thirty-three

And then . . . and then, the great day arrived. The grand opening, at last!

The boutique was crammed with people. All the guests crowded around me, glasses of champagne in hand. My little fashion empire was decked out for the occasion: a buffet with an elegant snow-white tablecloth, a butler wearing equally elegant white gloves and the obligatory solemn countenance, and a glamorous receptionist.

My mother was clucking around me admiringly. Next to her, my father, who had made the journey especially, couldn’t hide his emotion and kept giving me highly indiscreet winks and congratulatory thumbs-up. To see my parents side by side, having buried the hatchet and chatting like a pair of old friends, filled my heart with gladness. Sebastien and Adrien were in the front row, miming vigorous applause and making me laugh. My son had told all his schoolmates that his mother was going to open a high-fashion boutique for children and that she was going to become famous. Naïve, perhaps, yet I was touched by his childish enthusiasm. But what touched me still more was the look of pride on his face.

My sole disappointment was that Claude had not yet appeared. He was going to miss my speech, in which of course I had decided to offer him my heartfelt thanks. What could he be up to? It wasn’t like him to be late, and I was worried. So it was with a slightly heavy heart that I began speaking and thanked all those who had played a part in the fulfillment of my dream.

All of a sudden there was a commotion at the entrance to the boutique, and the guests inside turned to look. A fresh crowd of people came in. My heart began racing as I couldn’t see exactly what was going on. Cameras started flashing; people were calling out . . . Then, just like the Red Sea in the Bible, gradually the waves of people parted in front of me, making way for . . . Could it be? Jean Paul Gaultier himself! And right behind him, a beaming Claude, apparently as pleased as I was and clearly delighted that his surprise had been so successful.

I was overcome.

My project had already brought me moments of huge satisfaction. When, for example, the printer had called me to announce that my advertising leaflets and business cards were ready. And when the painters put the finishing touches to the magic words “FashionFairies” on my shop front. I had been so moved, so overjoyed I had had to wipe away a few discreet tears. It had been such a long journey in such a few short months! Would success be my reward? I was counting on this opening evening to give me some idea, but now . . . Now it had surpassed anything I could have imagined. Jean Paul Gaultier. In person! In my boutique.

I extended a trembling hand to my hero. He shook it warmly. As if through an enchanted mist, I heard him explain to everyone that he was pleased and proud to sponsor my boutique because the concept had really appealed to him. When Claude had sent him details of the project, he had instantly offered to support it in the media, in order to give FashionFairies greater visibility.

“Camille has a great talent as a designer,” he went on. “Her baby clothes are truly original. And to offer families the opportunity to get top-of-the-line garments at low prices by leasing them is incredibly clever. Bravo, Camille!”

I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears. This was Jean Paul Gaultier, and he was saying these amazing things about me! I could feel tears welling as he concluded: “I will be pleased to offer her my support and, if she wishes, my advice!”

Bliss.

The reporters took photographs of the two of us together. They bombarded me with questions for their articles. Thanks to Claude’s tremendous efforts, my concept was going to be in all the papers. This was more than a helping hand; it was a trampoline!

As the evening was drawing to a close, Claude came up to me. I grabbed him for a hug. I owed him so much!

“Claude, I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“I’m delighted at your success, Camille, and I’m very proud of you. I think you deserve this . . .”

He held out to me the famous little box, this time wrapped in a golden ribbon. I could guess at once what it contained: the black lotus. The last of my talismans.

My eyes filling with tears all over again, I kissed him and added the charm to the ones I had already received.

“I have to go now,” he said. “Once again, my congratulations!”

Before leaving, he slipped a small white envelope into the palm of my hand. I opened it after he had gone.

The paper inside read:

My dear Camille,

Please allow me to arrange one final meeting with you. I have a few things to tell you, and then my mission with you will be complete. You will be able to continue on your way in the knowledge that you are on the RIGHT path. Meet me the day after tomorrow at 2 p.m. on top of the Arc de Triomphe. Bravo once again, and good night from your devoted Claude.

What surprise did he have in store for me this time?