The Tailor's Girl (30 page)

‘Oh, Eden, it’s a dream,’ Penelope whispered.

‘Is it your dream?’ she asked.

Penelope nodded. ‘I don’t even want to see anything else. It’s better than the one you did for Nicola.’

Eden had to agree. ‘I’m glad you think so. I would hazard that every bride you see next spring and summer will be in short sleeves, which came into vogue this year. But I think a bride should always hold on to a little modesty . . . it’s far more seductive anyway to hint at the skin, rather than show it.’

The four women shared a knowing laugh.

‘Now, let me show you on Madeleine how I think we can dress it for your big day.’

The next half-hour was spent in selecting the right veil and train. Edie teased at the froth of palest coffee-coloured silken netting that now formed a veil. Madeleine made a stunning bride and they could both see that their client was in raptures over the whole look. ‘I think plain is important,’ Edie continued. ‘Your beauty is enough, Penelope.
You
wear the dress . . . don’t let it wear you. So we must make sure that you shine through, and if we have too much . . . um . . . embellishment, it adds noise rather than elegance. If we keep it simple, then this veil will appear as a “glow” around you.’

Penelope nodded. She was yet to disagree with anything Edie had advised.

‘Now, looking at the train, I thought we could have a little fun here. I was thinking about using a silk charmeuse in the same ecru toning so that it remains light, but not too floaty, and it won’t drag on the wedding carpet when you’re walking up the aisle. To add a little more weight and a bit of whimsy, we could line it with gold tissue silk and decorate with pearls.’ She looked at her clients. ‘Charlotte, with your colouring, the softest of greens or mauves would do the bride justice and the spring flowers for a bouquet would complement. Mother of the bride in dusky pink, mother of the groom in silver grey, or vice versa. Think spring flowers and don’t be afraid of a —’ she searched for a word, ‘punch of bright colour, like a fuchsia or vermilion.’

‘Going-away outfit?’ Charlotte said, looking completely caught up in the excitement.

‘Oh, a suit, of course . . . perhaps a matching coat and cape for spring. And I would suggest a cool colour. Pale blue or violet, to match your eyes, Penelope.’

The two visitors sighed. ‘Well, Valentine’s is hired, Eden. Please write out an order for everything we’ve discussed, including my mother, six bridesmaids, two flower girls and a page boy, if you could dress him too.’

Edie resisted the urge to glance at Madeleine or let go of the howl of joy that was bursting in her chest. ‘Of course,’ she said, studiously professional. ‘I shall do that today for you.’

‘Alex won’t be able to resist me in this.’

‘Why should he resist you?’ Edie queried in a lightly arched tone, meant to amuse.

‘Well, it’s no longer a secret that I’ve been crazy for my fiancé since we were children,’ she said, glancing at Charlie.

‘Really? That’s charming.’

Penelope shrugged. ‘I had made up my mind privately that if Lex didn’t come back from the war, then I was never going to marry anyone. There’s never been anyone else for me but Lex Wynter.’

‘Well, he did come home and he did ask you, so he clearly loves you too,’ Edie replied but she saw doubt in Penelope’s eyes.

‘Charlotte is probably getting married in the next twelve months too, aren’t you, darling?’ Penelope hurried to shift subjects, or so it felt to Edie. ‘I think you can count on another Wynter wedding party too.’

‘Absolutely!’ Charlie gushed. ‘I’ll let the dust settle on Pen and Alex’s big day so maybe a late summer/early autumn wedding.’

Edie squeezed Charlotte’s hand. ‘That’s lovely news. And of course I would be delighted to design you a bridal gown to make your father very proud to walk you down the aisle.’

Charlotte faltered. ‘Er, my father has passed away.’

‘Oh, forgive me,’ Edie said, looking stricken, understanding how the young woman must feel. ‘My father died not long after I was married. I’m sorry,’ she said, laying a cool hand on Charlie’s arm.

‘You weren’t to know,’ Pen assured. ‘It was very sad to lose Uncle Thomas when we did, just as Alex was coming back into our lives.’

Edie nodded, not sure what to say, feeling embarrassed by her slip.

‘Oh, did you mention to Eden about the wardrobe for Europe?’ Penelope interjected, looking at Madeleine.

Edie nodded. ‘Yes, she did, but only vaguely. I’ll have a series of sketches and fabric swatches for you to look at when you come in for your first fitting. I’ll work on a spring wardrobe for Europe. Whereabouts are you planning to visit?’

‘Lex is whisking me off to Paris and then we shall take the train across Europe to Istanbul.’

Edie gasped. ‘That was always my dream, Penelope! My husband and I talked about making that trip.’ She remembered a shared bath when Sunday bells were ringing in the local church.

‘Well, I shall think of you as I sip my first champagne on the Orient Express out of Paris.’

‘Actually, I’d love you to raise your glass to me in Venice as well. Tom and I wanted to rail between Paris and Venice together.’

‘Tom?’ Charlotte joined in. ‘Thomas was my father’s name. Granny called him Tom sometimes, though.’

Penelope stood and kissed Edie’s cheek. ‘Venice it is, I promise. And I shall kiss Alex as I think of you and Tom.’

Edie moved to the back of the salon and watched Madeleine show their new clients to the door, saw Penelope wave towards a fine car across the street. She squinted from the back of the salon to glimpse the man at the wheel who had so captured her client’s heart from childhood. His arm waved back at Pen but his face was in the shadows of the car and then two buses rumbled up to block her view.

When they finally hauled away, Madeleine was standing in front of her. ‘Now we break out the champagne,
non
?’

Edie sighed and hugged her friend. ‘Thank you. You were marvellous!’

‘Miss Aubrey-Finch had no other intention but commissioning Valentine’s.’

‘True. What a lovely person she is. So desperately in love too.’

‘I always think it’s a little frightening to love someone so much; didn’t you hear the note of danger in her expression?’

‘I admit I did.’

‘Well, it’s none of our business but I hope Mr Wynter loves her as much as she does him.’

Edie remembered the doubt in Penelope’s eyes and felt sadness for her . . . and a sense of kinship. She’d always privately worried that her love for Tom was overwhelming, that one day she may lose him. And she had.

Her mind began to wander to the image of the man waving at Penelope, perhaps unaware of his fiancée’s desperate need to love him and be loved . . . or perhaps he wasn’t. She hadn’t realised she’d become so thoughtful.

‘Where did you go, then?’ Madeleine asked.

‘Sorry. I was thinking about the coincidence that Penelope’s father-in-law was called Thomas.’

‘Common enough name in England, I’ve discovered. Like Henri or Pierre in France. Anyway, I don’t believe in coincidence.’

‘No?’

‘I believe in fate and the mystery of life. Coincidence is meaningless. It’s a cynic’s explanation when fate pushes you towards something.’

Edie giggled. ‘Well, fate is definitely pushing us towards our official opening. And now we can face it with confidence, Mads. Two high-profile clients on our books and a lot of work ahead of us. By the way, you can hire that girl Monique. She can start after Christmas.’

‘Excellent.’

‘We’re going to need her to assist you out the back as you’ll be doing several changes for each client from now on, and I think we have to look at hiring a full-time staff member to help me with appointments and act as a go-between with clients and help with ordering fabrics. I’ll put a sign in our window.’

The door opened and both women smiled to see Ben Levi.

‘What are you doing here?’ Edie asked.

‘I had an appointment in Mayfair. Just stopped by to see if you’d have time for a coffee . . . er, if you’d thought about what we discussed over dinner.’

Edie refused to look at Madeleine, who she suspected was wearing an expression of intrigue.

‘Er, well . . .’

‘No more appointments today, Eden,’ Madeleine said, only a hint of dryness in her tone.

‘Come on – just a coffee,’ Ben urged.

‘Why not?’ Edie relented, feeling cornered. ‘I can’t be long, though. We have lots on. We’ve just taken on a huge bridal job and another in the wings!’

‘Excellent,’ he said but without much enthusiasm. ‘Grab your coat.’

Outside, she frowned. ‘You didn’t seem very happy for me.’

‘Didn’t I? Forgive me. I have a lot on my mind, work-wise.’

‘Well, if you’re so busy, why are you here, taking me out in the middle of the morning when we both have work to attend to?’

‘Because I wanted to see you; I want to see you every day, Edie.’

She felt embarrassed for her harsh tone. ‘Sorry, Ben. It’s just this is a big event for me after what happened with the designs.’

‘Yes, and it was insensitive of me not to show more pleasure for you. I am very happy. Who’s the client?’

She cut him a look of mock horror. ‘Shame on you. I don’t ask you who your clients are, Benjamin Levi. Bridal designs and their clients are one of the most guarded secrets in society.’ She grinned but it was short-lived. Her expression clouded again. ‘Which makes the theft of my designs all the more sinister.’

‘Theft is a harsh word. You probably misplaced them, Edie, and they fell into the wrong hands.’

‘I did not misplace them. They were all together on the same day – the very day we were last out for a meal.’

‘I know, I know. We’ve been through it,’ he said.

‘How would you feel if you lost an important file to a rival lawyer?’

‘I’d be mortified.’

‘That’s putting it lightly.’

‘It’s not the same, Edie.’

‘Oh, Ben, don’t. You’re making me furious all over again. I’m not finding you supportive about my business and it flies in the face of everything you promised.’

‘Oh, please let’s not argue about this. What’s done is done. I . . . I wanted to talk about our future.’

Edie ignored him as she glanced across the street. ‘I’m going back to that dining room and I’m going to speak with the cloakroom girl. It had to be her. I shall speak to the manager if I have to.’

She was shocked to feel Ben grab her arm, holding it tightly enough to notice the burn of his grip through her coat.

‘You’ll make a complete fool of yourself, Edie.’

She glared at him, wrenching her wrist from his hold.

‘What’s done is done. You can’t turn time back, even if you could prove the theft, which I know you can’t.’ He sighed. ‘Edie, darling. As your legal advisor I feel obliged to tell you that it will be your word against hers, and you have absolutely no proof . . .’

‘What? She was the only one who had access to it.’

‘But there was more than one cloakroom girl and any number of other staff with access. Sarah may have gone on a break. Anyone might have taken a fancy to your portfolio and decided to lift a few of the designs . . . realised they were more than just simple sketches and —’

‘And what? Knew exactly who to sell them on to? My direct rival?’

‘Well, how would Sarah know who to approach?’

‘I don’t know, Ben!’

‘Well, until you do, I suggest you keep your accusations to yourself.’

Edie shook her head at the warning in his glance. ‘Whoever did this set me back. It nearly stopped me in my tracks, Ben, but I’m fighting again.’

‘Good for you,’ he murmured and she heard the lack of sincerity.

The anger had burned away and Edie felt the cold nipping at her face. ‘Why aren’t you happy for me?’

‘I am. But you could make me a lot happier if you’d answer my proposition, Edie.’

She stared at him and in that instant ran out of the strength to fight one of her most ardent supporters. ‘All right, Ben,’ she said, sounding suddenly wearied. ‘You start the paperwork that makes me a free woman, and I’ll give serious consideration to your proposal.’

She smiled faintly at the laughter that came back into his expression, hiding her reservation and a horrible, fresh new thought that had occurred.

‘I will make you so happy,’ he promised.

She nodded. ‘Forgive me but I feel suddenly very cold and a headache is nagging. I won’t have that coffee after all. I’ll probably go home early and have the afternoon with Tommy.’

‘I’ll see you home —’

‘No. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a couple of things to do before I leave anyway. You get going.’

He frowned. ‘Edie, promise me you won’t speak with Sarah. The repercussions could be embarrassing.’

Yes, but for whom?
she wondered, schooling her features to betray nothing of her new, disturbing notion. ‘I promise.’

_______________

Later in the salon, she told Madeleine that she’d agreed to start proceedings for the legal dissolution of her marriage.

‘I’m pleased for you,’ Madeleine replied. ‘I think.’

‘Are you? I don’t feel anything but empty. Tom’s out there, I know it. He just doesn’t know how to find me.’

‘Ben thinks you could love him.’

Edie groaned. ‘Do I love him like I loved Tom? No. Never. Not even close.’

‘Don’t lead Ben on. He deserves better. He’s a good man.’

‘Is he?’ Edie questioned, finally allowing herself to confront the potentially deeply damaging notion that had nagged at her since Ben’s outburst.

‘Isn’t he?’

She pushed a hand through her hair nervously. ‘I have to tell you something. I have no proof, so it’s just speculation.’

Madeleine’s expression clouded.

‘That night, when I lost the sketches, Ben barely looked at the girl serving me in the cloakroom. He was really offhand. Ever since he made partner in the law firm Ben’s developed an attitude towards anyone who serves him. He’s filled with his own importance; apart from his family, he’s frozen out a lot of his old friends since becoming a member at Swithin’s Club in the city. I think for Ben it’s vital he looks every bit the successful city lawyer.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s moving into his own house, finally . . . in Chelsea. And now he needs a wife and children. He’s prepared to swallow his pride and try again with me, but he struggles with the fact that I run a business.’

‘What does any of this have to do with your missing sketches?’

‘Well, because of his attitude he paid the cloakroom attendant who handled my sketches with barely a scrap of attention.’

‘And?’

‘During our argument in the street he named her; he called her Sarah. And I happen to know that’s her name because she told me, but Ben wasn’t with me at the time.’

Madeleine stared at her with trepidation.

Edie moved towards the mannequin that Madeleine had set up. She reached for a bolt of
crepe de Chine
and threw it open on the workbench. She began to drape the fabric on the model, losing herself momentarily in the familiar, safe ritual of noticing its weight, shine, how it fell.

‘Ben collected my folder that night,’ she said. ‘But I saw his anxiety just now. He desperately did not want me to confront Sarah or the management.’

‘You honestly now believe that Ben, the man who claims to love you, stole your designs and gave them to the opposition?’

‘I think he had the opportunity, is all I’m saying.’

‘And his motive?’

‘Crushing my dream.’ She leapt as she poked herself with a pin. A bead of blood bloomed on her finger. ‘Damn!’ She stepped back. ‘He never wanted me to have this.’

‘Eden —’

‘No, hear me out. I think he is capable of this deception, Mads, because I hurt him. I hurt him very deeply in choosing Tom and the manner in which it all happened. He’d know how damaging the theft would be. He had the opportunity, he had the knowledge of who to take my designs to for the maximum effect . . . and all the while he could play the hero, helping me.’ Edie sucked her finger as she pulled the pin-cushion off her wrist.

‘Eden, stop! It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It does all suddenly make bleak sense to me.’ She swung around to face Madeleine. ‘Ben doesn’t want me going to Paris or New York . . . he doesn’t want me searching out new raw silks from China or dyed silks from Italy. He doesn’t want me tripping across to Belgium for lace. He wants me in his house in Chelsea like a trapped bird, taking coffee at home with friends he would probably help me choose, with an infant balanced across my belly and another on the way. He always used to joke about us having an army of children. He wants me to be the ideal he has in his mind of what the perfect “Jewish woman” is. The first and only time I ever defied my father was in bringing Tom into our lives. And then our lives were never the same,’ she said, remembering with a soft ache their passionate first kiss in the alleyway. Her eyes became wide and her expression haunted. ‘I have to find him.’

‘Eden . . . we’ve —’

‘No, listen to me,’ she said, rushing to take Madeleine’s hands. ‘If this is a day to get all my crazy thoughts out of my head, then let me say it all.’

‘All? What else is there?’

‘Just some nagging thoughts that won’t go away.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Do you remember Percival Fitch at Savile Row?’

‘I do.’

‘He told us of a man who had an accident . . . run down by a taxi.’

‘Yes, I recall the story. Dazed, tore his suit and they had one from pre-war days that fitted like a glove,’ she reeled off. ‘Really, Eden. I do pay attention, you know.’

Edie licked her lips. ‘But what about the fact that he was a returned officer – he was one of Mr Fitch’s regular clients and then they didn’t see him for years?’

‘He’d gone to war!’

‘Mads, that’s three years since the war ended.’

‘Oh, you poor child. You think the man could be Tom.’

‘
Is
Tom. Yes, for several reasons. The timing sounds right. The fact that he was a returned officer who had been away for so long and then turns up without an appointment. Tom was in Green Park – a skip away from Savile Row. Perhaps he found himself there, got knocked down as Mr Fitch told us, came back to his senses and the knowledge of his past, knew who he was.’

‘But had forgotten he was Tom?’ Edie nodded. ‘Listen to yourself, Eden. This is crazier than thinking Ben is trying to bring down your business.’

‘Not bring it down. Just scuttle it,’ she said, irritation in her voice, not even bothering to explain to her friend what the latter word meant.

Madeleine regarded her in soft annoyance.

‘Mads,’ she appealed, ‘the man Fitch was talking about was wearing a navy suit.’

‘And you’re going to tell me that Tom wore a navy suit that day, aren’t you?’

Edie nodded, eyes glistening with tears.

‘Eden,’ Madeleine began, raising a long, narrow finger so close that Edie could see the shine of her manicured nail. ‘This is dangerous thinking.’

‘Abba and I always thought Tom spoke with a cultured voice, I just didn’t want to accept it,’ she wept. ‘I’m sure it’s why I led him away from London to our quiet, isolated cottage in Epping where few people would notice or question him. They just saw a nice, young, educated couple. I told everyone Tom had been injured in the war and let their imaginations do the rest. Oh, Mads, don’t you see? Tom could be that man from Savile Row and now he’s returned to his former life, wherever that is. I’ve slipped through the crack in his life . . . me, his child, our life . . . it’s disappeared.’