Free Alice-Miranda in Paris 7 by Jacqueline Harvey

strode back to the gate, pushed it open and disappeared. The slide of a bolt and the jangling of keys followed.
    Lulu rushed forward and barked with all her might.
    ‘Great, turn into a rottweiler now, Lulu.’ Millie rolled her eyes at the dog. ‘You could have taken a bite out of him a minute ago.’
    ‘Come on, girl,’ said Alice-Miranda. She reached down and picked up the little dog, who wasn’t going to be distracted easily from her barking. Alice-Miranda had a strange feeling about the angry man.
    The children jogged back to the main section of the park. Up ahead, the rest of the group was assembled and it was clear that they were the last to arrive.
    ‘Oh, there you are. I was about to call the police,’ said Miss Reedy, looking relieved.
    ‘Not you too,’ Sloane snipped. Miss Reedy frowned, puzzled.
    ‘Sorry, Miss Reedy. We were just talking to one of the neighbours,’ Alice-Miranda explained.
    ‘Yes, and he already threatened to call the police,’ Millie added.
    ‘Why on earth would he say that?’ the teacher asked, wondering what the girls had been up to.
    ‘It’s all right, Miss Reedy. He was just a cranky old guy,’ Sloane said, ‘but Alice-Miranda stood up to him.’
    ‘Oh dear, young lady,’ said the teacher, smiling at her smallest student. ‘I hope you haven’t been upsetting the locals.’
    Alice-Miranda shook her head. ‘Not on purpose. But I don’t think the man was very fond of children, or dogs.’

Charlotte Highton-Smith fiddled with the piece of paper in her hand and wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder.
    ‘Could you take a message, please?’ Charlotte said. ‘Could you ask her to call me as soon as she gets in. I’d like to arrange a time that we can meet. Today, if possible. Thank you.’
    She hung up the phone and frowned. ‘Honestly, that woman is harder to find than a comfortable pair of slingbacks.’
    Her sister emerged from the bedroom. ‘Are you all right?’ Cecelia asked.
    ‘Yes, I’m just having trouble getting hold of Rosie Hunter,’ Charlotte replied.
    ‘You’ll have to tell me more about her. How did you find her in the first place?’
    ‘She found me, actually, and made me an offer that was too good to refuse. She certainly knows her stuff but she seems to have appeared from nowhere,’ Charlotte explained.
    ‘And she’s going to write about the shows from Paris?’ said Cecelia.
    ‘Yes, that’s the plan. We’ll publish some of the articles in the store magazine too. Her writing is very funny and I think she’ll put a much more human spin on some of the ridiculous nonsense that goes on at Fashion Week,’ Charlotte replied.
    ‘I’d love to meet her,’ Cecelia nodded, ‘but not quite as much as I’d like to meet that mysterious Dux LaBelle.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’ Charlotte asked.
    ‘I’ve made an appointment for a preview of the LaBelle collection later in the week but it was very strange. When I said that I was looking forward to meeting Monsieur LaBelle, the fellow on the phone told me that Dux is far too busy to meet clients. I suppose Dux is new and the clothes speak for themselves but if he wants to make it in this town, he’s going to have to do at least some of his own PR.’
    Dux LaBelle had burst onto the Paris fashion stage a year ago with his first collection of evening wear. His designs were stunning, featuring beadwork and fine lace that were second to none; critics were in awe of his workmanship. His designs had instantly become firm favourites with the celebrity set too. Women loved his work and journalists were desperate to know more about him. But Dux did not give interviews or talk to the press. During his one and only public appearance at his show last year he had worn a mask. It was as if he had come and gone in a puff of smoke.
    ‘I was hoping you were going to sign him up. Actually, I think Ambrosia Headlington-Bear wore one of his gowns to the FFATAS, didn’t she? Not that I saw her in person, but