The Tailor's Girl (6 page)

Tom cleared his throat. ‘Edie is beautiful. I —’

‘Eden is also promised, Tom,’ Abe cut across him softly, then fixed him with a mournful gaze.

‘Yes, I’ve gathered as much. Of course, it is nearly 1920 and today’s woman has the well-deserved luxury of —’

‘She will marry Benjamin Levi next month,’ Abe said, ruthlessly dashing Tom’s embryonic hope that there might be a chance for him.

‘So soon?’ was all he could force out beneath the weight of Abe’s heartless revelation.

The old man continued, oblivious to Tom’s pain but not to his intent; the younger man heard the warning in his tone. ‘He’s a good boy. They’ve known each other since nursery days. Our two families decided on this course before my darling Edie was born. He has prospects . . .’ Abe let that hang.

‘I dare say,’ Tom said, clearing his throat. ‘But Edie has dreams for her tailoring.’

‘She is a seamstress . . . a dressmaker.’

‘And yet you have her sewing suiting.’

Abe’s expression, despite the low light and the dancing flames, appeared as wintry as the November night outside.

‘What exactly has Edie been saying to you . . . a stranger?’

Tom shook his head. ‘It’s perhaps what she didn’t say. She mentioned the dream of having her own shop.’

‘Ah, yes, the dream of a little girl, which a lone parent, lonely himself and very much in love and proud of his daughter, perhaps indulges. But this is not the aspiration of a woman. Soon she will have responsibilities of being a wife, a mother . . .’

‘Forgive me, this is none of my business, I realise, but Abe, the roles of women are surely changing. You’re talking about the women of a previous century, not the modern woman who has been running the country in the absence of the men who were busy getting killed on the battlefields of Europe and beyond.’

He regretted the outburst immediately. It was insensitive, critical and patronising.

‘You’re right, Tom, this is not your business. Edie will marry and she will live under the rules of her husband’s household. I think we should talk about something else.’

Edie leaned back into the corner and wiped away silent tears. Dear Tom. He’d gone into battle for her without even being asked. Had she led him into that fight? Maybe she had. She couldn’t pretend to herself that she’d not encouraged him, remembering her daring opening conversation with the stranger, her even more daring entertainment of helping him escape the hospital, the intimate smiles, their closeness on the bus, their laughter in the rain . . . Who was she kidding that she didn’t feel a current passing between them? She nearly dropped the bread plate when he accidentally touched her, and how she didn’t tremble over her father’s blessing she would never know. She was also sure she was not imagining that Tom had begun to believe they might become more than new friends. If the way he’d resisted letting go of her hand after the prayer was a glimpse behind the polite mask he’d put on for her father, then she needed to dissuade him quickly.

Her father had been dreaming of linking the Levi and Valentine families since her mother’s passing more than two decades previous. She’d heard the shock in Tom’s voice at her father’s remark about how soon the wedding was, and yet she’d also heard how unflinchingly he’d taken on Abe Valentine and argued for her. Few people would. Her father was one of the elders of Golders Green; his words were heard, his advice heeded. His words echoed, each like a small punch: ‘she will live under the rules of her husband’s household’.

More rules. Men’s rules. Her dreams and desires? Irrelevant. And here was a stranger called Tom, fighting for her right to make her own decisions. While she, cringing in the shadows, had never yet found the courage to say to Abe Valentine what her brave, battle-scarred soldier had just said, blundering into the no-man’s-land that was Jewish custom. Her father had not lied. She had known Ben Levi since both of them had been old enough to walk and talk. Their two mothers had been close friends and when Ben had been born his mother had looked at pregnant Nina Valentine and wished that she were carrying a daughter. They’d agreed that if the child were a girl, then she would be promised to Ben. Their families would join. Her father was simply following the plan . . . but no one had asked Edie whether this pledge suited her. She had always known of the betrothal to Ben. She’d just not taken it seriously enough and now it was too late; marriage was almost upon her.

Edie stared at the rose-gold ring she’d taken off this morning and forgotten to put on before she’d headed to the hospital. It was back in place now, proclaiming that she was ‘spoken for’, with its tiny embedded diamond catching the light, and she had to quickly swallow a sob. Age had caught up with her and so had Ben and their mothers’ promises. In twenty-seven days she would meekly agree with the rabbi that she was now to be known as Eden Levi. Meanwhile a man she knew so little about was willing her to cling to being Valentine, and to fight for her dream. Most of all she sensed that Tom was silently tapping into her own fears that regret was just twenty-six nights away. Everything that had happened since meeting Tom confirmed that she did not want this marriage as much as everyone else around her did. She was a helpless marionette dancing beneath strings being pulled by others.

But Tom had no strings. Tom was free. She was helplessly drawn to him, wanting to learn more about him, to spend time with him, even though Abba’s glares forbade it and Ben would loathe him; but then Ben loathed any other man who might potentially show interest in her. She’d learned that the hard way when she was seventeen and had attended a local gathering with one of her peers from her father’s synagogue. Ben had made a terrible scene when he’d caught sight of them laughing in a café together. It was only then that the full realisation of what her mother’s promise to Ben’s family meant hit her – exclusivity, control, power. But how does a daughter remain dutiful if she defies her parents’ wishes? And once Daniel – her only conspirator – had died, she felt it was now her duty more than ever to remain obedient. It was a demonstration of her love and commitment to the Valentine family.

Wedding arrangements had gone ahead, with Ben’s mother masterminding them in the absence of Nina. Edie had become resigned, but then there had never been an alternative; no one had challenged Ben’s presence or sense of ownership of Edie until tonight . . . until she’d heard that catch in Tom’s voice when Abba had reinforced Edie’s engagement.

She couldn’t help enjoying the way he watched her, that lingering gaze of his that made her blush and feel deliciously uncomfortable. The private smile they’d shared in the kitchen felt like a thousand words were carried within it . . . all of them dangerously romantic. Tom’s very presence was exciting. She wanted to march into the sitting room and yell at her father that the best she had with Ben was fun memories and secrets from childhood – a past, but no hope of a future.

She heard the men shifting in their seats in the room next door, and she tiptoed hurriedly to the kitchen to pick up the tray. Wiping her eyes with a handkerchief and pinching her cheeks, she whisked the tea tray into the hall, nearly bumping into Tom.

‘I thought you may need some help,’ he said.

‘I’m fine. Thank you,’ she said and then smiled. ‘Oh, well, you can take this. I’ve forgotten the milk.’

She pushed the tray towards him and felt his fingers touch hers as he took it. It was surely deliberate. Edie was convinced that if she looked down at her hands now she would see scorch marks where Tom’s fingertips had caressed hers. Instead she swallowed, rubbing her empty hands against her apron as he turned back to where her father waited. Tom looked so suddenly imposing in the low light. Her father was clearly unwilling to let her have any more moments alone, perhaps fearing she could become susceptible to Tom’s obvious charm. Well, it was too late for that . . . she was ready to surrender to it.

She returned to the sitting room. ‘Are you warm enough, Abba?’

He nodded silently, taking the cup of coffee she offered. Edie could still feel the men’s previous conversation hanging uncomfortably in the air. She plunged in as though she was none the wiser to what had been discussed.

‘Did you resolve the questions of the fabric?’

‘We didn’t,’ Abe admitted. ‘Tom was going to tell me his plan.’

Tom gave a rueful shrug. ‘No plan, just a notion for how to make that fabric pay you back.’

‘Do you suggest I just travel to Savile Row in the city and hawk it on a wheelbarrow?’ Abe asked.

‘No. I’d suggest you make up a set of samples – a sort of catalogue – so you can show your fabrics to the buyers. How many tailoring salons are there?’

Abe sighed. ‘It’s growing. Perhaps six at the moment, but I know of two more that may open up soon enough.’

‘That’s eight to sell to.’

Abe shook his head warily.

‘It’s a good plan, Abba,’ Edie pressed. ‘At least Tom has a relevant suggestion about that fabric – all I did was nag.’

‘I don’t want to go cap in hand to Savile Row,’ Abe admitted finally. ‘I don’t want to be the desperate Jew. I am doing just fine.’

‘But you agree, the cloth is just wasted money if we don’t use it or sell it.’

‘Of course! I have scores of pounds tied up in my storeroom.’

Tom sighed. ‘All right. How’s this, then, Abe? You get the buyers to come here and I’ll triple what you paid for it. Use me as an intermediary and keep yourself at a distance.’

The old man laughed. ‘Triple. Now that’s a business I’d like a part of.’

‘I’m not lying. I’m confident.’

‘I can see. I have to wonder from where this confidence springs when you have no memory and my daughter tells me a mere bus backfiring can turn you into a gibbering heap.’

Edie gasped. ‘Abba, that’s not fair.’

The old man shrugged.

‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ Edie said for him.

‘Don’t be,’ Tom said. ‘Your father speaks the truth.’

‘And what do you get out of this, Tom?’ Abe demanded quietly.

‘Nothing, Sir. I only want to see it happen. I’m grateful for the generosity shown to me. It’s a way of returning your kindness.’

‘You want no cut, Tom? Is that what you’re telling me?’

Tom looked at his elder, frowning. Abe was clearly unsettled by his approach. ‘Cut? No, not at all. I simply see an opportunity for your family. Abe, you’ve taken me in. You’ve fed me. You’ve been kind to me and, more so, understanding of my condition.’

‘I’ll stop you there, son,’ Abe said, holding up a hand. ‘It is Edie here who has shown you those courtesies. She is her mother’s girl through and through.’

Tom shook his head. ‘From what I see she’s the tailor’s girl through and through . . . because Abe, while Edie looked upon me as an injured animal, you saw the man and you’re the one who has taken me into your home. In just a few hours I’ve invaded your privacy, you’ve said prayers with me, broken bread with me, even given me your precious son’s suit, for heaven’s sake. You’ve given me work that made me feel useful and productive again. And this work has given rise to an idea that prompts me to believe I have a fully engaged mind again, even if my memory has failed me. You’ve made me feel as though I have something to contribute again to the world.’

‘All that from some old clothes and a stew, Tom?’ Abe said, chuckling.

But Tom would not let him make light of it. ‘Abe, because of today I know I can build a new life for myself. I’m going to stop reaching for the past, picking at my mind as one picks at a scab. It’s done. It’s behind me. And the war is over. I realise I’m lucky I don’t remember all of it. Today is the first day of my new life. I’m going to make a good life, Abe, and I hope you and Edie will always be friends in it.’

Edie was staring at the flames but she couldn’t hide the water in her eyes at Tom’s provocative words. He had to look away from her.

‘I’m pleased for you, son,’ Abe admitted. ‘I’ll help you. Let’s get you started in this new life of yours. I’ll bring some of the buyers to the shop. I’ll give you four weeks. You get me my money back on the cloth and whatever you make on top is yours.’

Edie shifted to look at her father, open-mouthed. Tom said nothing, waiting for Edie’s lead. ‘Do you mean that, Abba?’ she whispered.

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

Edie’s gaze moved to Tom. ‘Do you hear that, Tom?’

‘I don’t know what to say, Abe.’

‘Don’t say anything. Let’s see your mettle first, son. These buyers are tougher than you imagine,’ the older man said, tapping his nose. ‘Mostly Jews, and we are not known for giving away our money freely.’ He chuckled at his own remark and Tom sensibly held his tongue. ‘They’ll beat you down.’

‘Let’s see, shall we?’ Tom said.

‘Indeed. I’ll set the idea in motion tomorrow.’ Abe stood. ‘I have coffee with one of the tailors at Gieves & Hawkes. He won’t be able to resist taking the news back when I tell him about the beautiful cloth I have.’

Edie grinned. ‘This is exciting.’

‘Too much excitement for me, I’m afraid,’ Abe said and kissed his daughter. ‘Good night, my darling girl.’ He reached a hand out to their guest. ‘Sleep soundly, Tom. You have a big adventure ahead.’

Tom grinned. ‘Good night, Abe. Thank you again for your hospitality.’

Abe made shooshing noises but Tom saw warning in the hooded expression he cast and knew what it meant.

When Abe had shuffled out, Edie turned. ‘Thank you, Tom.’

‘What for? Good gracious, the Valentines have —’

‘You know what for,’ she said softly. ‘I’m afraid my father is extremely old-fashioned. He struggled to let me out to fulfil my war duties. It’s only because I said he should think of Daniel that he relented.’

‘What did you do?’ Tom asked, putting his cup and saucer back on the tray. It meant he could sit closer to the fire . . . and to Edie.

‘I helped to produce supplies for the soldiers. I sewed shirts, bandages, absolutely anything that a needle and thread could do, I did. I often felt I should work in one of the munitions factories. Those girls – they called them canaries – took on such dangerous work with poisons.’

Tom shook his head. ‘Edie, everyone was doing their bit in the very best way they could. Why were they nicknamed canaries?’

She smiled sadly. ‘Their skin took on a yellow tinge because of the sulphur they worked with. I couldn’t help but envy them that courage. They really felt part of the war effort.’

‘And you didn’t?’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps I should have joined the Land Army and helped the farmers grow the food for our soldiers or something.’

‘Your skills may have saved lives, you know. Only a talented seamstress could have turned out the goods you made with such speed or dexterity.’

‘You’re sweet, Tom, thank you.’

‘I’m going to make Abe change his mind, you know.’

‘About what?’

‘I think you know the answer to that.’

‘He will not agree to my own salon.’

‘No, Edie,’ he said, laying a tentative hand across hers. ‘About Benjamin Levi.’

She pulled her hand away. ‘Don’t, Tom. You . . . you don’t understand.’ She picked up the tray, standing in a hurry.

He, too, stood, taking the tray from her. ‘Do you love him?’ he whispered, staring hard at her.

‘It doesn’t matter what —’

‘Do you love him, Edie?’ Tom pressed, his voice low and urgent.

She shook her head, staring at the tray. ‘I’m not even attracted to him. He’s my oldest friend – that’s how I think of him.’

‘That’s all I need to know,’ he said. ‘Good night, Edie. Thank you for a wonderful evening. I’ll leave this in the kitchen, shall I?’

She nodded, looking slightly ashamed but in equal measure excited. ‘Sleep well,’ she said to his back, knowing full well that she wouldn’t.

_______________

The next day passed uneventfully as Tom worked quietly and diligently in the storeroom, coordinating the cloths – now that he had made an inventory – into colours and fabric styles. Abe returned from taking coffee with the tailor from Savile Row, reporting back that evening over dinner that the seed had been sown.

‘Now we let him water it,’ he said, stirring the chicken soup in his bowl to cool it.