for bed. He liked Wagner and history, architecture and the like. This gentleman sounded real cultured and that would have turned our Maisy’s head.
She had already bought us the opening night tickets for Ariane and Bluebeard next week, though of course we won’t be going… ’ Clementine’s face crumpled.
‘The thing is,’ Clementine continued, having gathered herself, ‘and I told this to the po-lice, that Maisy made arrangements with this man—Swiss Louis—for the next day. He arranged to pick Maisy up from right out the front of the Ritz here and drive down to see some famous old villa.’ She swallowed.
‘I don’t remember the name of the villa—but it was near the one Napoleon apparently bought for Josephine.
A likely story.’ Clementine rolled her eyes again.
‘Anyhow, Maisy insisted she was a grown, modern woman and didn’t need a chaperone like me.
‘I was relieved,’ she said, looking sheepish. ‘There were some gloves at Galeries Lafayette that I wanted to go pick up before I stopped by Schiaparelli for a fittin’.’ She looked at Mason, who was shaking his head with disapproval.
‘What? It was a simple day trip. How was I to know…’ She faltered. ‘Besides, Maisy’d been at Barnard, away from her mamma, pappa and me for four years. She was sensible,’ she said softly. ‘Hardworking. You can’t be dim and get into Barnard.’
‘I imagine,’ agreed Charlie, who wanted Clementine very much onside. She tapped the photo. ‘I can tell she has a lot of spark. A plucky young woman like Maisy must have a lot of suitors?’ She made sure to use the present tense.
‘Of course!’ Clementine smiled. ‘But Maisy was smart enough not to have her head turned by a phony. Back in the States, she knew boys would come to New York from Yale and Wharton wanting to date her because she was a Bell. But here in Paris, she was free from all that ker-fuffle. I just wanted her to enjoy it for a minute,’ Clementine said softly as she covered her face with her hands.
Charlie made a subtle note of this in her book.
Lady Ashworth had told Charlie that the family had taken this matter to the police. She needed to know what happened during this initial report. ‘You went to the police?’ she probed.
‘Ho-ney.’ Clementine held up her hand. ‘I’ve tried the po-lice and they said she wasn’t missing enough yet! They implied Maisy was a young woman in Paris trying to hide from an overprotective aunt. They see it all the time.’ She pursed her lips, offended.
Charlie looked at Clementine’s coiffed hair, broad brown cheeks and strong body, matched with her even broader American accent, and saw why a busy Parisian police officer may have dismissed this wealthy Texan.