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‘Don’t get any ideas, Claudette. You know what we’re here for.’
‘Oui, but your beau is quite well-to-do, n’est-ce pas? And he loves you very much. Couldn’t we just put it on the bill, and…’
Taking a step closer, I took a look at the price tag. ‘Trust me—he doesn’t love me that much.’
Claudette gave me a pat on the back. ‘Ne dis pas de bêtises! You are underestimating your attractions, mon amie. I’m sure if you went about persuading him the right way….’
I gave her a look. ‘I have no interest in persuading him. I have, however, an interest in stopping a megalomaniac from plunging Europe into war. Could we concentrate on what’s important here?’
She gave an impish smile. ‘It’s all a matter of perspective.’
‘Yes. And my perspective is: war is more important than clothes.’
‘Ah, you English! Philistines, the ‘ole lot of you!’
‘Come on. Time to get down to business.’
As we stepped into the shop, the doorbell above our head tinkled like a fairy’s laugh. Not surprising, considering the room we stepped into looked like something straight out of fairyland. Gold, silver, brocade, jewels, silk, satin—everything that was soft, sumptuous or sinfully expensive was gathered all around us, beckoning and whispering: ‘Buy me. Buy me. I might not be on sale, but your soul is, and it’ll surely be worth it to part with that annoying little thing to pay for me.’
‘Bienvenue! Bienvenue, Monsieur et Madame, à Leclercq et Lacroix, les meilleurs modistes en France.’[33]
A short, wrinkly man came hurrying around the closest rack of clothes, his eyes alight with the glitter shared by hunting sharks and sales assistants who have just spotted a new customer.
‘Anglais, s’il vous plaît?’ Claudette told the assistant with an apologetic smile.
‘Of course, Madame.’ He bowed deeply. ‘We often get customers from the British Isles in our establishment. And for good reason. After all, our handiwork is famed throughout the world.’
‘A reputation which I’m sure is not undeserved.’
‘You’re too kind, Madame.’
‘Not at all, not at all. Now, if you would be so good as to show as some of your wares…’
‘Of course, Madame. What would you and your husband like to see?’
My eyes went wide. ‘Oh no, no, nononono! We’re not married.’
The shop assistant blinked owlishly. ‘You are not?’
‘No.’
‘Brother and sister, then, oui?’
‘No. No, definitely not.’
‘Oh. Well…err…’ For a moment or two, the poor man struggled for words. You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he tried to figure out our connection. Young aunt and nephew? Lady and her chubby gigolo? The latter obviously didn’t suit his taste very well. He cleared his throat. ‘My apologies. It is none of my affair, Monsieur et Madame. What items would you like to see?’
I gave him a bright smile. ‘We’re going to the opera.’
‘Ah!’ The old shopkeeper’s face brightened at the sound of something so respectable and familiar. ‘Of course. How wonderful. What may I show you? Accessories only, or a whole wardrobe?’
‘We need everything, please. A beautiful dress fit for the best of society, up to and including royalty, and a tailcoat and trousers of the same quality.’
‘Royalty?’ The little man’s eyes went wide. ‘You don’t mean…?’
‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘We expect to be introduced to His Majesty in the course of the evening.’
Now the little tailor was beaming. Surely, if we were going to see royalty, we had to be respectable people, right?
