‘Mademoiselle Bell wouldn’t be the first person with strong feelings about foreigners in this city,’ he said, voice still dry. ‘Go on.’
‘Of course,’ said Charlie, who did not want to be lured into a discussion of the war. She started to read from her notes. ‘Maisy’s aunt said the Swiss gentleman, who only introduced himself as Louis, no last name, offered to show Maisy his villa and to listen to some Wagner—a composer they both admired.’
‘Sounds suitably dramatic,’ said the inspecteur, who gave the impression he was not hearing any new information.
‘Maisy apparently sent a telegram indicating she was staying the night on her visit, imploring her aunt not to worry.’
‘Yes. I’m aware.’ The inspecteur waited politely for new information.
‘Well.’ Charlie leaned forward to express her urgency. ‘Maisy has not been seen or heard of for over a week. No message to her aunt, who she’s travelling with. Nothing to the concierge—no word! You don’t think it is unusual to have a beautiful, young American tourist …’ She waved the photo. ‘… just disappear?’
The inspecteur leaned over and studied the photograph. ‘If you could please wait here forun moment, I’ll get the officer who is overseeing this case to come and speak with you. Perhaps he can give you the answers you seek.’
‘Merci, Inspecteur.’
Bernard left his office door open and Charlie sat, waiting. After the first minute, she checked her gold watch and was tempted to stand and have a peek at some of the contents in the neatly arranged folders and piles of paper on the inspecteur’s desk, just to see if there was anything else worth reporting. Instead, she sat on her hands and continued to wait for the promised officer.
After the third minute, the inspecteur returned with a squat, dark-haired man in his late twenties, whose stance and demeanour reminded her of a bulldog. Charlie tapped her pen on her notepad deliberately to convey her impatience to the inspecteur.
‘Officer Rose, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle James fromThe Times.’
After hands were shaken and platitudes exchanged, Inspecteur Bernard sat behind his desk, but the young officer remained standing.
‘Mademoiselle James, allow me to save you some time and from potential embarrassment pursuing this story.’
‘Embarrassment?’ Charlie shot Inspecteur Bernard a look that she hoped left no doubt that she was unimpressed with this young officer’s opening gambit.
Officer Rose continued, ‘Iwilltell you, as I have told Mademoiselle Bell numerous times, there is no evidence to warrant diverting precious Metro Police resources into a missing person case at this time.’
‘It’s been over a week!’ cried Charlie, appalled.
Inspecteur Bernard picked up a shiny red apple from beside his neat pile of paper and polished it with his cuff before putting it back exactly as it sat before. He said in an even voice, ‘Mademoiselle James is a fine reporter—we need tolistento her questions as we do not want something untrue appearing in the press, Officer Rose.’ His tone was a clear reprimand.
Officer Rose sighed and all but rolled his eyes. ‘Mademoiselle James, I will not insult your intelligence by dismissing your questions. But there are several reasons why I believe you are wasting your time with this story.’
‘Such as?’ Charlie jutted out her chin, unsure whether to be insulted or flattered.
‘Firstly, Mademoiselle Maisy Bell is twenty-two. A young woman certainly, but a woman nonetheless, who willingly went on an excursion with a charming Swiss man to a remote villa away from the prying eyes of her aunt who was with Maisy as her chaperone. She sent a telegram even, letting the older Mademoiselle Bell know she would be extending her visit.’
‘Extending it byonenight. She was meant to be back at the Ritz for a formal dinner with her aunt. A table for two had been booked for 9 p.m., her dress laundered and laid out on her bed ready for her return. There’s been nothing since then.’ Charlie seethed.
Officer Rose waved his hand at the window in a dramatic gesture and said patronisingly, ‘How many foreigners do you think come to Paris—the city of love—seeking their own holiday love story? Saint-Cloud, if Mademoiselle really went there, is pretty in summer. The perfect spotpour un beau couple d’amoureux.’
Charlie pursed her lips, doing little to disguise her distaste as the officer continued.
‘People come here and become giddy with the parks, the bars. This, Mademoiselle James, is not uncommon with Paris. Tourists come here and fall in love with the city. It makes them giddy and then they transfer that onto any number of our charming locals.’ Officer Rose puffed his chest out a little as if he were the prime exhibit of such charming locals.
Inspecteur Bernard started to speak—if only to quiet his colleague—in a low voice. ‘Unfortunately, many visitors do not have time to see that Parisians have the same foibles, arrogance’—heglanced at his junior colleague and gave Charlie an apologetic grimace—‘and neuroses that other people have. The charm of the city is like a spell …Thisis the romance of Paris. It’s a city of intrigue and reinvention.’
Charlie agreed with the inspecteur. Hadn’t creating a new life been the very reason she’d moved to Paris? Is that what young Maisy Bell was hoping to do too?
The inspecteur maintained eye contact as Charlie shifted in her seat, aware she was wearing a flattering modern pencil skirt and silk shirt with a pussy bow courtesy of Aleksandr and Violet. If Inspecteur Bernard noticed Charlie’s upgraded work wardrobe, he was too polite to mention it.
‘So what you are telling me, Officer Rose, is that tourists come to Paris and lose their heads with love?’ She furiously underlinedlovein her notebook.
Officer Rose blithely nodded his agreement, as though pleased the lady reporter sitting in front of him was finally seeing sense.
‘Love, lust. Curiosity … However you wish to explain it. Sadly, I do not have the police resources in our general department to dedicate to finding every young woman who chooses to have a romance while they are in Paris. Maisy Bell allegedly went with full consent to a villa in the area of Saint-Cloud with a Swiss man, Louis. Furthermore, she was wearing’—he referred to the notes he had in his hand—‘a short blue skirt with red plaid top and black Mary Janes.’