The Tailor's Girl (21 page)

‘Yes, who is Monsieur Faubourg? Don’t say a former lover.’

Madeleine raised an eyebrow. ‘He was a lover, once.’

‘I know you say things like that to shock me. It doesn’t work any more.’

‘You are a changed woman.’

‘I am,’ she sighed, joining Madeleine at the window, shielding Tommy’s eyes from the piercingly bright shaft of sunlight. ‘I feel as though I’ve lived several lives: the life as my father’s daughter and brother’s sister, then the life as my father’s companion and carer, his friend and partner in the business.’ She paused. ‘And then my life as a woman in love . . . a wife, now a mother.’ Her voice shook momentarily. ‘Don’t worry. I refuse to get maudlin in Paris!’

‘Eden, I’d be more worried if you bottled it all up. I prefer emotions to be shown. It’s very French, too.’

‘Well, I can see why you chose Paris. It’s so effervescent here. Even this place; I can’t imagine how much it’s worth.’

Madeleine turned back into the apartment. ‘A cool fortune, as you English say. Nothing in this neighbourhood comes cheap.’

‘These parquetry floors are so beautiful,’ Eden said, kicking off her sandals to feel the soft timber beneath her feet. ‘In fact, everything about this apartment, from its gilding to its gorgeous, romantic shuttered windows, speaks to my design sense.’

‘Good, then use it!’

‘When are we meeting Mademoiselle Veronique?’

‘Tomorrow at ten. So today is ours to roam. Are you both up to it?’

‘I couldn’t bear to waste a moment in sleep. Besides, I don’t want to dream. Tom waits there.’

‘Then we shall sleep when we’re dead,’ Madeleine announced and they dissolved into amusement.

‘Mads, you are good for me. And thanks for arranging the pram.’

‘Don’t mention it. All of my old friends owe favours anyway. Come on, let’s change into our finest and take a promenade around the Luxembourg Gardens. Tommy will love the fresh air and you are going to think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Actually, no, that’s how you’ll feel when you see Versailles. Hurry! Tonight we might be able to hear Kiki sing.’

‘Kiki?’

‘Model, singer, cabaret artist. The Belle of Montparnasse.’

‘You know Kiki?’

‘Know her? We spent some of our childhood together. And I believe I did some nude modelling with her!’ She gave a dramatic pause and Edie gasped for her benefit.

‘I’d better put through a call to Ben first. I promised I would.’

‘I’m glad you’ve renewed that friendship. He seems fond of Tommy.’

She nodded. ‘Too fond, in fact.’

_______________

As Edie and Madeleine discussed him, Benjamin Levi sat in his office, not far from The Strand, and gazed, fixated on an image in the morning’s newspaper that had taken his breath away. The steaming cup of tea delivered by his assistant had cooled, untouched.

Unaware of the traffic sounds, the slow tick of the clock on his mantelpiece or the distant clatter of typewriters beyond his office door, he stared at the face of a man with the potential to ruin his life . . . again. Was it him or just his imagination?

Ben took a painful breath and moistened dry lips, realising that his hair felt as though it was standing to attention and the warmth from the grate could not touch the chill he was feeling. The name sounded like a klaxon in his mind as he read it repeatedly . . .

Ben looked away from the copy and gazed at the features that he feared had once been hidden by a beard. For several long minutes now he’d dithered between believing his assumption and then telling himself it was pure fancy. He couldn’t know for sure and yet his instincts suggested there was no doubting those eyes, or that haunted expression. Could it really be penniless, broken Tom? Tom, the war hero. Tom, the usurper. Tom, the thief who had stolen Edie from him. Tom, who had little to offer his bride but a ramshackle cottage out in the sticks and piecemeal work as a bookkeeper?

He couldn’t be sure. But he also couldn’t take his eyes off the dashing figure with the rakish smile.

The solicitor let out a ragged laugh. Had poverty-stricken Tom with the grand ideas and fine manners turned out to be one of the nation’s wealthiest sons from a family of enviable pedigree? It horrified him. Alex Wynter had everything to offer Edie Valentine. Jealousy of this stranger cut through him, hard on the heels of his quickening anger. Maybe he wasn’t a stranger.

Had Edie seen this morning’s newspaper on her way to Paris? If so, then his quest to rekindle her affections might already be lost. There had never been anyone else for him and the only way he would ever forgive her for her public betrayal was if she were to accept his offer of marriage when he made it again. His mother had admitted to wanting to spit on Nina Valentine’s grave for birthing a daughter who had brought such shame to the Levi family, but Ben’s obsession for Edie was as strong as it had ever been. He had remained politely detached from all eligible partners until even a determined Dena had given up her campaign to see her son married to a different girl.

Tom’s disappearance had brought Ben such pleasure he was embarrassed by it, and couldn’t risk looking upon Edie for a fortnight afterwards until he had his glee under control. And then he’d begun his new campaign. Slow, gentle, clinical almost, as he’d shown what a stand-up fellow he was in letting the past remain as old history, not to be revisited. Ben made twice-weekly trips to Epping Hospital, bringing fashion magazines and flowers for her, clothes for the boy. And if his feelings for Edie could be termed obsessive, then his fascination for the child had become consuming. A son. Everything he dreamed of, everything his parents wanted now out of life. He wanted that child to be his. He would give him a home, his name, and never let who sired him enter his consciousness. He would only look for Edie’s qualities in the child, ignoring anything that might echo his real father.

It irked that she had called him Tommy, but if he won Edie back he would find a way to convince her to call him by his middle name. Daniel was Jewish. Daniel Levi worked, in his mind. But for the time being Ben made no demands. He’d known that first he must restore Edie’s trust and then their friendship until she leaned on him, laughed with him again. Then he knew he must support her endeavours, show her that he was a different man – even though he loathed her modern thinking and her need to earn her own income while somehow juggling motherhood.

He’d also worked hard to pass whatever tests her French friend had set for him. Madeleine now seemed less challenging around him; accepting that he was re-emerging into Edie’s life. Madeleine wasn’t jealous of him, but she was protective of Edie. The ace was that Madeleine had never met Tom, never been seduced by the charm and attraction that had swept Edie from him.

He sat back, staring at the smiling photo of Wynter.

‘Is that you, Tom?’ he murmured at the stranger. The delight looked genuine enough in Wynter’s expression and yet Ben believed he could see behind it to the ghost trapped inside. If Alex Wynter was Tom Valentine, then he surely couldn’t be thinking about Edie, or he would be at her side right now. So what had happened? No one in their right mind would leave Eden Valentine behind. If Wynter was Tom, then he had forgotten her.

Ben gave a low sneer. Oh, he was so close now. Edie was more than just his friend again. She was opening up to his affections; she’d let him hold her hand, hug her in the way that people who are more than simple friends hug. Soon he would find the courage, and the moment, to kiss Edie and declare his love. But all of this would collapse if she even suspected that Tom was accessible.

Edie’s future looked achingly bright if she could completely let go of Tom, and it was here that Ben was suspended with indecision. He wanted the bridal salon to help Edie move beyond her hurts but not to the point where it gave her such confidence that she believed herself independent enough that she may not consider Ben’s proposal. He felt himself trapped, privately despising her growing independence and yet needing to be seen to foster it if he was to win her back. What’s more, he was going to have to ignore the fact that he believed Tom was alive or he would be breaking the law by marrying Edie . . . if she’d have him.

He gave a low growl, ripping the page of the newspaper he hadn’t realised he was suddenly holding so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. The phone rang.

‘Yes!’ he snarled.

‘Forgive me, Mr Levi, but I thought you may want to take this call from Miss Valentine. She’s ringing from Paris.’

‘Yes . . . yes, of course,’ he said, blinking in embarrassment. ‘Thank you.’ He waited, listening to the instant silence and then a series of clicks.

‘Go ahead, please,’ his assistant said and he heard a final clunk.

‘Hello, Edie?’ He felt sick. It was as though she knew he’d been plotting. He flung the paper aside, as though fearful she could somehow see it, suspect his cunning.

‘Oh, Ben, hello!’ Her low voice in a new breezy tone gushed. ‘Sorry. I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

He swallowed. ‘No, no . . . not really. Er, you sound as though you’re calling from the bottom of the ocean.’

‘I know . . . horrible echo, too. I won’t stay, I just wanted to let you know we’ve arrived safely.’

Was that all? ‘Oh . . . good. Excellent. I’ve been wondering. You know, you and Tommy are never far from my thoughts, Edie.’

‘I do, Ben. You’re very sweet.’

‘How is my little man?’ He held his breath. Was he pushing too hard?

‘Perfect. He made the crossing without a whimper. It’s cool but gorgeous here. No rain. We nearly missed the train, though. Had to run for our lives to make it.’

‘Really? No chance to grab papers and magazines to read on the way, then?’ He winced at how obvious he sounded.

‘No chance to grab anything but our hats and run down the platform. I’m assuming there’s no news worth worrying about?’

‘No, Edie.’ He breathed relief. ‘All very boring and nothing at all like the time you’re going to have in Paris. I do hope you have fun.’

‘Thanks, Ben. Well, I’d better dash. Mads is waiting – we’re in an apartment on the Left Bank and we’re heading out to Montparnasse this evening. She’s got a friend to babysit Tommy. A lovely older woman who lives in the apartment below.’

‘Perhaps one day you’ll show me your Paris.’
On our honeymoon
, he added silently.

‘
Au revoir
, Ben.’ He imagined her smiling as she spoke his name.

‘Be good,’ he joked.

‘Always. See you in a few days.’

‘I’m taking you to dinner when you get back. Make sure Madeleine can babysit.’

‘I’ll hold you to it. Must go.’

He heard the click as the line went dead and found justification in his heart that what Edie didn’t know, she didn’t need to learn from him. With his confidence restored, he decided to risk another call.

With a drumming heart Ben picked up the phone again and asked his assistant to connect him to a new number. He waited nervously until the phone jangled and startled him.

‘Yes?’

‘I have Mr Wynter’s office for you.’

‘Thank you.’ He waited, dry-mouthed.

‘Hello, Mr Levi, this is Alex Wynter’s secretary.’

He knew his secretary would have mentioned his city law firm’s name. Wynter’s secretary shouldn’t be too hard to get past. Ben cleared his throat. ‘Is Mr Wynter available please? It’s . . . a personal call.’

‘May I ask you to hold the line for a moment, please?’

‘Of course.’

Breathe
, he told himself as he waited and heard odd clicks and buzzes, and the distant echoes of voices that were tripping over phone lines.

‘I’ll put you through now, Mr Levi,’ she said, sounding suddenly loud in his ear.

‘Hello, this is Alex Wynter,’ came a familiar voice. Ben felt his throat tighten. No doubt now. It was Tom.

‘Mr Wynter. I’m um . . . Benjamin Levi,’ he said, saying his name carefully and listening for the reaction. He gave his firm’s name. Wynter didn’t interrupt. ‘I believe my father knew yours and as my old man hasn’t been well,’ he lied, ‘I thought I should make the effort on his behalf to convey our family’s condolences at your loss.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Wynter said, although Ben heard a note of soft irritation in his tone. ‘Coming up for a year ago now, Mr Levi.’ It sounded like an admonishment.

Ben had to think fast. ‘Yes, forgive me for raising it. It’s just his name came up in conversation and my father mentioned his regret at not passing on the family’s wishes at the time. I . . . er, well, I felt I should. Forgive me for calling, Mr Wynter, perhaps I should have written to you instead.’ Wynter said nothing on the other end and Ben licked his lips with the tense sound of silence punctuated only by the clicks and whirrs of the connection. ‘I don’t wish to press on a wound but my other reason for calling was to express my firm’s desire to offer our legal assistance should you ever require them,’ he said, finding himself on the more familiar turf of selling the firm’s services. ‘As our fathers go back well before the war, I thought it polite to ensure this generation kept the connection. No pressure, of course. I presume you have your legal counsel in place, Mr Wynter, but should you ever have the situation arise where you might wish some independent advice, please don’t hesitate.’ He blew out his breath silently, relieved that he had navigated his way through this treacherous path relatively well.

‘Thank you,’ Wynter replied, his tone more accommodating. ‘I’m sorry that I don’t recognise your family name. I was . . . well, away for the war and then was rather late in returning to my family, actually.’

‘Of course,’ Ben said. ‘I do wish you every success at the head of Wynter & Co.’

‘I appreciate that. Goodbye, Mr Levi.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Wynter.’
Good riddance, Tom.
Ben permitted himself a smug smile after he took a sip of the tea, ignoring the notion that it tasted as cold as his heart felt.