Free Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4) by Margaret Addison

me? I will withdraw all my gowns from this evening’s event and go to a boutique who will appreciate my designs. Oui , one that will provide me with suitable mannequins and not, not …’ The designer flung his arms up in the air as he paused, words having failed him as he tried to think of an appropriate description of Lady Celia’s numerous inadequacies as a model .
    ‘Marcel, you must do no such thing!’ wailed Madame Renard. ‘My shop, my reputation, it will be ruined. My clientele, they are expecting the most wonderful of evenings. And your clothes …’ the proprietor paused to bring her fingers to her lips and kiss them, ‘they are to die for, are they not? My dear customers, they will never have seen such fine garments, such attention to detail …’
    Rose was amused to witness the designer pause in his pacing and, despite all his angry posturing of a moment before, begin to preen. He puffed out his chest and instantly he appeared taller, calmer and generally more in command of the situation.
    ‘It is true what you say, Madame. Your customers, they are not used to seeing such fine clothes. It will take their breath away. But only if worn by Mademoiselle Sylvia. Elle est jolie femme . But by Lady Celia, non !’ The designer flung his arms out theatrically and made a face. ‘The silver gown, it is my greatest creation. It cannot be worn by that woman, it will be all wrong. She has not the figure. Your customers, they will see that dress on her and they will think how hideous it looks.’
    ‘Monsieur Girard –’ began Madame Renard weakly.
    ‘They will not want to buy it, they will think it is a monstrosity.’
    The designer banged his fist down on the desk and the paperwork threatened once more to topple onto the floor. Rose dived to the rescue just in time to stop it from falling.
    ‘They will want to buy every dress but that one,’ continued Monsieur Girard, apparently oblivious to everything but what he was saying, his face flushed and his manner becoming agitated again. ‘No, worse than that, they will laugh. They will say have you ever seen a woman look so awful in a gown? It does nothing for her. It clings in all the wrong places. It makes her look stout and shapeless; that is a dress we will never want. Ah … but on Mademoiselle Sylvia ... O h là là ! They will see it for what it really is, this creation of mine. A dress fit for a princess.’
    ‘Yes, Monsieur Girard, but –’ interjected Madame Renard.
    ‘They see the gown on Mademoiselle Sylvia and they think their daughters also can be transformed,’ continued the designer as if there had been no interruption, ‘ V oilà. Their daughters also can look like princesses if they wear this gown. That is what they will think, Madame. They will want to buy it, no, they will insist on buying it. They will push each other aside to be the first in the queue for a fitting. You see if they don’t. It will fly off the shelves, my dress.’
    ‘Of course you are right, Marcel. I do not disagree with what you are saying for one moment. You understand? I do not say what you are saying is incorrect. But Lady Celia, she is adamant,’ cried Madame Renard. ‘She will not yield. She will not see reason.’
    ‘Then let us not have her at the event at all,’ said the designer. ‘We do not need her. It will not matter if she is upset and tells her friends. They do not shop here. You will lose no customers.’
    ‘I can’t do that,’ wailed the proprietor. ‘I promised my customers that Lady Lavinia would be there tonight. I said the daughter of an earl would be modelling the clothes and instead we have a shop assistant! Lady Celia must be here tonight to save my reputation. She is the daughter of a marquis. If I do not allow her to wear the gown instead of Sylvia, she will storm out. And Lady Lavinia, will she not be upset if I snub her friend?’
    ‘I don’t think Lavinia will mind so very much,’ said Rose, contributing to the conversation for