Blake opened her mouth to answer, but he continued.
‘Unfortunately, I can no longer accept general submissions, with the exception of?—’
‘No,’ she said, interrupting him and receiving a frown in response. ‘I mean, no, I don’t want to submit anything to you. I have an original sketch of a design that I would like to show you.’
His eyebrows drew together as he sat back in his chair. ‘A sketch?’
She was grateful that their coffees arrived so promptly, because he seemed far more at ease once he’d taken his first sip. She did the same, not bothering to stir in her usual sugar and grimacing at the bitter taste.
Blake reached into her bag and took out the design, which she now kept in a plastic sleeve.
‘This sketch was left for my family,’ she said, putting it on the small round table between them and pushing it towards him. ‘Mathilda thought you might be able to help me decipher who designed it. It’s a very long story, but I believe that the person who did this drawing could be my great-grandmother.’
Henri set down his coffee cup, which she noticed was now empty, and glanced at her before taking the paper from the plastic.
‘You were left this? How, exactly? You just found it in your grandmother’s house, or…’
‘It was left by my great-grandmother when she placed my grandmother for adoption many decades ago. I was recently given it, along with this little box, and they’re the only clues I have to the past.’ She took the box from her bag and held it out to him. ‘The design was folded up in this little wooden box, and there was also a piece of fabric left behind.’
At the mention of fabric, Henri looked up again.
‘It’s in this box?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And this was all that was left? You don’t know anything else?’
‘Nothing. I don’t know if this will translate from the English, but you are my last hope.’
She received a smile when she said that. ‘You are meaning that if I cannot help you, you will have nowhere else to go?’
She grinned. ‘Exactly.’
‘So that explains why you turned up at my door today.’
‘It explains why I flew to Paris today just so that I could knock at your door.’
That made him laugh. ‘Youflewto Paris to show me this?’
Blake felt her cheeks heating. Hearing him say it made her realise why she’d thought it was such a ridiculous idea in the first place.
‘I know it sounds mad, but?—’
‘Excusez-moi,’ Henri called out to the waiter, holding up his hand before asking for the menus and turning his attention back to her. But this time he faced her with one leg casually crossedover the other, his arms folded as he studied her. ‘You still want lunch?’
‘I do, but I have to confess that I’ve looked at the menu already, and I can barely read a word.’
He took both of the menus for them, glanced over it and then looked at her.
‘Anything you don’t eat?’
‘So long as it’s not raw or part of a snail, I’ll try it.’
Henri laughed. ‘That makes it easy.’ He ordered in rapid French that she didn’t have a hope of understanding, although she was suddenly finding herself far more interested in the man seated across from her than the food.
‘Mathilda was right to send you to me. I have spent much of my life dedicated to researching and curating fashion from the past, and I have many contacts I can lean on when I’m searching for a particular piece of clothing.’
Their waiter returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine, and just as Blake was about to say she hadn’t ordered wine, Henri waved his hand at her as if to explain.
