The next morning, we have breakfast in a sunny room overlooking a tiny courtyard. I’m dressed in long black boots, purple riding pants, and a flouncy white shirt. Thankfully, I swapped the smock for a tight black jacket with gold buttons, and kept the beret and cigarette holder. Chase has on red velvet pants, pointy brown pixie boots, a lime-green shirt, a yellow waistcoat, and a black felt hat with a long red feather in it.
‘We look magnificent,’ he says, as we eat Vivienne’s pancakes. ‘And you, Isobel, look like a wild princess from a wild country.’
Isobel wears a long black dress embroidered with gold roses, a tight purple jacket with sapphire-blue buttons, ancient tennis shoes, and a gold, red, and black scarf woven through her hair. Even Amy has a tiny green jacket with a silver collar.
‘Zis iz ’ow the ’ole world should be!’ Vivienne clasps her hands. ‘A place where everyone iz free, colourful, and gay! No one will recognise you, Chaze-Gheorge-Izobelle-Amee, but they will think you are famouz! Anyway, ’ave more coffee.’
I consider pointing out to Vivienne that we actually have one name each, but why bother? I do, however, think that perhaps Amy in particular should stop at one coffee, as I’m not sure caffeine is canine-appropriate.
‘Merci, Vivienne,’ I say. ‘But I think we’ve all had enough coffee to—’ I was going to say to last us three days, but I never get the chance.
The little old lady springs forward and fills up my rather large mug to the very top with thick black liquid.
‘Now, Chaze-Gheorge-Izobelle-Amee, you will ’ave energy to chaze all ze bad Germans from Paris, zen ’ide in ze dark forezt before ze Mezzerschmidt aeroplane drop bombz on your ’eads!’
I’d also like to suggest to Vivienne that the Germans in France today are peace-loving tourists on holiday, and that the Second World War ended about eighty years ago, but she’s busy shovelling sugar into my mug.
‘I ’ear in ze bread zhop zis morning,’ she whispers, ‘zat zere are Ruzzian tough ladeez looking for runaway thievez from overzeaz. Thiz iz not you, iz it? Per-raps?’
Hmmm! That is an utter fabrication that certainly does sound like something Olga and Katerina would come up with. I mean, it’s one thing to want to kidnap us, but it’s another to accuse us of stealing and muddy our names from one end of Europe to the other, starting in a bread shop in Paris!
‘We are not thieves,’ I inform Vivienne. ‘We are the innocent targets of an international kidnapping ring, to be held for ransom for an amount of money that has been lost, but not lost by us.’
Vivienne looks thoughtful, her bright-eyed sparrow’s face tight with concern.
‘Zomeone muzt owe zomeone a lot of money,’ she says. ‘For zis to ’appen.’
‘That,’ I say, ‘is very true, madame. Unfortunately. For us.’
Our hostess turns away into her miniature kitchen, and comes out with a big tin worn silver with handling and age. With a spoon, she prizes the lid off.
‘I can give you French francs,’ she says. ‘I ’ave five million for a rainy day.’
Chase, Isobel, and I wave Vivienne’s money away.
‘No,Vivienne,’ Isobel reassures her. ‘We will look after ourselves. Please keep your money. We just have to get home and everything will work out. But thank you.’
Vivienne slowly stuffs the old notes back into the tin.
‘Zeze naughty Germans are like elephantz, no? They nevair forget!’
I think perhaps that the Germans might have forgiven and forgotten more than Vivienne herself, but I doubt that would be a helpful thing to say.
‘No, it’s not the Germans after us,’ I explain. ‘It’s just some rather unkind folk who have a bee in their bonnet about this money that is missing.’
‘You ’ave trouble wiz beez as well as money?’ Vivienne raises eyebrows that look like they are drawn on with a biro. ‘Iz it a liddle amount of beez and money, or a big amount of beez and money?’
‘In the middle somewhere.’ Chase finishes his coffee and stands. ‘But we do have to avoid these people. And the bees, too, of course. It’s most important.’
Vivienne nods. ‘I will keep watch. Zoze Germans are probably dizguizing zemzelvez az Mongolianz wiz empty Mongolian bee ’ives! But zey didn’t fool Vivienne in ze bad old dayz and zey will not fool Vivienne in ze year 1999!’
1999? I decide to let that pass and finish my coffee, wishing I hadn’t mentioned bees and hoping that the coffee is decaffeinated, although I do feel a bit jumpy – well, a lot jumpy, but if I have a little more energy than normal, it can only be helpful in what are exceptional circumstances.
Chase puts on his pointy hat. ‘Let’s walk to the river, guys. Relax for a little while.’
Without warning my hand shoots up. ‘Grrrrreat idea, Chase! Yep! Relax! Relax! Relax!’
Chase laughs. ‘Uh-oh, Izzy,’ he says. ‘Looks like we’ve created a caffeine-fired monster again.’
Isobel moves the coffee pot out of my reach. ‘George,’ she says, ‘this coffee-drinking has to stop this very instant.’
‘I totally agree,’ I say, and jump up. ‘NOT!’