They were dressed in the classic Chanel style of a two-piece women’s suit: some in skirts, some in trousers, some with long coats and others with shorter versions. Despite the different colours, the distinctive silver buttons running down the centre of the garments, together with the breast pockets, all clearly oozed the Chanel brand of sophistication, luxury, and understatement.
Matt had already told Darcie she could take photos on her phone but she didn’t want to see the garments through the lens of a camera, she wanted to experience them with her naked eye.
‘I can always look at your photos to remind myself afterwards,’ she’d told him. ‘I want to see them for real.’ And that’s exactly what she was doing.
Much as she loved the classic Chanel pieces, it was the long evening dresses that she was most taken with. The effortless flow and lightness of the fabric betrayed the amount of work that had gone into creating such pieces of art. Darcie thought back to the sketchbook and the long evening dress, which she was sure would not have been out of place among all these spectacular ones today.
All too soon, the show was over. Darcie hadn’t been able to take her eyes from the catwalk and the disappointment there were no more clothes to view was palpable. But she was also on a high at having been to such an event. She wished she could do it all over again, right there and then.
‘Did you enjoy it?’ asked Matt as they left the building.
‘Oh my God, are you serious?’ replied Darcie. ‘It was out of this world. Thank you so much.’
Matt grinned, obviously sharing in Darcie’s delight. ‘It was all my pleasure.’
‘Now, I want to treat you to supper,’ said Darcie. ‘As a thank you.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
Darcie held up her hand. ‘I know I don’t, but I want to.’ She was pleased when he didn’t argue.
The restaurant was a bit more upmarket than the café they’d been to previously, but not so much that Darcie felt awkward and out of place or had to worry about whether she could afford it or not.
After a quick look at the menu, they ordered their food and chatted comfortably about the show. ‘That outfit at the end.’ Darcie sighed. ‘It was like a sculpture. It was hard to believe it was made out of fabric.’
‘I liked the one that was folded like a piece of origami. I would say it was the cream-coloured one but all of the clothes were cream.’
‘They were amazing. You probably know of the Japanese fashion designer Issey Miyake and the fashion label Comme des Garçons– they’re both very famous for their geometric and origami-inspired styles. I studied them at school for my Textiles project.’
Their food arrived and they ate in companionable silence for the most part, making small talk about some of the photographic assignments Matt had undertaken. ‘I’m still looking for the big one,’ he said.
‘Aren’t we all?’ replied Darcie. ‘I thought I might have it with the dress.’
Matt’s phoned pinged a text message. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, taking his phone from his pocket.
‘No. Carry on.’
‘Just in case it’s important.’ He studied his phone, read a text message, tapped out a reply and placed his phone on the table, before putting his cutlery together and pushing his empty plate to one side.
Darcie looked up at him to see he was grinning at her. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘That was Myles Hoffer. He has some information about Nathalie Leroux.’
Darcie was sure her eyes were about to bulge from their sockets. ‘He does?’
‘Yep.’
Darcie pushed her plate away. ‘Tell me. Don’t keep me in suspense.’
Chapter 17
Nathalie
The next few weeks passed far too quickly. I met with Marcel whenever I could. Clandestine meetings in and around the forest. Rachelle had stopped asking me where I was sneaking off to and if Clarice suspected anything, she never said so. I knew my time in Morbihan wouldn’t last forever, but with each passing day, I became acutely aware of how my feelings for Marcel were growing. It was only when I thought of Edgar that my desire to return to Paris made any sense. I didn’t want to leave Marcel, but I comforted myself with the thought that once I’d done what I set out to do, if I was lucky enough to escape, then I would be right back here with him.
It was therefore surprising when one morning Philippe said that now the harvest was over, I would be going back to Paris. I couldn’t help wondering if my mother was struggling to deal with Edgar’s loss and was lonely now neither of us were there. I knew the day to return home would come, but the rush of panic at leaving Marcel hit me harder than I imagined it would.
‘Don’t be upset,’ said Clarice, misreading the tears that gathered in my eyes. ‘Your mother has missed you. She wants you home.’
