Charlie slipped the paper—scented with perfume—out of the personalised Ritz stationery and admired the embossedRin the corner of the envelope.
She opened her mouth to speak but Clementine explained, ‘Miss Georgina was Maisy’s roommate at Barnard. Her best friend since holidays in the Hamptons.’
Charlie turned the envelope over and saw it was addressed to a Miss Georgina Rockefeller in New York.
As Charlie unfolded the letter, Clementine came to sit beside her.
Dear Gigi,
It’s been four days in Paris and I’ve strolled the boulevards of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and the halls of the Louvre, dined at Circ, and I have tickets for Dukas’s Ariane and Bluebeard at L’Opéra in a few days.
The French men are too easy with their compliments and bore me with their sad Sartre and Baudelaire quotes. The bookshopsare a treat. It just so happens there was a soiree at the Hotel Ritz this evening. I must confess perhaps I drank an extra glass of Krug—but it was all for you, my Gigi, as I know how you love your champagne. I met a tall, charming German man with a quick wit and high intelligence called Ludwig.
Ludwig—as he insisted I call him—is an admirer of Wagner like myself. Perhaps we will expand on that as I extend my Wagnerian repertoire—one can only hope? Anyway, we shall soon know the overlap, as my new German friend has invited me to visit his château. Apparently it is right near the famous mansion that Josephine was given by Napoleon, near Saint-Cloud. We leave in the morning and I shall be back for a formal dinner with Clementine in the evening. It’s quite a lot to squeeze in, but when in Paris, right?
I’m assuming by now you are well home from Long Island and ensconced in city life. Do send me salacious stories from NYC. Much love, M xx
‘It’s this bit.’ Clementine tapped the third paragraph furiously. ‘Isn’t that right, Mason? Look, Miss James … Charlie. Look!’
Charlie’s head shot up. ‘I thought you said the man Maisy went to Saint-Cloud with was Swiss, and his name was Louis.’
Clementine’s cheeks grew red. ‘Well, that’s what he told me when Maisy disappeared to order a bottle of Sancerre and some brie. Clearly, he had a different story for my niece.’
‘It appears that way,’ said Charlie, her chest tightening. Had the Bells fallen for an old-time swindler? Had they been so intoxicated by the romance of Paris they took everyone at their word?
‘The police, the embassy and even my brother Jimmy have closed this case. They don’t want Maisy remembered for being a missing tourist. None of us do. The police think Ludwig is probably another fake name. What else can I do? I don’t want this over. I don’t want to go home without Maisy.’ She threw her hands up in frustration.
Mason sat there tugging at his blazer sleeve. ‘Clementine, our driver will be here in a moment.’ He gestured to the porter to push their bags out to their limousine.
Charlie held Clementine’s clammy, pudgy hand. ‘Look, I can’t promise anything as I’ve been moved to other stories.’
‘Yes, I see, two men murdered.’ Clementine shuddered. ‘French men. More important,’ she said with uncharacteristic vehemence.
‘Clementine.’ Mason had stood now and was holding out his hand to assist his sister.
‘One minute, Mason,’ she snapped as she turned to Charlie. ‘I don’t care what you think of me. I know you are a very busy reporter. But please, I beg you, if there is anything in this letter that helps … Ludwig, Louis, whoever he is, if you could please just—’
‘Clementine!’ huffed Mason as a porter stood beside their sofa, white-knuckled and nervous.
‘Mademoiselle Bell, if you please? Your car.’ The porter gestured towards the entrance, where a black limousine filled the driveway.
Charlie stood and hoisted Clementine to her feet before kissing her on both cheeks and tucking the letter into her satchel. It was true, she was overwhelmed with the two murder investigations. However, she had vowed not to give up on Maisy Bell. A young woman in Paris who was yet to make her mark in the world. A woman with dreams and aspirations outside her family expectations. A woman who had lost her voice. Who had possibly been taken and held against her will. A woman who … Charlie didn’t want to speculate further. Instead, she grabbed Clementine’s hand and held it between her own as Mason strode towards the door.
‘Clementine, I promise you, I’ll try to find some answers. I’m not sure how …’ she faltered.
‘I know you will.’ Clementine put her other hand over Charlie’s and held it for a beat as they looked into each other’s eyes, each a well of hurt, guilt and loss. ‘Thank you, Miss James,’ said Clementine as she released her hands and quickly kissed Charlie on the cheek. She picked up her hat and gloves and followed Mason out towards the car, looking over her shoulder at Charlie with a furrowed brow.
As Clementine’s portly figure swept through the revolving doorway, Charlie made a silent pact to herself that, someday, shewould find out what happened to young Maisy Bell. She would bring Clementine Bell and her family the closure they deserved.
A young woman’s life was so quickly bumped from front-page news, but it couldn’t be bumped from Charlie’s heart.
Chapter 18
CAFÉ DE FLORE, PARIS
Charlie caught a taxi from her farewell with the Bells directly to Café de Flore to meet Violet for lunch. A meal and a taxi in one day was an extravagance when the paper was not paying, but she’d dressed respectfully in a white silk shirt, grey skirt and the kitten heels Violet had bought her from the shoe cave in Tours, and she did not want to risk ruining her precious new shoes on cobblestones.
The cafe was brimming with its usual lunchtime crowd. As the weather was unseasonably warm, patrons took advantage of the wicker chairs on the footpath while their tuxedo-clad waiters danced between them, delivering half-carafes of white wine and rosé, baskets of complimentary bread and platters of terrine and charcuterie. This cafe had become hearth and home for Charlie and Violet’s friendship, as it was situated between theirapartments as well as being close to their office for these weekday lunches. Even if Charlie did wish to entertain, her studio was really too small to invite anyone for a meal, as someone would need to sit on her bed.