The Tailor's Girl (29 page)

‘Only if you’ll be in my bridal party. I want a Wynter on both sides!’

Charlie grinned. ‘I’d love to.’

‘Well, anyway, Nicola originally visited a rather amazing new salon that’s opened in Chelsea, called Valentine’s. Not only is the salon frightfully daring, the owner – Eden Valentine – is stunning and her sketches are breathtakingly original. Everything we look at in the American or French magazines she’s already channelling, but better.’

Her listeners looked impressed.

‘Then why are they now using House of Ainsworth for the bridal party?’ Cecily wondered.

‘Beats me, but I’m going to stick with Eden Valentine. I think she’s fabulous and her model could make a bag of rags look spectacular. I shall definitely be dressed by them.’

‘Well done, Pen. Then I will too,’ Charlie said. ‘She sounds exciting.’

‘As we’ve ruined your few days with Julian, do you fancy coming up to London with me and we can meet her?’

‘Yes, you two. Away to London. You can stay at the Belgravia apartment if you need, Charlie.’

‘Perfect, Mother. We can walk to the salon, no doubt?’

‘Absolutely,’ Pen said. ‘I may use the telephone now and make an appointment.’

Alex strolled back in. ‘Oh, you’re not still talking about satin and lace, are you?’

‘Just finished,’ Pen said. ‘Will you drive us up to London tomorrow, Lex?’

‘I don’t see why not. I need to see my own tailor, anyway. Time to get that spring wardrobe sorted.’

‘And a Morning Grey for the wedding, darling,’ Pen reminded.

_______________

Although they were as close as sisters these days, Edie and Madeleine had opted not to share their accommodation, even though it made sense. Edie had offered to look for a three-bedroom apartment but Madeleine had been wise enough to point out that such an arrangement had the potential to fast become a thorn in Edie’s side.

‘I stay up late, I smoke, drink champagne when I can afford to and I like entertaining men when the mood takes me. And I play jazz very loudly on the gramophone while we enjoy each other. I like to walk around in my dressing gown; better still, naked.’ She’d smiled lazily at her friend. ‘I’ve lived alone for too long,
cherie
. I love you, I love Tommy, but I live by a set of my own rules that are not ideal for raising a child.’

So while Madeleine had moved into a rented apartment at Thurloe Square in South Kensington, Edie had made her home in a tiny two-bedroom flat in Flood Street, Chelsea, that she was able to buy. It was so convenient for her salon, she could cut down into the Kings Road via the embankment and at the end of the street was The Coopers Arms, where she and Madeleine could share a meal when they were too tired to cook. Or if Edie was missing her cottage garden in Epping, she could spend a happy hour in the Chelsea Physic Garden at the end of her street, and Tommy had somewhere to play.

A lady from the neighbourhood whom Edie had spent time finding and interviewing was a retired teacher who was happy to earn some shillings, and between her and Tilda, the two provided all the grandmotherly love that Tommy could want. Mrs Miller had Tommy for a few hours most days and Eden took Mondays off to be at home just for her little boy and Wednesday afternoons when she did her chores with Tommy in tow. The fourteen-month-old was thriving in the care of several women and soon would be ready for nursery school.

Buses plied the busy King’s Road but Edie preferred to walk it, passing by its shops, getting a feeling for the streets and the people moving through them and what they wore.

Madeleine usually opened up, as Edie was rarely in before quarter past ten, after settling Tommy with Mrs Miller. Madeleine walked into the ‘wardrobe’, as they called it, to view the gown that Eden had been working on. Eden had kept a cloak of secrecy around it, even from Madeleine. She was apparently frightened of seeing looks of disapproval as she took an even more daring path.

And as the French model unbuttoned the soft cotton bag that protected the fragile gown and watched it fall away, she gave a soft gasp of pleasure.

It was exquisite. Flying in the face of the trend towards shorter hemlines, Edie had dropped the length back down to the ankles of the mannequin upon which she’d hung it. Madeleine knew it had been made to her height and sizing, and also instinctively recognised that this was her friend’s most inspired creation to date.

She remembered Edie’s words after the Fincham fiasco: ‘I think a bride in a short dress, no matter how young she may be, appears somehow undignified. For a start, the length becomes immediately unbalanced with a veil and train.’

And here was the result. Madeleine caressed the gently drop-waisted dress in the softest of organza and ecru
crepe de Chine
, with its elaborate embroidery at its base studded with pearls. Sleeves of gossamer Duchesse Brussels lace gave the gown a sense of the provocative without any vulgarity. The flesh of this bride would be seen, but sheathed. ‘Oh, Eden, you are a sorceress with the needle,’ Madeleine whispered. ‘No woman could resist this.’

The phone rang and Madeleine glanced at her watch. It wasn’t even nine-thirty yet. She ducked out of the wardrobe and back to the office.

‘Valentine’s, this is Madeleine?’

‘Oh, good morning, Madeleine. I don’t know if you remember me but my name is Penelope Aubrey-Finch and I came into the salon with Miss Fincham.’

Madeleine hesitated as she took her mind back to the warring Finchams.

‘Ah, yes, I modelled the bridal and bridesmaids’ gowns for your party,’ she said, taking care to keep all bitterness from her tone. ‘I do hope you are not enquiring after Miss Valentine’s sketches . . . they curiously went missing.’ She let the accusation hang.

‘I saw the newspaper feature. I did wonder about the gown and whether it really did belong to House of Ainsworth. I’m so sorry at what must have occurred.’

Madeleine sensibly hesitated in responding, suddenly curious but also vaguely embarrassed.

‘You see, I am getting married too . . . er, we’re in a hurry. Oh, dear, that sounds terrible. I’ve just loved this man since we were children and finally he’s noticed me and I refuse to give him a chance to change his mind!’

Madeleine smiled, her heart warming to Miss Aubrey-Finch. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Oh, thank you. I’m so happy I think I could just explode.’

Madeleine chuckled. ‘How can Valentine’s help you, Miss Aubrey-Finch?’ she said, although she could now guess.

‘Well, I adored Miss Valentine. I adored her salon and her sketches, and the gowns we viewed were the most exciting designs I’ve ever seen. I want to ask her to make my bridal gown and my bridal party’s gowns.’

Madeleine’s breath caught.

‘I also want to know if Miss Valentine would consider making a new wardrobe for me. You see, I could tell she’s a woman of immense style. I wanted to rip that gorgeous tweed suit right off her and claim it as my own,’ Pen said and chuckled. ‘You must think I’m mad, sorry. I’m intoxicated by happiness. It will settle.’

‘I don’t think you are mad at all. Eden Valentine is my friend but in spite of my bias, I believe she is going to create a storm of interest.’

‘Oh, so do I! And I want to be one of her first brides.’

‘You would be her very first, Miss Aubrey-Finch.’

‘All the better. And I want to get her name moving in the right circles if I can lend any assistance.’

‘
Zut, alors!
’

The client chuckled. ‘I did some of my schooling in Paris, Madeleine,’ she said in flawless but still conversational French.

Madeleine appreciated hearing her own language and used it to speak candidly to her new client. ‘Thank you for bringing your business to Valentine’s, Miss Aubrey-Finch. I would be lying if I said we have been anything but glum since the sketches were discovered missing and published under another design house’s name. But Eden is choosing to leap over the obstacle and start again. Forgive me, but it was easier to make such an exclamation aloud in French.’

‘I understand,’ Pen continued, then shifted back to English. ‘Gosh. She’s a saint.’

Madeleine returned to her adopted language. ‘What she is, is immensely talented and if what she’s replaced her signature gown with is anything to go by, I believe Eden is going to emerge with an even stronger look. I think she would be delighted to dress you for your honeymoon and beyond.’

‘You’ve made me very excited and I desperately want to see the new design now!’

Madeleine smiled. ‘Are you in London, Miss Aubrey-Finch?’

‘I will be tomorrow. May I come into the salon the day after?’

‘Of course. Shall we say eleven a.m. on Thursday, then?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Are you accompanied by anyone?’

‘Yes, a Miss Charlotte Wynter. She’s to be my head bridesmaid.’

‘Excellent. And your mother?’

‘No. I’ll be making my own decision about my gown, Madeleine. Mummy can see it at the first fitting.’

Madeleine smiled to herself and cheered inwardly at the good news awaiting Eden. ‘We shall look forward to seeing you on Thursday –
à bientôt
.’

_______________

‘You’re quite sure?’ Edie asked.

‘It’s one minute past. And it’s drizzling, Eden. She’s coming, I promise.’

‘Oh, I hope so. I asked around about Miss Aubrey-Finch. Serious socialite, Mads. Parents fantastically wealthy . . . old, old money with French connections, apparently.’

‘Well, I have to say she sounded delightful on the telephone. Ah, here she comes. That’s her getting out of the car on the other side of the street.’ She flapped at her friend. ‘Go out the back, Eden. You need to make an entrance.’

‘What?’

Madeleine hissed and shooed her away.

Edie couldn’t see but had to listen to the gentle tinkle of the door being swung open and a woman’s voice calling: ‘Bye, Lex. Thanks again, darling,’ and then two women laughing about scurrying in from the drizzle.
What happened to summer?
Edie wondered. Disappeared in a blink and now it was October already. She hoped Mrs Miller would be able to get Tommy out to the park . . .

‘Miss Aubrey-Finch?’ she heard Madeleine say.

‘Yes, but do please call me Penelope. You must be Madeleine.
Enchanté
.’

‘
Enchanté,
’ Madeleine replied. ‘And . . . Miss Wynter, I believe?’

‘Charlotte. But call me Charlie, because everyone else does.’

‘I shall call you Charlotte because it’s a beautiful name, like its owner,’ Madeleine said and Edie grinned behind the scene. ‘Let me take your coats, ladies. Was that your fiancé, Penelope?’

‘Yes. Alex drove us up to London yesterday and was far too gallant to let his favourite girls get wet this morning so he gave us his black brolly. I’ll put it here, shall I?’

‘I like him already.’ Madeleine smiled. ‘Let me take that umbrella and I shall call Miss Valentine. Can I get you anything?’

Eden straightened her dress as she heard the women politely decline, explaining that the man called Alex had also treated them to a slap-up breakfast that morning. She took a deep breath. She’d been very daring today, dressing in a masculine way, which she knew would challenge the notion of a designer for a giggling bride and her maid. The box-cut coat in navy wool and matching tailored skirt was a neat, simple autumn suit with its only embellishment the crimson tussah silk lining that flashed if she took her jacket off. It was how she’d styled it that might catch the most attention.

Madeleine arrived and nodded at her. ‘Ready to do battle?’

‘Get dressed into the new gown! We might as well go for broke.’

They hugged and parted, Madeleine already tearing off her wraparound skirt, while Eden lifted her shoulders and walked briskly into her salon.

‘Miss Aubrey-Finch and Miss Wynter, how lovely to see you and welcome to Valentine’s.’

Both women audibly gasped.

Eden had anticipated it and felt immediate relief. She’d already won them. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

‘No, not at all,’ said the blonde with the dazzling smile who stood to greet her and who must surely be Penelope. ‘Your tie . . . it’s . . . amazing! Please call me Penelope.’

‘Thank you. This will be all the rage shortly. I thought I’d lead the charge.’

‘It’s wonderful! The colour is . . . dangerous.’

Eden grinned. ‘Well, in the depths of a British winter – which is surely coming at us faster than we’d all hoped – there is nothing so cheering as a splash of bright colour on a woman, don’t you agree?’

‘I do. Oh, you’re a woman after my own heart, Miss Valentine. This is Charlotte, my bridesmaid.’

‘And I’m Eden,’ she said, for the first time embracing her full name for the power Madeleine always maintained it held. ‘I can see from how you’re dressed, Penelope, that I have little to suggest to you about enhancing your own beauty. I think you understand your body and you dress it with elegance.’

The blonde woman glanced at her friend in pleasure. ‘Thank you. That means a great deal coming from you.’

‘A bridal gown is arguably the most important, potentially the most expensive, often the most public, gown a woman may ever wear. Some women need more guidance about what might suit them best. I don’t think you do, so I shall just let you tell me what you see yourself wearing. I gather it’s a spring wedding?’

‘End of April, yes,’ Penelope began. ‘But I don’t want to go white. Ivory is my first inclination but I’m not sure it suits my hair colour. I was thinking a richer cream tone. Silk and lace, of course.’ She shrugged. ‘Which girl doesn’t want that on her wedding day? As for styling, I’d rather hear what you think will grab just the right attention.’

From listening to Penelope, Edie already knew that her light ecru signature gown was going to be perfect on Miss Aubrey-Finch. She called for Madeleine and even Edie felt as though her heart stilled a moment when her friend glided out in her newest creation, which floated off her tall frame effortlessly.

Edie stole a glance at Penelope and noticed her client’s mouth was open, her gaze wide and shining with awe. Yes indeed, this was the gown for Penelope Aubrey-Finch and the one that would put Valentine’s on every new debutante’s list of must-have labels.