The Tailor's Girl (24 page)

He let his shoulders slump. ‘You make it all sound so easy . . . as though I can just get on with my life.’

‘Why not? No one’s come forward. Just get on with being Alex Wynter, returned soldier.’

He thought about this and all the sense she was making. Truly, for a youngster, Penelope Aubrey-Finch was impressive in her maturity. And he would be lying if he didn’t admit that she was beautiful and fun to be around.

‘You are good for me,’ he said with a sigh.

‘Then . . . will you give us a chance?’

Alex smiled softly. ‘I’ll certainly accompany you to the ballet.’

Her troubled expression relaxed and she beamed him a smile of pure pleasure. ‘It’s a beginning.’

‘Let’s drink to new beginnings,’ he said and meant it.

AUGUST 1921

The two women stood back by the door of the salon and said nothing for a long time.

‘You’ve done it, Eden. It’s perfect.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘
Absolument!
’ Madeleine exclaimed. ‘It is as though I have walked into a top Parisian fashion house. You have captured its spirit. And yet it’s very you – very
now
. I know of no fashion salon in Paris that looks anything like this.’

‘Meaning?’

‘The stark, bold, clean lines. There’s not an ounce of . . . what’s the word I need? Um, you know when you whip egg whites.’

‘Meringue?’ Edie offered, bemused. ‘Froth?’

‘
Oui!
Yes! There is nothing, how you say, frothy about this salon.’

Edie adored Madeleine’s accent. ‘Well, perhaps because there is nothing “frossy” about me either.’

‘This is true. I love it, Eden. And so will your clients.’

Edie still wasn’t convinced. ‘The colour scheme . . .?’

‘So you were right. I will never question your taste again. I know I said go for tropical colours, which everyone seems to be favouring, but your restraint works. What do you call this?’

‘Monochrome.’ She had to repeat it when Madeleine returned a perplexed look. ‘I’ve never been to New York but I’ve seen photographs and I wanted to achieve that look.’

‘Ah, one day we shall both go there and celebrate your eye for style. In the meantime, it is perfect. The mirrors are divine. They make the salon look twice as big.’

‘Don’t they?’ Edie hugged herself.

‘I suspect women are going to come here just to see the salon and be able to say to their friends that they’re engaging London’s latest designer. It’s bold, Eden. I’ve modelled for enough houses to know that a lot of these places aim to create a sense of a woman’s
boudoir
. But you . . .’ She shook her head.

‘What?’ Edie asked, eager to hear it all.

‘Valentine’s looks like a place of secrets but also a glimpse of the future.’

‘Let’s hope it’s not too bold; I don’t want to scare potential clients away.’

Madeleine shook her head. ‘Everyone will want to see it.’

‘Perhaps I should charge a fee to walk through the doors.’ She giggled. ‘And recoup Tom’s money.’

‘Not Tom’s. Yours,’ Madeleine said gently but with a firm glance. ‘It’s been a year, Eden.’

She nodded. ‘I forgot to tell you. Tommy took his first steps last night.’

‘I missed it?’ Madeleine sounded genuinely disappointed.

‘I didn’t expect it so soon.’ She shrugged. ‘Last night in the park he was on the grass by my side, crawled to a bench and, blow me down, Mads, he dragged himself to his feet and stood there unsteadily for a few moments. I was so shocked I couldn’t move. And then he turned and gave me such a victorious smile all I could then do was cry.’

Madeleine shook her head with a baffled expression. ‘I can only imagine how it is to be a mother with all this endless emotion swirling for one’s child.’

‘He reminded me so much of Tom in that moment of triumph. Same infectious grin. And then, when I called to him, he let go of the bench and although it must have felt like miles, he tottered across to me, falling down only as he reached me.’

‘I wish I’d been there.’

Edie squeezed her friend’s wrist. ‘You were. You’re always with us. There’s no stopping him now, of course. Poor Louise, she’s got her hands full.’

‘Oh, your babysitter loves it; she told me she was dying for when he could walk,’ Madeleine said, pushing herself away from the door to adjust the hang of a scarf in the window.

‘Lulu, as Tommy calls her, is a saint. I thank my lucky stars the day Tilda put her in touch with us. She’s crazy about Tommy, you know.’

‘I’ve noticed. Hard to imagine she’s been part of your circle for almost a year now.’

She gave Madeleine a soft smile. The last time she’d held Tom in her arms was this time the year before. It seemed impossible. There were days when it felt like yesterday. And then there were times, like now, when she pulled back from her busy life and all of its distractions to realise that weeks, even months, had flown past, without her crying herself to sleep or spending a day hiding her sorrows.

‘Tommy’s a happy little chap. That’s all that matters. And I love my work.’

‘Couldn’t be happier?’ Madeleine said dryly.

She couldn’t fool her best friend. ‘I wish I had a photograph of him,’ she murmured, ‘because with each day I think his features blur a little more in my mind.’

‘That’s a good thing,’ Madeleine said. ‘Perhaps now you’ll let Mr Levi back into your life.’

‘Poor Benjamin. He’s a saint too.’

‘No, he’s not, Eden. He’s just a man in love. And he’s shown extreme patience with you.’

Edie nodded, frowning slightly. ‘Yes. Ben’s changed, though. Not so long ago he believed my place was in the nursery or behind the stove.’

‘Oh, come on. I think he’s handsome, eligible, and clearly smitten.’ She linked an arm with Edie and they walked back the length of the salon, Edie running her fingertips over the day bed that she had designed herself, choosing the fabric and then having the piece of furniture made. The round seat that looked like four leather club chairs in a circle was her favourite piece and she’d sewn the cushions herself, using tiny pearl buttons as decorations and as a nod to the brides who would sit here and watch Madeleine model gowns.

‘Well, he’s extraordinarily proud of what you’ve done here . . . Give him a chance, Eden.’

She couldn’t help but wonder if Ben had put her friend up to this. ‘When was he here, anyway?’

‘The day you finished the spring–summer collection and went home early. Same day you were furious the curtains hadn’t arrived and Tommy vomited on your purple dress.’

Edie laughed. ‘How can I forget that day!’ She picked up a folder tied with ribbon. ‘It feels as though my whole life is in here,’ she admitted, undoing the ribbon to leaf once again through the sketches. ‘All of my dreams right here in pictures.’

‘They’re exquisite on paper, Eden, and once you make them up, women are going to flock here.’ She smiled. ‘I do love this one,’ she said and pointed.

‘The party went better than I could have hoped,’ Edie sighed.

The unofficial launch of Valentine’s, at the eastern end of King’s Road at Sloane Square, had offered an opportunity for the wives and wives-to-be of London’s most well-heeled to attend a cocktail party and ‘play’ with fabrics, designs and colours, and to watch some of the salon’s wedding gowns walked across its stunning black-and-white geometric carpet by the inhouse model, Madeleine Delacroix.

‘Tom chose this site so well,’ she continued. ‘At first I thought he was barmy to tuck the salon away beneath the giant shadow of Peter Jones.’ She shook her head. ‘I see now his choice was inspired. Peter Jones is the main stomping ground for the women of Belgravia, Knightsbridge and Chelsea; Tom must have understood that no matter how tiny I was, those keen shopping eyes would not fail to notice Valentine’s as they swarmed in and out of the department store.’

‘I’ll admit, your husband was smart.’

‘
Is
smart, Mads. I’m not ready to put him into the past tense. And with one of my favourite haunts of Petticoat Lane just up the way, it all feels familiar. My father used to buy a lot of his raw materials from Petticoat Lane,’ she said, a slightly wistful tone in her voice. ‘The button-makers and importers of silks offered me instant credit because of his reputation.’

‘I’m sure he would want you to trade on it, Eden, especially with your official launch only weeks away.’

The official launch would bring together some magazine publishers and newspaper editors with a few of London’s socialites. The plan was that this event would garner valuable attention for its new owner and ‘avant-garde designer’, as Eden Valentine was described by
Vogue
’s editor-in-chief in a newspaper feature on trends. Far more important to their success, however, would be word-of-mouth passed across luncheon tables, swapped between bridge quartets, discussed during cocktails before the theatre and at supper clubs after it.

British
Vogue
’s editor described the salon as ‘a seriously cool oasis in a desert of British fashion innovation’ and went on to say that the ‘angelic-looking designer behind the label, together with the French-born goddess who models her clothes, are set to make heavenly fashion for brides of the new decade.’

Eden chuckled as Madeleine read that last sentence from this morning’s newspaper yet again.

‘Try telling me you’re not on your way now, Eden Valentine,’ her friend glared with mock fury.

‘It all depends on the proper launch, when my designs are on display in the editorials and people start to make up their own minds.’

‘How many clients do we need, do you think?’

Edie lifted a shoulder and dropped it again. ‘I honestly believe it’s about quality, not quantity. Tom used to have a catchphrase that perception is everything. I understand now what he was getting at. I think all we need is a handful of wealthy, influential clients who move in the circles of Queen Charlotte’s Ball and are on the lookout during the “coming out season” for husbands for their girls and it will gather its own momentum.’

‘You said Miss Fincham might say yes.’

Edie grinned. ‘Her wedding is next April. She’ll have to hurry and make a decision.’

Madeleine looked delighted. ‘Tell me it was because I put on that gorgeous cream and gauze silk shift.’

‘Of course it was! The problem is she wants it in white.’

‘Better in ivory.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, and neither could her head bridesmaid, but her mother wants her in white and Lady Fincham is not to be countered.’

‘The client is always right, Eden.’

‘That’s a myth. Besides, every bride is a representation of my design. I want that gown to be first seen in the ivory satin it was designed with.’

‘The Fincham bridal gown and trousseau, as well as her ten bridesmaids and mother-of-the-bride’s outfit, will help to put us, how you say, “on the map”?’

‘It would, but I can’t compromise before I’ve even had a chance to launch, not after
Vogue
has set me up for such high expectations.’

‘I guess it’s a balance of your
esthétique
values versus income.’

‘I just want to establish my place, Mads. People need to know that if they buy a Valentine it will have a certain look about it. And we both know the gown that Miss Fincham wants is my signature gown for next year. It must be worn in ivory or not at all.’

Madeleine raised a worried eyebrow. ‘Well, I hope your persuasive powers are up to it.’

‘I’ve agreed that some of the sketches can be published, in the
Sunday Times
, particularly this one,’ she said, flicking a hand at the Fincham gown.

‘She won’t mind?’

‘She’ll love the attention and, besides, a sketch and a finished gown are a lifetime apart. Once she’s worn it, a client can ask me to produce it in sky-blue and pink with purple ribbons for all I care. But appearing in the
Sunday Times
will create the groundswell of interest – another of Tom’s phrases – and then I’m guessing we’ll take orders for at least a dozen new spring wedding gowns that I am aware are up for grabs.’

‘And a host of bridesmaids, a queue of mothers’ frocks, a frightening array of honeymoon wardrobes, including one enormous order for Lady Pippa Danby, no less.’

‘I want that order for the Danby gown, Mads. I already know what I would like to dress Lady Pippa in.’

‘Eden, if all goes to plan, how are we going to do this? I mean, I can help sew on buttons, even answer the phone . . . but —’

‘I’ll tell you what we’re
not
going to do, Mads. We’re not going to get anxious. We’re not going to doubt ourselves and, unlike my father, I
am
going to hire staff. Lots of staff, in fact; I know plenty of skilled seamstresses who would appreciate the work. But first we need to order all our silks and voiles, our threads and sequins, our lace and satins.’ Edie rubbed her eyes. ‘Gosh, I think I will probably have to spend a week just on the fabrics.’

‘Well, there go my nice, quiet Sundays,’ Madeleine moaned. ‘And I had visions of spending them in bed with Mr Quinn.’

Edie swung around. ‘And who is Mr Quinn? I thought you were seeing someone called Fallon.’

‘I was. He became rather dull. It’s Quinn now, although I have my eye on Jonathan Gamble.’

‘The jeweller?’

‘So much more, Eden. Five shops now. But it’s not the rise of his jewellery salons that interests me,’ she said, baiting her friend.

‘Doesn’t work any more, Mads,’ she said, but laughed all the same. ‘Surely the sparkle of diamonds do, though?’

Mads smiled, a sense of the wicked in her gaze.

‘Don’t give up your Sundays. We must have one day of complete rest from the salon – a chance for both of us to get away from it and everything connected with fashion. I think next Sunday I’ll have everyone around for Tommy’s birthday. I can do some baking at long last. You can bring Quinn or Gamble or whoever is currently escorting you around London’s fashionable haunts. I can’t keep up with you, Mads.’

Madeleine groaned. ‘A birthday party? This Sunday morning I want to sleep.’

‘Then do it. Eat breakfast at teatime with us – so long as it’s cake, I don’t care when you eat.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll ask Tilda, Louise, of course. Delia might be in town that day. My neighbours love Tommy too so I’ll have them over. It will be fun. And I want to spoil him.’

‘As if you don’t already. Speaking of dinnertime, aren’t you meant to be meeting Ben?’ Madeleine reminded, glancing at her wristwatch.

‘I am.’ Edie began packing up the sketches. ‘I’m taking these home.’

Madeline gave her a soft glare. ‘Why?’

‘I want to do some final adjustments to the Fincham gown and bridesmaids for the feature.’

‘What about House of Ainsworth?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t fear the competition.
Vogue
said our designs would set trends. That means everyone else follows.’

‘Well, be careful with those precious sketches!’