Background
Helen and Charles set out (at last!) to discover the secret of the envelope he found in the Paris Stamp Market.
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Perhaps Helen spoke too soon. As we skirted the edge of the Bois de Bologne on our way to Saint-Cloud, the skies darkened with the threat of another summer storm.
"Oh, dear! This doesn't look promising for our picnic!"
"Well, it was you who chose to invoke the cloud saint."
"Ha! Ha! Trust you to come up with something like that!"
Shortly before the bridge where the Autoroute de Normandie crosses the Seine, there was a crash of thunder, a brilliant staircase of lightning out to our left, and a sudden, violent clatter of hailstones on the roof. Visibility was instantaneously reduced, almost to zero.
"Pull over! You can't possibly drive through this."
Helen slowed down, peering out of the window. "There's nowhere to stop. I'll have to keep going."
Her words were almost drowned by the roar of a semi-trailer rushing past. It threw up a spray of grey slush, like a warning shot across our bows.
"Turn on your headlights. Then at least we'll be seen!"
"A fat lot of good that will do - they're coming up from behind! Anyway, who's driving this car? You or me?"
With that, she put her foot on the accelerator and swung into the slipstream of the semi-trailer. I clutched the edges of my seat and closed my eyes - not that I would have been able to see anything anyway, even if I had left them open.
A few moments later, there was a squeal of brakes. I'm going to die!
Helen wrenched the wheel around but held her nerve, steering back into the skid, and squeezing through the narrow gap between the leviathan and the deep. How she avoided crashing through the railings and going off the bridge is one of life's unsolved mysteries.
"Phew!" she said, "It seems as though dear old Saint Cloud is looking after us."
"A bloody miracle, I call it!"
"Perhaps we should light a candle to the old sod. Who was he, anyway?"
"Not an old sod, actually. An old clod called Clodoald. He narrowly escaped assassination by his Uncle Clotaire and became a hermit."
"Come on! You're making this up, aren't you? I don't believe a word!"
"Take it or leave it," I said, with a smile.
"You really are a fount of useless information."
"...and you, fortunately, are quite some driver!"
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"I hope so."
The storm passed almost as quickly as it came. A small patch of blue widened as we approached Versailles, throwing shafts of diamond-studded light onto an avenue of trees. One might have thought that the Sun King himself had arranged our triumphal entry into his city.
The envelope, carefully folded into the centre page of my aide-memoire, directed us to 79 Rue de la Parouisse, an address that I had initially misread as the Street of Paradise. With the aid of Google Maps, we had no difficulty in tracking it down, though I am not quite sure what we expected to find.
The house turned out to be a veterinary clinic. An old woman sat in the waiting room, nursing a sad looking miniature poodle that had been dyed pink. They both looked equally mournful.
I showed my envelope to the receptionist. "Does the name Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin ring any bells?"
"Non, monsieur. It is only the Hunchback who rings the bells! But that was in Paris, n'est pas?"
"Très drôle! I see you have a sense of humour, Mademoiselle."
"The Notre Dame de Versailles is much smaller, of course, but no less magnificent. One moment, please. I will go and ask."
Helen nudged me. We both smiled.
After a few moments, the vet appeared, peeling a pair of rubber gloves off her hands. "Dr Laurent," she said. "How can I be of help?"
I passed the envelope to her. "Do you know anything of this lady? She used to live in this building, I believe."
She looked at the envelope carefully. "That was a long time ago, Monsieur. More than a hundred years. I'm afraid I've only been in practice here for five years. Things change - even in sleepy old Versailles! However, Madam Lefauvre might be able to help. She's lived here all her life."
She turned and spoke to the old lady with the poodle.
"Madam Lafauvre, these people are looking for information about a Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin. Do you know of her?"
The old woman looked up sourly.
"Gaudin? Yes, there are still a few Gaudins in the neighbourhood, but that one's long gone," she said with a knowing smile. "There was quite a scandal, but that's none of my business, is it?" The poodle cocked a sorrowful eye up at his mistress, knowing that was a lie. She was one who made sure that everything was her business.
"Thank you, Madam. You've been most helpful," Helen said. "Is there anything else you can tell us, perhaps?"
"None of my business," the old lady muttered , as she shuffled towards the surgery, dragging the unwilling pink dog behind her.
"You could try at the Paroisse Notre-Dame if you want to find out more," Dr Laurent said. "It's just up the road towards the Palace. They keep all the parish records there."
"Nous sommes très obligés. Je vous remercie," I said, bowing slightly and offering my hand.
"De rien - you're welcome."
As we made our way back to the car, Helen googled the cathedral page and found a phone number for Monsieur le Curé. She explained what we were trying to find out, and asked if we might be permitted to conduct a search.
I gave her an enquiring look.
"He says he can meet us there at 5 o'clock."
"Great! That leaves plenty of time for a mid-afternoon picnic in the Gardens of Versailles. We can pretend that we are members of the aristocracy."
"...having a last meal before the guillotine falls."
"Don't be like that! We're on the trail of something exciting here."
