London (24 page)

“But she would normally have been in a robe at that time?” I said, wanting to be completely clear.

“Yes,” Nancy answered. “Absolutely.”

I was buzzing. The answers to my last questions were just as I'd expected. I thanked Mr. Rivera and Nancy for their help, and then I left. Time was ticking on.

As Halley and I caught the Central line from Notting Hill Gate, I quickly messaged Ellie, asking her to help me that evening. She wrote back with a laughing emoji:

I had a feeling this might happen, so I've kept tonight free for you—and the weekend too!

I thanked her and said I'd explain more at the Jorge Cruz show that afternoon. Fifteen minutes later my train stopped at Holborn. Sebastian was waiting for Halley and me when we stepped out of the station and into the light. Without a word he handed me an envelope. I opened it and pulled out a folded map.

“The dots represent the neighborhood phone boxes at the time of Clarissa's death,” he said.

“Watson, you're amazing! Thank you,” I said. We stood to the side of the pavement, and I laid the map out on a stack of boxes next to a magazine vendor's stand. A quick glance told me that some of the phone boxes were still there, while others were long gone. But the one that seemed most relevant stood on the same corner today as it had in the 1970s.

“Axelle, can I ask what this is about? Why the phone boxes? What have they got to do with anything?”

I smiled. “That, Watson, you'll find out this evening.”

“You never let the cat out of the bag, do you?”

“No, Watson, I don't. It was one of my grandfather's cardinal rules: don't reveal your hunches until you know they're right.”

“Fine. I'll be patient.”

“Good things come to those who wait, Watson.”

“They'd better.” He smiled.

“And what about the paint? And the clothes?”

Sebastian held up a plastic bag. “I found a one-stop paint shop and voilà! I got everything you wanted, but it would be good to know what it's for. Or, let me guess, you can't tell me.”

“Actually, this time I have to tell you—because you have a crucial role to play.”

“I thought my role was always crucial to you.”

“Steady, Watson. Let's concentrate, please.”

“I am concentrating.”

His gray-blue eyes seemed darker than usual this morning, and frankly, he smelled amazing.
Let's face it, Axelle
, I told myself.
If anyone around here is having a hard time concentrating, it's you.

“I'm glad.” I smiled as I folded the map and put it in my shoulder bag. As we walked toward the Johnny Vane headquarters (I was on my way to see Georgie), I explained.

“I'm pretty sure Johnny Vane will be at the Jorge Cruz fashion show later this afternoon. Apparently he was Jorge's mentor, so he's bound to be a VIP guest.”

“And?”

“And I need him to remove his gloves—something that he apparently never does.”

Sebastian stopped and looked at me, alarm wrinkling his brow. “However,” I continued, “I figure that given the right circumstances, he will take them off.”

Sebastian's alarmed expression turned to one of outright surprise. He lifted the plastic bag he was carrying. “Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?” he asked.

“Probably.” I laughed. “I'd like you to come to the show with me, but dressed as a painter and decorator. Then I just need you to accidentally spill some paint on Johnny's gloves. If that doesn't make him take them off, then nothing will. And it shouldn't be as complicated as it sounds, because you know how chaotic things get after a show. That chaos will work to your advantage.”

“And why do
I
have to do this?”

“Well,
I
would—but he knows I'm delving into his family's past, so he'll be careful to avoid me and he certainly won't remove his gloves around me. At least if my theory is correct, I'd be very surprised if he did.”

“And I guess there's no point in asking you to share this theory with me, is there?”

“Correct, Watson,” I said, smiling. “Anyway, he won't know you from Adam, so I bet you can get the gloves off.”

“Fine. I'm game. But what do I do once they're off?”

“Observe.”

“Observe?”

I nodded. “Yes, his hands. The
tops
of his hands. And concentrate on looking at them carefully. Check the skin tone and look for any marks, scars, whatever.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very. Now we just have to think of a way of getting you in…although perhaps Charlotte can help us.” I pulled out my phone and called her. Once I got through, I briefly explained that I needed to get Sebastian into that afternoon's show (without telling her about the paint spilling bit).

“And this has to do with Gavin?”

“Yes, it does. It would help me help him, if that makes sense.”

“All right. I might be able to get Sebastian in, but it'll be standing room and at the back. Is that okay? Shall I say he's a journalist or something?”

“The back is fine, and yes, he is studying journalism, so say he's covering the show for a fashion story.”

“Good. I'll make my calls now, and if I have any problems, I'll call you back. If you don't hear from me pretty much right away, consider it done. I'll text you about where to meet once we're there. It'll probably be best if Sebastian comes in with me.”

I thanked Charlotte and stopped just around the corner from the Johnny Vane offices. Sebastian agreed to wait outside with Halley. I took my beanie off and quickly combed through my hair. Then I removed my glasses. I stood more chance of getting in to see Georgie if I looked like a model. I walked the short distance to the entrance, pushed the heavy glass door open, and marched up to the reception desk with my fingers crossed. I really needed to see her.

Fortunately the receptionist on duty recognized me, and after a quick call to Georgie, I was shown to her office without any delay. However, after agreeing to see me so readily, Georgie was now as quiet as a clam. Apart from hello, she didn't say another word. Then again, I knew she was scared. She would probably wait for me to make the first move.

I took a deep breath and decided to get straight to the point—even if it meant going out on a limb. “Georgie, I know it was you who sent Gavin the photograph,” I said. “And you sent one to me too, didn't you?”

Immediately, I saw her pull back from her desk. It was the tiniest of shifts, but when her cheeks flushed with color and she made a sharp intake of breath, I knew I was right.

“But I'm here to help,” I added quickly as Georgie stood up and padded over to the large window of her office. She gazed out with her back to me. “I know you're scared. But you have to tell me what it was you heard all those years ago. I think I know what it might have been, but you have to give me a couple more pieces of the puzzle so that I can figure it all out.

“The piece you gave Gavin is not enough. Time is ticking by, and he's still in the hospital because of the trail you sent him on. Will you help me?” I waited a moment, but still she said nothing. “If you're uncomfortable telling me any more, then write it down. Or would you rather we met somewhere else, away from here?”

She chewed her lip and sat back down at her desk.

“If it helps, please write whatever you want to say down for me.”

She nodded and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen. She seemed to have come to a decision. Quickly she wrote a note and pushed it back across the table. “Take it and leave now,” she whispered. “I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes. It's a private square. Wait by the main gate.”

I left her office and looked at the directions she'd given me. I followed them to a small square ten-minute walk from the Vane offices. I called Sebastian on my way there and told him to follow me. Georgie arrived two minutes later. She was fishing the key to the gate out of her handbag as she walked up to me. “I live on this square, which is why I have the key.” She was shaking so much she could barely open the gate.

“This is the only place I know that is really safe. You need a key to get in, and you have to live on the square to have one. Sorry about all this…” We sat on the first bench we came to.

She was petrified. Not that she looked it—years of living with the burden of a guilty secret had taught her to develop an inscrutable mask—but the energy of fear was coming off her in waves. I knew that she'd taken a huge risk in sending the photographs to Gavin and me, and she was taking another huge risk in seeing me now. But just seeing me wasn't enough. She'd have to talk too.

She sat with her legs uncrossed and her hands fidgeting in her lap. After a few moments I realized that if I wanted her to talk, I'd have to find a way to make her.

“I knew it was you who sent us the photos. It was the coffee stain on the photo you sent Gavin and the notes you wrote in the upper left-hand corner of the one you sent me. You're left-handed, Georgie, aren't you?”

She nodded silently, her hands continuing to fidget.

I plowed on. “In the note you sent me, you said you'd heard things. I've been in your old house, Georgie.”

Her eyes darted rapidly to mine as I said that.

“And I know how the sound travels up and down the staircase. And although I know that you were very young—about three or four—when your mother died—”

Georgie nodded again.

“—I think you heard a lot of things. And I can guess some of it. Shall I tell you what I think?”

I told Georgie as gently as I could what I believed had happened at the Dawson Place mansion all those years ago. Tears welled in her eyes, and soon huge sobs racked her body. I waited quietly until she calmed down. Then finally she started to talk—and everything was as I'd thought.

By the time I left, we'd made plans for that evening. Now, after taking the first desperate steps to seek help—by sending Gavin and me the photos—Georgie was willing to help me reveal the truth to everyone. I just had to hope that she wouldn't back down when the time came.

Backstage Drama

Georgie and I got up from the bench and walked back toward the garden gate in silence. We parted with no more than a brief good-bye. Georgie still looked terrified, and I couldn't help wondering whether she was already regretting our meeting. If she could just hold fast to my plans, she would soon be able to begin a new life—without a guilty secret.

I stood and watched Georgie disappear down the road. A moment later Halley and Sebastian came around the corner, and together we walked back to Holborn station. From there we caught a train to Waterloo and then another to Hampton Court Palace. As the trains whizzed along the tracks I told Sebastian about my meeting with Georgie. We also discussed, as best we could, Sebastian's role at the show. But there were a few other models on the train out of Waterloo—we were all walking for Jorge—so for the sake of discretion, I had to drop the case for a while and listen to the snippets of modeling conversation that wafted toward me.

“I'm thinking of going to Japan to model for the summer… Do you think it could be fun? Or would I just feel really homesick?”

“I can't believe I fly all the way into London and the model flat I'm staying in doesn't have enough bedsheets for me! I told my agency to buy some as soon as possible!”

“I'm so excited! My mom is coming to visit me! It's her first trip to London so I'm going to take a couple of days off to sightsee with her… What should we see?”

“I'd really like to start college in the fall and study English lit. Do you think I'll be able to model and study at the same time?”

Although I was becoming familiar with the kinds of topics the girls were discussing, they still sounded as if they were coming from some kind of parallel universe—or “Planet Fashion,” as Ellie called it. In any case, having a life-or-death mystery to solve, I had other priorities to think about.

The half-hour train ride to Hampton Court passed quickly, and before we knew it, we all got off the train and followed the signs to the hair and makeup area. It had been set up under a small tent near the garden we were going to walk through when we showed the clothes. The weather was beautiful—not a hint of rain in the blue, cloudless sky. Jorge Cruz's “Bloomsbury” theme couldn't have had more cooperation from our famous weather if he'd planned it. Who says it always rains in England?

Sebastian and I parted at the entrance to the hair and makeup area. He wasn't allowed in without a security pass so he'd be on his own from now until we met at the end of the event. He texted Charlotte to let her know he was here. She'd promised to make sure he got into the show area of the garden. Then, during the event, he'd slip off to the washroom and change into his painter's outfit. As soon as the show was over, he'd head to the backstage tent.

Johnny would inevitably head there too—right after Jorge had taken his bow on the garden runway—so he could congratulate his former protégé. During this after-show chaos, Sebastian would “bump” into Johnny and spill the paint on his gloves. Sebastian had seen Johnny Vane at Belle's party so he knew what Johnny looked like.

If I could manage it, I'd try to be nearby, but the backstage frenzy was difficult to predict, and for all I knew, a blogger or journalist could suddenly corner me for a few minutes' question time. Of course, I could get out of it, but I would need an excuse that didn't draw unnecessary attention. I had the feeling that our paint-spilling plans might just cause a scene.

The clothes were beautiful, now they were fully finished. I'd wondered how successfully Jorge would adapt his typically American clothes—sporty, minimal, and sleek—with an English Bloomsbury aesthetic, but he'd done it well (in my opinion anyway!). He'd taken classic English flower prints, for instance, and had them digitally enlarged to give an abstract impression of an English garden. They looked modern and fresh. The synthetic fabrics he used, combined with the way he had digitally manipulated the colors and patterns, gave the clothes a sharp edge.

Each girl went out only once, because we were made to walk a long, meandering path through the palace's famous Knot Garden. There would be no time for a change of outfits. Carpet had been laid out on the garden's gravel paths—thankfully! That made walking in our heels much easier. Meanwhile, the front-row editors, celebrities, pop stars, and assorted fashion personalities would sit on dainty gilded chairs placed along the sides of the paths.

The show went without a hitch. I caught Charlotte's eye, and she smiled at me as I walked past. I saw Johnny later. Like everyone else at the show, he had his sunglasses on (for once it was actually justified—the sun was shining!), so I wasn't sure if he'd recognized me. Josh was impossible to miss. He was surrounded by an A-list of gorgeous pop stars and hot Hollywood actors. For the sake of discretion, he didn't seem to react to me at all, but I knew from the tiniest of nods and from the way he smiled ever so gently that he had. I also saw Sebastian way at the back in a corner of the garden that had been reserved for standing-room-only invitations. He gave me a thumbs-up as I walked past him on my way to the backstage tent.

Shortly afterward we were all called out to walk a final turn around the runway, then Jorge came out to take his bow. As soon as I could, I dashed back to where I'd left Halley and all of my personal belongings in a corner of the changing area. The backstage chaos was about to begin!

I pulled my clothes on as quickly as possible and brushed my hair. Fortunately, the Bloomsbury look—at least as Jorge saw it—translated into loose, natural hairstyles with a bit of texture. It was easy to brush out and, I thought, looked nice—certainly better than my usual tumbleweed.

As for my makeup, I left my eyes on but wiped away the lipstick and some of the foundation. Then I grabbed my shoulder bag, took hold of Halley's leash, and headed toward the hubbub in the middle of the backstage tent. Right away I felt someone take my arm and whisper in my ear. It was Josh.

“Here you are,” he said. I shouldn't have been surprised. If anyone could navigate their way around the fashion landscape—backstage or front row—it was Josh.

And although I was pleased to see him, this was really not the moment.

“Yes, here I am,” I said as my eyes scanned the scene over his shoulder. I was looking for Johnny and Sebastian—not that it was easy to spot them. Fashion journalists and photographers buzzed all over the place trying to get a quote from any of the models—and Jorge, of course. The hairstylists and makeup artists weren't exempt from questions either. Everyone wanted to know what and who had been the inspiration behind the hair and makeup.

“I know this isn't the best place to speak, Axelle, but I want to know when I can see you.”

At that moment, I finally caught sight of Sebastian again. He was, I thought with a smile, nearly unrecognizable. His painter's cap was pulled low over his brow, and his usual leather jacket and jeans had been replaced with a paint-splattered shirt and trousers. He was even wearing rubber gloves. (
Good thinking, Sebastian
, I thought.)

In one hand he carried a paintbrush, and in the other the small can of paint. The only thing I didn't see was the bag where he must have stashed his own clothes… Where was it? I had the feeling we'd have to make a quick getaway, and if Sebastian had to go back for his bag, it would slow us down.

If I took it with me, he'd be free to escape quickly. “Josh, I'm really, really sorry, but I have to get going—now.”

“You're driving me crazy, Axelle,” he said as he deftly stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “How can I get to know you better if we never get a moment alone outside a studio or away from a runway? I've got to see you, and I won't let you go until you tell me something—anything.”

“Then how about we talk tomorrow morning?” Sebastian caught sight of me, and I could see him rolling his eyes as he watched me.

“Fine. I'll call you. Now off you go to wherever it is you're rushing to.” He smiled and let me past.

I hurried over to Sebastian. I brushed close to him but we didn't make eye contact. In fact I took my phone out and pretended to check my messages. Meanwhile he whispered under his breath, “Don't tell me, Mr. Pop Star had something important to say about the case?”

“Funny, Watson. Now where is your bag with your clothes? I have a feeling we'll have to make a quick getaway.”

“With or without the pop star joining us?”

“Are you jealous, Watson?”

“Not at all, Holmes. I just want to be clear about our plan.”

“I bet. Now will you tell me where your bag is, please?”

“Under the far table near the exit. I've covered it with my leather jacket.”

“Good. I'll get your bag while you do what you have to do. We're about to cause a scene. Are there any other exits here?” I asked as I looked at the one I'd used to come in. It was reserved for the models, and as far as I'd seen, it only led to the hair and makeup area. We'd get cornered for sure if we took that way out.

Sebastian nodded toward the far corner opposite us. “Only that one, the one I used to get in here. It leads out to the gardens where you walked. You look good in heels, by the way.”

Before I could stop myself, I blushed bright pink.
Grrr!
Why did he have to have this effect on me? I took a quick breath, ignored his comment, and answered as calmly as I could, “Good, then that's the one we'll use. You do what you have to do, and I'll cover for you as you escape.”

“How are you going to do that?”

I nodded toward the fire extinguisher I'd spotted at the side of the tent, just a few feet away from us.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “If that's your idea of cover, then we are definitely going to cause a scene.” He smiled.

“Hmm. And here,” I said, as I took a small can of hair spray out of a basket of free samples one of the hair-product sponsors had placed on the tables backstage. “If anyone tries to follow you, use this on them. Hair spray is horrible when it's sprayed in your face.” I took one for myself too. “Run to the exit and then toward the river. Get rid of the painter shirt as soon as you can and head for the Thames. They'll probably expect us to avoid the boats they've lined up to take the guests back to London.”

“Which is why we'll take one?”

“Exactly.”

At that moment Ellie showed up. “Here I am. Can I help?” she whispered. “In a way that doesn't put an end to my modeling career?”

I nodded. “We're about to cause a scene. I'm going to distract everyone with the fire extinguisher so Sebastian can get away, but it would be great if you could do something as well.”

“Just tell me what you need.”

“Do you think you could run out of here once the chaos starts? Wait until Sebastian starts to run, then chase after him. As soon as you both have some cover, take off in a different direction from him. Try to keep as many of the security guards as far away from us as possible.”

Ellie nodded. She was excited, and more importantly, she was actually wearing sneakers. “I told you I thought something like this might happen today.” She smiled as she wiggled her feet. “So I decided to throw my heels to the wind this morning, Axelle, just for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. And I meant it.

I found Sebastian's bag while Ellie got into position. Then I watched from a distance as Sebastian, his back turned to the chaos of the tent, opened the small can of paint. He turned and walked up to Johnny, holding the open can of paint. As he drew nearer he pretended to stumble, and then I saw him bump into Johnny from the side. He'd taken careful aim, and I watched with relief as the contents of the can landed on Johnny's gloves. Mind you, I didn't see it as much as hear it.

Angry expletives exploded from Johnny's lips. In a stroke of quick thinking, I saw Sebastian smear the paint all over Johnny's hands with the paintbrush—presumably pretending to brush it off? Now Johnny was really agitated, and at this point Sebastian dropped his brush and paint can to help remove the gloves.

I noticed Sebastian taking a good look at the tops of Johnny's hands—and then the questions started: “Who are you?” “What are you doing here?” and so on. Two burly security guards made their way toward Johnny, Sebastian, and the small crowd that had formed around them.

“Time to move, and you'd better keep up,” I told Halley as I snapped her leash off her. (I knew she'd stick by my side without it—and besides, I needed to have my hands free). I grabbed the fire extinguisher (which was much heavier than I'd expected) and broke the safety fastening. “Sorry, Jorge,” I muttered to myself as I aimed the nozzle at the curling iron I'd noticed on a hairdressing table behind me. At least, I told myself, I could make it look as if I was really trying to put a fire out.

The water surged out with force. “
Fire!
” I yelled. “
Fire!
” It took a few shouts but then chaos really broke out. People started to scatter and head toward the exit in a panic. I watched as Ellie and Sebastian began to maneuver their way through the backstage mayhem.

Meanwhile I continued to hold the fire extinguisher. I was now aiming the nozzle in all directions, pivoting on my foot as I twirled. I needed to create as much confusion as possible. Once I knew I'd given Ellie and Sebastian enough of a lead, I thrust the fire extinguisher into the hands of a confused-looking fashion blogger.

“You've ruined my clothes!” she screamed at me.

All I could think to do was to yank some of Jorge's dresses from the clothing racks next to me. “Here!” I said. “Try these on for size!” Then, before her look of surprise wore off, I yelled “
Fire!
” again and pushed myself into the panicking crowd. Slowly I forced my way out of the backstage tent and into the gardens, Halley at my heels. I fell in with a group of models leaving the show, and still carrying both my bag and Sebastian's, I chatted with them about all the commotion going on in the tent and how nice it was to get out of there.