There was a pause in the conversation and, probably for the first time that evening, a slightly awkward one. Darcie looked down at her feet and then back up at Matt. ‘Thank you for getting me the ticket today. It was a wonderful experience. I really appreciate it.’
‘You’re more than welcome.’ He leaned forwards and kissed her cheek. ‘Sleep well, Darcie Bytheway.’
Darcie went into the building smiling at not just the kiss but the little nickname he’d adopted for her.
It wasn’t until she got up to her room, she remembered about the dress. She hadn’t shown it to Matt. She had been meaning to, even though he hadn’t asked. She was sure he would be interested but was probably worrying about being too forward. She quickly sent him a text message.
Darcie: I was going to show you the dress. Sorry. I forgot.
Matt: No worries. Probably a bit late for me to come back now.
Darcie: I’ll send you a couple of pictures. Maybe you can send it to that person you know. I’ll show you the actual dress tomorrow.
She had already taken some pictures on her phone, when she had originally emailed the House of Chanel, so she quickly sent them to him, together with a screenshot of Coco Chanel wearing it.
She got a text message back just a few minutes later.
Matt: Wow! They really are the same dress. I’ll let Myles see them. Get some sleep now.
Get some sleep– that was easier said than done as she went over the day and the evening. So many exciting things had happened to her in the few days she’d been in Paris, it was almost unbelievable.
Darcie didn’t have to wait for long outside the fashion show the following day. Matt was probably one of the first photographers out of the building. Today had been the last day of the three-day haute couture show.
As was becoming his custom, he greeted her with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. It was feeling more natural and she actually looked forward to the momentary close contact. It felt personal and genuine.
‘How was your day?’ Darcie asked. She hadn’t heard from Matt all day and assumed he must have been busy.
‘Glad it’s over. I find the fashion shows a bit tiring after a few days, if I’m honest. There were a few celebs there today, which makes it busier.’
‘I thought you liked doing these sorts of things?’
‘Not especially, but they pay well and I can’t be too fussy and turn my nose up at these gigs.’
Darcie couldn’t imagine ever being fed up watching fashion shows but then it was her thing and Matt’s was photography not fashion. ‘So, the tailor’s, is it far?’ she asked.
‘Not too far. We can get the Métro or we can walk, if you prefer. It’s only about fifteen minutes on foot.’
‘I think a walk would be nice,’ said Darcie.
They made good time and soon they were in the right street. ‘It should be just along here,’ said Matt, checking the door numbers and coming to a halt outside a shop. ‘Here we go.’
There was a door in the centre and two windows each side. One displayed a formal arrangement of shirts and ties while the other window was more relaxed with the mannequin dressed in an expensive-looking navy-blue suit, white shirt and pale blue tie.
Darcie looked up at the sign:Clavette of Paris. ‘There’s no mention of Leroux at all,’ she said, feeling a little disappointed.
‘Let’s go inside and ask,’ said Matt. ‘How’s your French?’
‘Not great. What about yours?’
‘Passable. I’ll do the talking.’
They were greeted by an older gentleman, probably in his late sixties. He was impeccably dressed in his suit and tie, his grey hair was coiffed back, and a pair of steel-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. A tape measure hung around his neck.
‘Bonjour, monsieur, madame,’ he said as they walked into the shop.
If he felt they were clearly not his usual customers, then he did a good job of hiding his feelings.
Darcie listened while Matt spoke in what, to her, sounded like very good French. She could get the general idea of what he was saying as he explained the situation and that they were looking for the Leroux family who used to own this shop.
