Charlie’s stomach started to churn. One reason a woman might go missing—kidnapped or murdered—was money. Especially when the missing person was from a well-known family with means. The next reason a woman might disappear was because of a man, and there were three reasons women often came toharm at the hands of men. Two were passion and control. The other was money. There it was again.
Lady Ashworth threw her head back and laughed. ‘Oh, Maisy Bell was like honey to a bee that night in the ballroom of the Ritz. What man didn’t speak with her?’
The third reason Maisy Bell might be missing was that she was somehow involved in a terrible accident. The young woman may be in hospital unconscious or unable to communicate. Surely the police would have already looked into that?
Charlie shivered as she considered a fourth possibility.
‘Right. If what you say is true, Lady Ashworth, and a young American girl is missing, then I will look into it. I’ll contact my sources at the Cité Metro Police—’
‘Oh, you mean the dashing Inspecteur Bernard? The one who was visiting you inhospital?’
‘It was official police business, Lady Ashworth,’ said Charlie as she focused on opening her notebook to a clean page.It was the least he could do, she thought.
Charlie ignored the knowing glance between Lady Ashworth and Violet as she chugged the last of her coffee.
‘Well, I must be off,’ Lady Ashworth said. ‘Dear Monsieur Cardo has been waiting patiently to take me to my next appointment. Honestly, I don’t know how I’d cope without him. I’ve been using the same town car service for years and I always ask for dear Cardo. Always on time, always a gentleman. Never makes a fuss.Before I go, may I offer you lovely ladies a lift to work?’ She gave a pointed look at the notebook and photos of Maisy Bell on the table before raising an expectant eyebrow at Violet and Charlie.
‘No, thank you, Lady Ashworth,’ Violet and Charlie responded in unison. The office was a short walk from the cafe and the two younger women liked to peruse the ever-changing shopfront windows for fashion inspiration along the way.
Lady Ashworth pushed her chair back and stood, smoothing her hair as a middle-aged chauffeur with grey hair and medium build in a black uniform and white gloves emerged from the dark town car just a few steps from where they sat. He wore a shiny star badge on his lapel, which glinted in the sun as he opened the back door. Lady Ashworth put a protective hand on her coiffed green bun and waved before she disappeared into the cavernous back seat.
As Violet finished her coffee and went to sort the bill with the waiter inside, insisting it was her turn to shout, Charlie picked up her pen and started to write down all the angles she could take on this Maisy Bell disappearance.
Chapter 3
THE TIMESOFFICE, PARIS
Charlie and Violet walked the few blocks to the newspaper office as Charlie considered the best way to convince her editor to let her leave her desk and investigate a missing person case. The women took the rickety elevator to the top floor of a grand Haussmann building and strode intoThe Timesoffice together.
Violet went straight to her station at the front desk. As she pulled the chair out, Charlie said, ‘Your desk is a florist. How do you concentrate with so many vases?’ She counted at least three spilling over with an assortment of pastel roses, poppies and peonies. A pearly orchid sat in a pot on the top of the counter.
But the flowers were the least of the distractions. Concealed behind the reception bulkhead, the front desk was scattered with fabric swatches, to-do lists and sketches. Her brilliant friend made no sign of hiding her second job as stylist forAleksandr Ivanov’s fashion house because she ran a tight ship, keeping all the reporters in line. The Paris editor, George Roberts, adored Violet (in addition to being Violet’s father’s Westminster classmate), and Violet spoke seven and a half languages, so could help translate almost any story from across the continent. According to Violet, her Russian lagged behind her near-perfect French, English, German, Italian, Spanish, Mandarin and Malay. Violet was the most capable and organised and certainly the best-dressed person in the office.The Timeswould fall apart without her.
‘Violet, can you please get me all the photos we didn’t run of the Ritz soiree last week? I want to see if there’s any of Maisy Bell.’
‘You really think there’s legs to this Bell story? If my parents sent me to Paris with my aunt, I’d run away too. How’s a woman meant to properly enjoy Paris with a chaperone?’
‘I think that’s exactly why they sent the aunt!’ Charlie laughed. ‘I’m surprised your parents didn’t.’
‘They’ve given up. But I work for George, remember? So they have a spy.’
‘So can you get the photos?’
‘I’ll try. They’ll be negatives. The photographer wouldn’t have printed everything as it’s so expensive,’ she explained. ‘But I’ll look up who did the photographs and see what I can do.’
‘Merci.’
Violet sighed, shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips, which made her look like she was posing for the cover ofVogue. Violet Carthage needed no studio or special lighting; her striking face—a blend of Malay and English—had cheekbones that could cut crystal and she wore couture mixed with pieces discovered at Les Puces flea markets with an innate nonchalance and flair. Charlie eyed the mint suit with the blazer nipped in at the waist and mid-length pencil skirt. Violet had augmented the outfit with a beige Hermès handbag, matching stilettos and a cute, gold bumble-bee brooch—a market find—on the lapel.
‘Aleksandr’s suit?’ asked Charlie, already knowing the answer. Aleksandr Ivanov had recently stepped away from his role as a designer for one of the major fashion houses and started his own haute couture label with the support of some of the wealthiest and best-connected people in Paris (thanks to Lady Ashworth). Aleksandr was certainly talented, but it was Violet who masterminded the flamboyant catwalk shows on a minuscule budget and created the buzz.
‘It is!’ beamed Violet, giving a little twirl in front of her desk. ‘He’s making some tweaks but it will be in our next show. Spring—it will look like a candy box strutting down the runway. If I can find the right venue.’ Violet bit her lip.
‘You’ll find the perfect spot. You always do!’
‘Thanks, but I’m so busy with work.’ She waved her hand dramatically across her desk. ‘It’s hard to do what I need for Aleksandr’s label.’
‘It’s your label too!’ said Charlie. ‘You tipped in the money with Lady Ashworth so he could start up on his own.’