Chapter Six - The Parisian Doll
Rated Blue Star for all ages. Some mild violence.
Trixie wriggled about in her seat. Honey was right—it was very comfortable. She pulled the soft, fleecy blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. It was important to get some sleep or she would be too tired to sightsee when they got to Paris. She took several slow, deep breaths. Opening her eyes and turning her head, she saw the disappearing lights of New York State. She smiled, closed her eyes again and fell into a deep sleep.
Honey gently shook her friend’s arm. “We’re starting to descend, Trixie,” she said. “I thought you’d want to see France from the air.”
Trixie nodded and brought her chair back to an upright position, craning her neck to gaze out the window.
“You two seemed to sleep fairly well.” Mrs. Wheeler appeared through the curtains that had separated the girls from Honey’s parents.
“I slept fine,” Trixie admitted as the older woman took a seat on the opposite side of the aisle, buckling her seat belt.
The two girls followed suit.
“Now, I thought we might have a quick chat about our plans for today. You’ll probably want to freshen up at our hotel, and then I’m planning a trip to a fashion house this afternoon.”
Trixie felt the disappointment steal across her freckled face before she could prevent it.
“But I imagine you two might prefer to do some sightseeing on your own, instead?” Madeleine Wheeler’s lovely face creased in a knowing smile.
Trixie looked to her friend, who nodded vigorously. “Yes, please, mother. Fashion houses are not at the top of Trixie’s must-see list in Paris.”
Trixie felt a surge of relief, but couldn’t help but say. “Anything in Paris will be wonderful, Mrs. Wheeler. And Honey, you might like the fashion place.”
Honey smiled at her best friend. “I would definitely like it,” she admitted. “But mother and I were talking the other night and she suggested maybe for next year’s fashion week, she and I and Di and Mrs. Lynch could all come out here.”
“Oh, that sounds terrific,” Trixie said, wondering if that was what Jim had been referring to.
“You could come, too,” Honey said quickly.
“Pass.” Trixie grinned. “I don’t mind dressing up as much as I did, but I’m happy with this Paris jaunt, thanks.”
It took no time at all to land, taxi and go through customs. Before she knew it, Trixie was in a taxi with the Wheelers’ and headed into Paris. She couldn’t help but gasp. The streets, the buildings—were so much older than anything she was used to. And Honey was right, from what she could see, it was beautiful. She glimpsed the top of the Eiffel Tower and her eyes widened at the sight of the Arc de Triomphe. But when the taxi glided to a stop in front of their hotel, her breath caught.
“Honey, it’s gorgeous,” she marvelled as they alighted from the car.
“The George Cinq,” Honey said, her own eyes full of appreciation. “It’s amazing, Trixie. Even I’ve only heard about it.”
“It is a little bit indulgent,” Madeleine Wheeler confided, bending her head to whisper in Trixie’s ear. “But we so wanted you girls to have a very special trip.
Although her friendship with Honey had meant Trixie had stayed in places far grander than those the Beldens might have chosen, this hotel was in a class all of its own
—it was truly beautiful. Their suite had two bedrooms, a sitting room and two sumptuous bathrooms.
“You go first, Hon,” Trixie said, sinking down onto one of the twin beds in the room they were sharing. “I’ll unpack my things.”
“I won’t be long,” Honey promised. She grabbed what she needed from her bag and disappeared into the bathroom.
Within thirty minutes the two teenagers had showered, changed their clothes, and stowed their belongings in the room’s armoire. Honey led Trixie through to her parents’ room where Madeleine Wheeler was still unpacking her rather more substantial wardrobe.
“We’re all set now, Mother,” Honey said.
“Excellent. You both look nice and refreshed.”
“It’s funny,” Trixie admitted, “even though I slept on the plane, I was feeling kind of tired, but after that nice hot shower, I want to see all of Paris this afternoon.”
Mrs. Wheeler gave a gentle laugh. “I don’t think you’ll be able to quite manage that, dear, but hopefully the driver and car I’ve arranged will make things a little easier.”
“Oh, thank you, Mother,” Honey gave her mother a quick hug. “I would like to walk around some of Paris while we’re here, but a car would be nice today.”
“I’ll just phone down and let them know you’re ready,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “And I’ve organised a bi-lingual driver for you, too.”
“Whew.” Trixie wiped her brow and smiled appreciatively. “I know Honey’s French is pretty good. I imagined I’d just have to smile and nod a lot.”
“My French isn’t that good,” Honey protested. “It’s one thing to order in a restaurant and another altogether to carry on a proper conversation.”
“The car will be charged to the suite,” Mrs. Wheeler said, opening her purse, “but here are some francs in case you want to stop at a café or buy a little souvenir.”
Both girls had a small amount of French money with them. Trixie’s father had brought some home from the bank and she’d excitedly placed the unfamiliar currency in her purse.
“Now, I need to get ready to go Saint Laurent.” Honey’s mother stood and brushed her daughter’s cheek with a kiss. “I’ll see you both for dinner. We thought we’d dine here, in the hotel tonight, in case you’re tired. Plus, they do have marvellous dining options.”
“That sounds lovely,” Honey said.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Wheeler. For everything,” Trixie added.
“You’re very welcome, Trixie. Enjoy your afternoon.”
Their driver, Charles, was a man in his forties, with a pleasant, friendly face.
“Bon jour, Charles.” Honey smiled politely.
“Bonjour, mademoiselles. And now you give me the opportunity to practice my English, yes?”
“I’m sure you don’t need to,” Honey said. “But we do appreciate it. My French is not as good as it could be.”
“Don’t pay any attention to her, Charles,” Trixie spoke up. “I’m the one who can’t speak French, and I’m sorry. How do you say sorry in French?”
“Désolé.” Honey and Charles spoke together.
“Désolé,” Trixie repeated valiantly. “I am going to try and learn a few words at least.”
“Merçi, mademoiselle,” Charles, said, tipping his cap. “Now, I believe you are to go to the Musée du Louvre?”
“Yes, thank you,” Honey returned, “But first, can you take us to this address?” She handed Charles the piece of paper Carl Reid had given her.
Charles glanced at it then raised his gaze to regard them both carefully. “Are you certain, mademoiselle? It is not a nice part of Paris.”
“It isn’t?” Trixie’s blue eyes rounded. “What do you think of that, Honey?”
Honey shrugged. “I suppose store owners get stock from all sorts of places. Can you take us there, Charles? We won’t be long.”
“Certainement.” Charles, carefully checked his mirrors and pulled out from the kerb.
“Hey, even I know what that means. See,” Trixie said with a grin. “I’m learning already.
Carl Reid was far from Trixie’s mind as she kept her attention fixed on the buildings that lined the Paris streets. It was so very different from Westchester County and she was determined to take in the majestic architecture. They crossed the Seine, where barges moved slowly along the river. One barge tilted its smokestack to allow it to pass under one of the river’s many bridges.
“It’s sort of like when we went on the Mississippi, isn’t it?” Trixie said. “Though completely different at the same time.”
“Exactly,” Honey agreed.
The wide streets of Paris had narrowed and soon they were driving down shabby back alleys, where the architecture was no longer capturing Trixie’s imagination. Unlike the streets near their hotel, there were no sidewalk cafes, no well-dressed people milling about. Trixie felt the faintest of shivers along her spine. Charles pulled the car to a stop before a shabby storefront. The name above the door read Emile Faurier.
“This is it, mademoiselle.”
Honey nodded and reached for Trixie’s hand. “We won’t be very long.”
“I will be right here.” He opened the passenger side windows. “You yell loudly if you need me.”
“We will,” Trixie assured him.
Nothing was visible through the dirt encrusted windows and Honey cautiously opened the door. It scraped and squeaked as they passed through it. The store seemed empty, save a dusty display counter of watches. Trixie was about to call out when a small, stoop-shouldered man appeared.
“Pardon moi,” Honey said. “We are looking for Andrè, s’il vous plait.” She handed over the sealed envelope.
The man opened it and studied it for what seemed like an age to the waiting girls. He nodded briefly and shuffled away. A few minutes later he re-emerged carrying a sizeable wooden box. Pulling a large sheet of brown paper from under the dusty counter, he wrapped the box and tied it with string. Finally, he handed the package to Honey with a toothless smile.
“Umm, paperwork…documents officiels?” Honey said hesitantly.
The man frowned then nodded, before he fumbled at the counter, opening a drawer. He folded a sheaf of papers and slid them into a large envelope, which he stamped with some kind of a seal.
Honey took them and nodded her thanks.
“Merći, mademoiselles.” He turned from them and shuffled over to take a seat on a chair in the corner.
Honey stood clutching the box uncertainly. After a moment, she smiled weakly. “You’re welcome. Je t’en prie,” she said, turning to leave.
Trixie quickly crossed the scuffed floor and held the door open for her friend. Once back on the street, Trixie frowned. “Do you suppose that was Andre?”
Honey shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, no wonder whoever it was looked so down on his luck. There wasn’t much worth selling in that place. Do you think….” Trixie trailed off as, out she caught sight of a tall man with flaming red hair. His eyes were fixed on them. Shoving Honey towards the car, Trixie yanked the door open and bundled her friend inside.
“Let’s go, Charles,” she commanded, pushing down the door locks. “Anywhere and fast.”
“Something is wrong, mademoiselle?”
“What?” Honey said, looking from her friend to the street and back again.
Trixie didn’t speak until the car was in motion. “Someone was watching us, Honey. Really watching us.” She twisted around and glanced out of the back window.
“Is that so odd?”
“He was too interested,” Trixie declared. “And the place he was standing in front of had boarded over windows, so he wasn’t doing business or anything. Maybe this doll is worth a fortune.”
“Oh, do you really think so?” Honey’s face crinkled in concern. “Charles, would you mind taking us back to the hotel before we go to the Louvre? I’d rather put this is our room for safekeeping.”
“Of course.” Charles soon had them back in front of their hotel and both girls felt a sense of relief at the familiar sight.
“I vote we don’t become regular couriers for Mr. Reid,” Trixie said as they rode the elevator back down to the lobby, having placed the package at the bottom of the armoire in their room. “I much prefer our side of Paris.”
“Me, too,” Honey admitted. “Now, let’s get on with our real Paris adventure.”
MAIN NEXT
Author's Notes— My gratitude and thanks go especially to Vivian and Deanna who both offered insights and suggestions on this chapter. And to MaryN for the graphics that make me smile every time I log on to this story. I have never been to Paris (sigh) but I've seen it in movies and travel shows and in my mind's eye when reading about it. I took a virtual tour of the Louvre, which was amazing. I could not get my head around the KK who wrote this and then completely failed to do anything with this city that has thrilled and inspired many. So, in this chapter and the next, I have spent a little time in a place I will probably never see. Thanks to the Wheelers for letting me visit. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
Trixie wriggled about in her seat. Honey was right—it was very comfortable. She pulled the soft, fleecy blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. It was important to get some sleep or she would be too tired to sightsee when they got to Paris. She took several slow, deep breaths. Opening her eyes and turning her head, she saw the disappearing lights of New York State. She smiled, closed her eyes again and fell into a deep sleep.
Honey gently shook her friend’s arm. “We’re starting to descend, Trixie,” she said. “I thought you’d want to see France from the air.”
Trixie nodded and brought her chair back to an upright position, craning her neck to gaze out the window.
“You two seemed to sleep fairly well.” Mrs. Wheeler appeared through the curtains that had separated the girls from Honey’s parents.
“I slept fine,” Trixie admitted as the older woman took a seat on the opposite side of the aisle, buckling her seat belt.
The two girls followed suit.
“Now, I thought we might have a quick chat about our plans for today. You’ll probably want to freshen up at our hotel, and then I’m planning a trip to a fashion house this afternoon.”
Trixie felt the disappointment steal across her freckled face before she could prevent it.
“But I imagine you two might prefer to do some sightseeing on your own, instead?” Madeleine Wheeler’s lovely face creased in a knowing smile.
Trixie looked to her friend, who nodded vigorously. “Yes, please, mother. Fashion houses are not at the top of Trixie’s must-see list in Paris.”
Trixie felt a surge of relief, but couldn’t help but say. “Anything in Paris will be wonderful, Mrs. Wheeler. And Honey, you might like the fashion place.”
Honey smiled at her best friend. “I would definitely like it,” she admitted. “But mother and I were talking the other night and she suggested maybe for next year’s fashion week, she and I and Di and Mrs. Lynch could all come out here.”
“Oh, that sounds terrific,” Trixie said, wondering if that was what Jim had been referring to.
“You could come, too,” Honey said quickly.
“Pass.” Trixie grinned. “I don’t mind dressing up as much as I did, but I’m happy with this Paris jaunt, thanks.”
It took no time at all to land, taxi and go through customs. Before she knew it, Trixie was in a taxi with the Wheelers’ and headed into Paris. She couldn’t help but gasp. The streets, the buildings—were so much older than anything she was used to. And Honey was right, from what she could see, it was beautiful. She glimpsed the top of the Eiffel Tower and her eyes widened at the sight of the Arc de Triomphe. But when the taxi glided to a stop in front of their hotel, her breath caught.
“Honey, it’s gorgeous,” she marvelled as they alighted from the car.
“The George Cinq,” Honey said, her own eyes full of appreciation. “It’s amazing, Trixie. Even I’ve only heard about it.”
“It is a little bit indulgent,” Madeleine Wheeler confided, bending her head to whisper in Trixie’s ear. “But we so wanted you girls to have a very special trip.
Although her friendship with Honey had meant Trixie had stayed in places far grander than those the Beldens might have chosen, this hotel was in a class all of its own
—it was truly beautiful. Their suite had two bedrooms, a sitting room and two sumptuous bathrooms.
“You go first, Hon,” Trixie said, sinking down onto one of the twin beds in the room they were sharing. “I’ll unpack my things.”
“I won’t be long,” Honey promised. She grabbed what she needed from her bag and disappeared into the bathroom.
Within thirty minutes the two teenagers had showered, changed their clothes, and stowed their belongings in the room’s armoire. Honey led Trixie through to her parents’ room where Madeleine Wheeler was still unpacking her rather more substantial wardrobe.
“We’re all set now, Mother,” Honey said.
“Excellent. You both look nice and refreshed.”
“It’s funny,” Trixie admitted, “even though I slept on the plane, I was feeling kind of tired, but after that nice hot shower, I want to see all of Paris this afternoon.”
Mrs. Wheeler gave a gentle laugh. “I don’t think you’ll be able to quite manage that, dear, but hopefully the driver and car I’ve arranged will make things a little easier.”
“Oh, thank you, Mother,” Honey gave her mother a quick hug. “I would like to walk around some of Paris while we’re here, but a car would be nice today.”
“I’ll just phone down and let them know you’re ready,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “And I’ve organised a bi-lingual driver for you, too.”
“Whew.” Trixie wiped her brow and smiled appreciatively. “I know Honey’s French is pretty good. I imagined I’d just have to smile and nod a lot.”
“My French isn’t that good,” Honey protested. “It’s one thing to order in a restaurant and another altogether to carry on a proper conversation.”
“The car will be charged to the suite,” Mrs. Wheeler said, opening her purse, “but here are some francs in case you want to stop at a café or buy a little souvenir.”
Both girls had a small amount of French money with them. Trixie’s father had brought some home from the bank and she’d excitedly placed the unfamiliar currency in her purse.
“Now, I need to get ready to go Saint Laurent.” Honey’s mother stood and brushed her daughter’s cheek with a kiss. “I’ll see you both for dinner. We thought we’d dine here, in the hotel tonight, in case you’re tired. Plus, they do have marvellous dining options.”
“That sounds lovely,” Honey said.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Wheeler. For everything,” Trixie added.
“You’re very welcome, Trixie. Enjoy your afternoon.”
Their driver, Charles, was a man in his forties, with a pleasant, friendly face.
“Bon jour, Charles.” Honey smiled politely.
“Bonjour, mademoiselles. And now you give me the opportunity to practice my English, yes?”
“I’m sure you don’t need to,” Honey said. “But we do appreciate it. My French is not as good as it could be.”
“Don’t pay any attention to her, Charles,” Trixie spoke up. “I’m the one who can’t speak French, and I’m sorry. How do you say sorry in French?”
“Désolé.” Honey and Charles spoke together.
“Désolé,” Trixie repeated valiantly. “I am going to try and learn a few words at least.”
“Merçi, mademoiselle,” Charles, said, tipping his cap. “Now, I believe you are to go to the Musée du Louvre?”
“Yes, thank you,” Honey returned, “But first, can you take us to this address?” She handed Charles the piece of paper Carl Reid had given her.
Charles glanced at it then raised his gaze to regard them both carefully. “Are you certain, mademoiselle? It is not a nice part of Paris.”
“It isn’t?” Trixie’s blue eyes rounded. “What do you think of that, Honey?”
Honey shrugged. “I suppose store owners get stock from all sorts of places. Can you take us there, Charles? We won’t be long.”
“Certainement.” Charles, carefully checked his mirrors and pulled out from the kerb.
“Hey, even I know what that means. See,” Trixie said with a grin. “I’m learning already.
Carl Reid was far from Trixie’s mind as she kept her attention fixed on the buildings that lined the Paris streets. It was so very different from Westchester County and she was determined to take in the majestic architecture. They crossed the Seine, where barges moved slowly along the river. One barge tilted its smokestack to allow it to pass under one of the river’s many bridges.
“It’s sort of like when we went on the Mississippi, isn’t it?” Trixie said. “Though completely different at the same time.”
“Exactly,” Honey agreed.
The wide streets of Paris had narrowed and soon they were driving down shabby back alleys, where the architecture was no longer capturing Trixie’s imagination. Unlike the streets near their hotel, there were no sidewalk cafes, no well-dressed people milling about. Trixie felt the faintest of shivers along her spine. Charles pulled the car to a stop before a shabby storefront. The name above the door read Emile Faurier.
“This is it, mademoiselle.”
Honey nodded and reached for Trixie’s hand. “We won’t be very long.”
“I will be right here.” He opened the passenger side windows. “You yell loudly if you need me.”
“We will,” Trixie assured him.
Nothing was visible through the dirt encrusted windows and Honey cautiously opened the door. It scraped and squeaked as they passed through it. The store seemed empty, save a dusty display counter of watches. Trixie was about to call out when a small, stoop-shouldered man appeared.
“Pardon moi,” Honey said. “We are looking for Andrè, s’il vous plait.” She handed over the sealed envelope.
The man opened it and studied it for what seemed like an age to the waiting girls. He nodded briefly and shuffled away. A few minutes later he re-emerged carrying a sizeable wooden box. Pulling a large sheet of brown paper from under the dusty counter, he wrapped the box and tied it with string. Finally, he handed the package to Honey with a toothless smile.
“Umm, paperwork…documents officiels?” Honey said hesitantly.
The man frowned then nodded, before he fumbled at the counter, opening a drawer. He folded a sheaf of papers and slid them into a large envelope, which he stamped with some kind of a seal.
Honey took them and nodded her thanks.
“Merći, mademoiselles.” He turned from them and shuffled over to take a seat on a chair in the corner.
Honey stood clutching the box uncertainly. After a moment, she smiled weakly. “You’re welcome. Je t’en prie,” she said, turning to leave.
Trixie quickly crossed the scuffed floor and held the door open for her friend. Once back on the street, Trixie frowned. “Do you suppose that was Andre?”
Honey shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, no wonder whoever it was looked so down on his luck. There wasn’t much worth selling in that place. Do you think….” Trixie trailed off as, out she caught sight of a tall man with flaming red hair. His eyes were fixed on them. Shoving Honey towards the car, Trixie yanked the door open and bundled her friend inside.
“Let’s go, Charles,” she commanded, pushing down the door locks. “Anywhere and fast.”
“Something is wrong, mademoiselle?”
“What?” Honey said, looking from her friend to the street and back again.
Trixie didn’t speak until the car was in motion. “Someone was watching us, Honey. Really watching us.” She twisted around and glanced out of the back window.
“Is that so odd?”
“He was too interested,” Trixie declared. “And the place he was standing in front of had boarded over windows, so he wasn’t doing business or anything. Maybe this doll is worth a fortune.”
“Oh, do you really think so?” Honey’s face crinkled in concern. “Charles, would you mind taking us back to the hotel before we go to the Louvre? I’d rather put this is our room for safekeeping.”
“Of course.” Charles soon had them back in front of their hotel and both girls felt a sense of relief at the familiar sight.
“I vote we don’t become regular couriers for Mr. Reid,” Trixie said as they rode the elevator back down to the lobby, having placed the package at the bottom of the armoire in their room. “I much prefer our side of Paris.”
“Me, too,” Honey admitted. “Now, let’s get on with our real Paris adventure.”
MAIN NEXT
Author's Notes— My gratitude and thanks go especially to Vivian and Deanna who both offered insights and suggestions on this chapter. And to MaryN for the graphics that make me smile every time I log on to this story. I have never been to Paris (sigh) but I've seen it in movies and travel shows and in my mind's eye when reading about it. I took a virtual tour of the Louvre, which was amazing. I could not get my head around the KK who wrote this and then completely failed to do anything with this city that has thrilled and inspired many. So, in this chapter and the next, I have spent a little time in a place I will probably never see. Thanks to the Wheelers for letting me visit. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
