The Tailor's Girl (36 page)

Alex immediately became intense. ‘It’s a crazy question, I know, but I keep having a repetitive dream . . . it’s actually more of a notion, Nancy, because it’s a sound more than an image.’

She frowned, nodded for him to continue.

‘I hear heels, a woman’s heels, and they’re walking away from me. It’s connected with the hospital.’

She looked baffled. ‘Well, no one wears heels on the staff, obviously. Only visitors, and the visitors to your ward were few and far between. There were four of you. Three of the fellows were found by loved ones quite quickly. Perhaps it’s someone to do with one of those families? Although, now I recall, each of those boys was discovered by their fathers and one by both parents. The mother was older, and unlikely to be wearing higher-heeled shoes.’

He sighed out of his nose in soft anguish. It felt like another door slamming in his face. He only had one more door that was open to him. Alex took a slow, inaudible breath this time – it was the last chance.

‘All right, Nancy. I said I had a couple of questions. Here’s the final one and then I promise I’ll let the matter drop.’

‘You look like you have a good life, Alex, and lots of men came home to sad lives, to learn loved ones had died, or they were too wounded to live full lives.’

He pushed on, despite her obvious warning that she felt he shouldn’t be dwelling any further on this matter. ‘I discovered that a tailor by the name of Abraham Valentine made suits for the hospital director who would have been in charge of Edmonton at the time I was a patient.’

She nodded. ‘And?’

‘We believe the suit I was wearing when I remembered my real name had an Abraham Valentine label in it.’

Nancy bit her lip. ‘So how does this help you? What are you trying to find out?’

‘Well, firstly, can you recall whether the suit you gave me was made by that tailor?’

She shook her head, smiling faintly. ‘No. Nothing so fancy. If the head of the hospital wore a suit by that tailor, I can assure you Archie Blundell, who wore it before you, certainly didn’t go to the same tailor. The suit I gave you was worn, patched in places, and really very low quality.’ She smiled wider. ‘But you managed to make it look extremely dashing.’

Alex frowned. ‘You’re sure of that? The patches?’

‘Yes.’

‘The suit I’m referring to had no patches. It was navy in colour and was a high-quality cloth.’

Nancy shrugged. ‘Definitely not the same one, then. Does this help you?’

‘I don’t know. It means I acquired a new suit. Unfortunately Abraham Valentine is dead.’

‘Well, his daughter is probably still alive. She used to deliver the suits to the hospital. Why don’t you track her down? You’ve got money and connections. I’m sure she can be found easily enough and would be happy to help a war veteran. You probably don’t recall this, but you and I discussed her brother, who died at Ypres.’

‘Did we?’

‘Yes. I mentioned it once because she walked past the garden outside your window, and I think she returned the same day of the party to drop off his suit. Yes, she did. I saw her talking to Matron.’ She glanced past his shoulder, dipping slightly to look out and gauge where they were. ‘You take a left once over the bridge, please, driver, and then it’s first right.’

‘Certainly, Miss,’ he said over his shoulder.

She sat back and smiled at Alex. ‘Thank you for this. Would have been a damp journey home for me. I didn’t bother with the errands. This way I got a longer drive in your fancy car.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ he said, a loose thought nagging.

‘Yes, right just here, please,’ Nancy said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I’d like to think of you being very happy, though, with your new bride, and maybe you can put the war and its troubles behind you.’ She patted his arm and there was something achingly familiar about the gesture. He had a flash of Nancy giving him a cheer-up smile, and dressed in an identical uniform. Suddenly he could smell coal-tar soap and the notion of a tarnished mirror struck him, the sound of heels clicking away and the glint of a coin . . . a robin warbling and party bunting being strung up around the hospital, along a short pathway that led to a privet hedge.

‘Here we are,’ she said, brightly. ‘It’s number five, just by the green door.’ She looked up at the darkened sky and the drizzle that had become insistent before turning back to Alex. ‘Don’t get out. You’ll only get wet. Be safe, Alex . . . and, just as important, be happy.’

She turned and opened the door to step out onto the kerb but Alex suddenly grabbed her arm. ‘Nancy, wait!’

She paused. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You said the only delivery people on the day of my disappearance were the grocery boy and a physician, didn’t you?’

She frowned. ‘Yes.’

‘But now you’ve mentioned that the tailor’s daughter was there too.’

‘She was. That’s right. She remarked on all the lovely decorations but wouldn’t stay for the celebrations.’

‘Nancy . . . did the tailor’s daughter wear heels?’

She laughed. ‘Yes. Always immaculately dressed too, she was. She was terribly pretty. Small, dark, lovely figure – and the clothes! She made them herself, I gather. Quite a fashion horse.’ Nancy flipped up her umbrella and as she dashed away he heard her say ‘Bye, Alex!’ He watched her skip up the short path and disappear behind her green door.

Alex hadn’t heard a word she’d said since she’d admitted that Abraham Valentine’s daughter wore heels and wished now he’d asked Nan if she knew her name. He heard the taxi driver asking him whether he was to head back into London and he realised it was getting dark and late.

‘Yes, please, back to St James’s,’ he replied and even shared a grumble at the weather, but Alex didn’t register much at all other than his racing thoughts and a new conviction that the tailor’s girl might hold the key to his past.

Questions collided until his head hurt. He had to find her! And given that Valentine was an unusual name, perhaps Pen’s bridal salon owner might be a relative or may be able to point him in the right direction.

He took out the red handkerchief and stared yet again at the heart-shaped hole cut in its middle. Alex didn’t know the driver was watching from his rear-vision mirror.

‘From your valentine, Sir?’

And Alex’s heart felt as though it skipped a beat.

Edie’s guilt had been escalating since she’d dragged herself from bed mid-morning and finally taken a shower. As soon as she’d emerged from the steam her head felt clearer and the nausea had settled. But now as it closed on four in the afternoon she felt remorseful at having put Miss Aubrey-Finch’s appointment back and regretted that Sarah had spent her first day alone with Madeleine. Edie stared out into the gloom and then back to Tommy, who was playing with wooden bricks . . . or at least with the cardboard box that contained them. A drift of loneliness had swum through her at the sight of the toy that had formerly been Daniel’s, turning her mood from optimistic of the previous evening to fractionally melancholy. In spite of her anger at Ben, it didn’t reduce her sorrow at cutting ties with a childhood companion.

‘Shall we go to the park, Tommy?’ she offered, even though it was darkening rapidly; they could be quick and she could use some fresh air.

‘Park,’ he repeated and blew her a kiss. Her son’s sweetness was just what was needed to remind her she had plenty of love and affection in her life.

The phone rang. ‘Go find your woolly scarf, Tommy. The blue one, like this,’ she said, pointing to her cardigan. ‘Blue. And your gloves,’ she said, mimicking pulling them on. Her little boy lurched off eagerly on surprisingly steady legs. He was defying all the warnings about a premature baby’s development. Soon he’d be running, she thought, and instead of exciting her, it made her even more gloomy.
Don’t grow up and leave me too soon, Tommy . . .

She reached for the jangling receiver. ‘Eden Valentine?’

‘Oh, hello, Eden. Forgive me for disturbing you at home when I know you haven’t been well today.’ She recognised Penelope Aubrey-Finch’s bright voice, full of concern.

‘Hello, Miss Aubrey-Finch.’

‘Oh, do call me Pen, please.’

Eden smiled. She wondered if every person who met this girl fell in love with her. ‘Sorry . . . Pen. Is something wrong?’

‘Not at all. I was just making sure you are well enough and I didn’t want you getting out of a sick bed just for me. You see, I want to invite you out to lunch at The Savoy, tomorrow, where chef Monsieur Escoffier will make you believe you’ve arrived in heaven. I’m having a get-together with a few friends – all on the brink of tying the knot and potentially new grist for your mill . . . if you get my drift.’ She gave an intoxicating chuckle that reached down the line to fully dismiss Edie’s glum mood. ‘I am frankly tired of choosing flowers to adorn every room, and my mother’s fussing over the menu or the gilt on the invitations!’

Edie smiled. ‘Wedding blues?’

‘I just want it to be over and done with.’

‘Oh, surely not?’

‘I do, Eden. Really. I don’t require any of this ritual and fuss. Don’t misunderstand me. I love my gown and I am having fun with certain aspects – especially Valentine’s – but I can’t bear the way this event is consuming my mother. It’s just a lot of bother when I would be happy to say “I do” in a tiny church in Scotland or Devon and elope.’ She gave a small gasp. ‘Oh, now I wish I’d thought of that earlier! We could have run off to Paris together.’

‘That does sound romantic.’

‘It does, doesn’t it. Alex came by the salon today to drop off the cheque. I’m sorry you missed him. I would so love for you to have met.’

‘Oh, now I’m sorry too. He sounds like the perfect Prince Charming.’

‘He is. He is my dream come true, Eden.’

Edie blinked. ‘You sound a bit sad when you say that.’

‘Do I? Yes, I suppose I do. Alex is a bit distracted at the moment. I think all the planning is wearing him down too.’

‘Do try and stay bright, Pen. No doubt his own family is fussing also.’

‘Oh, they are. Well, his mother is. She and Mother are obsessed with the guest list. I hate it all.’

‘Society weddings are hard work, I’m sure.’

‘I’ll bet your wedding was far more fun and less frantic.’

Edie smiled to herself in soft, sad memory. ‘It was the happiest day of my life. As you love Mr Wynter, I loved Tom. I still do.’

‘I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. Now
you
sound sad.’

‘It’s an old hurt. I know how to put it back in its box and lock it away. I think you should let the wedding excitement wash around you and worry about only what you can control.’

‘My wardrobe.’

‘That’s it!’ Eden laughed. ‘You are going to make Mr Wynter’s eyes pop when he sees you arrive at his side, I promise. What’s more, I’ve been drawing some designs for your wedding-night trousseau . . .’

Pen gave a short squeak. ‘Oh, gosh, I hadn’t even thought about that yet.’

‘Well . . . lucky for you, then, that I have. You’re going to love what I have in mind. But don’t ask me to explain lace that is almost not there. Maybe that’s an excuse for another trip to London.’

‘I can’t wait. You see, you always manage to excite me, Eden.’

‘And you have cheered me too.’

Tommy walked up, trailing his blue scarf and gloves. ‘Park,’ he called.

‘Is that your little boy?’ Pen asked.

‘Yes. I promised Tommy a quick play in the park. We’ve both been cooped up for most of the day and I’m sure I’ll feel brighter for a walk.’

‘I won’t keep you, then. So you will join me for lunch? I want to show you off, my new and dear friend. And I’m sure my husband will want to kiss you once he sees me on our wedding night in your whisper-quiet outfit.’

‘Gossamer,’ Edie murmured. ‘Thanks for your invitation – I’d love to join you.’

‘Perfect! I'll pick you up at the salon at midday. Wear that darling red tie of yours.’

‘Oh, no, I’ll have to think of something far more theatrical.’

The women shared a laugh and another farewell before Edie put the phone down, and as she did so, Madeleine let herself in through the front door. ‘Hope you didn’t mind me taking the spare key. I only did so in case you called and I had to make a dash back to you lying prone in the bathroom.’

‘Hello, Mads.’

‘Well, you look perky.’

‘Sorry about today. All go well? Can you hand me Tommy’s duffel coat – we’re just off to the park for a few minutes.’

Madeleine did so and Edie began struggling to fit her son’s small arms into short, thick sleeves.
Maybe I should design a children’s range?
she thought.
To make it easier for mothers . . .

She refocused on Madeleine’s voice. ‘. . . Sarah’s an angel. And what’s more, we took three new appointments,’ Mads added, beginning to unpack groceries. ‘I’ve brought stuff for chicken soup, but you look too well for it.’

‘Never too well for chicken soup. Can you get it on?’ Mads nodded. ‘So, tell me about Sarah’s first day.’

Madeleine prattled amiably for a few minutes, helping Tommy into boots and a hat, while Edie pulled out a jar of peppercorns from her pantry and inspected all the ingredients her friend had thrown on the table.

‘Perfect,’ she approved. ‘Right. Off to the park we go,’ Edie said, taking Tommy’s hand.

‘Oh, I must tell you,’ Madeleine said, her tone full of intrigue as she walked with them to the door. ‘I met Alex Wynter today, the soon-to-be husband of our client.’

‘And I meant to tell you that I spoke with Pen moments before you arrived. She’s invited me to lunch at The Savoy tomorrow.’

The Frenchwoman’s mouth opened in impressed surprise. ‘Did she invite me as well?’

Edie grinned. ‘Afraid not, Mads. She should have! Apparently she wants to introduce me to a gaggle of girlfriends and is determined that Valentine’s becomes
the
salon of the socialite bride.’

Madeleine let out a small whistle. ‘Well, she’s worth her weight in gold, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. And she has no airs or graces, that girl. I like her very much.’ Edie stepped out onto the landing outside the door.

‘She deserves her handsome groom, then.’

‘Is he?’ she said, pulling on Tommy’s bobble cap. ‘There, you’re more handsome than Mr Wynter,’ she said to her son and gave him a hug.

‘Wynter isn’t just handsome – that description is far too ordinary.
Non
,’ Madeleine said, smiling to herself in memory. ‘Monsieur Wynter sizzles!’

Edie grinned helplessly. ‘Tell me about him when we get back.’

‘Have fun, you two. Don’t be late. I need to get home tonight.’

_______________

Holding Tommy’s small hand, they crunched across the red-and-gold carpet that littered the pathways of the park, and as Edie let his happy chatter fall around her like the late autumn leaves, her mood lifted immediately.

After a game of chase, they caught their breath with an obligatory visit to the pond, where Tommy was happy to lose several minutes gazing into the depths to make sounds of delight as he spied the bright flash of an orange goldfish tail. Edie was once again reminded that she nearly had everything she could ever want in life.

‘Your daddy’s going to find us, Tommy. Did you know that?’

He nodded shyly, not looking at her.

Edie knew she could have just asked him whether he’d like to eat chocolate for dinner and he’d have given an identical response. It didn’t matter. She wrapped her arms around her child because when she held him like this, her life felt safe and in balance. Despite Ben’s betrayal, he’d inadvertently given her the one gift she longed for. He’d given her Tom. Now, she knew he was alive.

‘And not tomorrow, because I have a lot to catch up on,’ she continued, ‘but the day after, I’m going to begin my hunt to bring your daddy home.’

Tommy squealed a soft laugh and her emotions surged at the sound. ‘Da,’ he prattled. It could have meant anything, but to Edie it meant
Daddy
.

‘Yes, darling. We both want him back.’

_______________

They arrived back at the flat with Edie feeling a fresh sense of purpose and empowerment.

‘You two look rosy-cheeked,’ Madeleine remarked.

‘Blew all the mists away in my mind.’

After dinner, Madeleine bathed Tommy and then read to him while Edie cleaned up in the kitchen and brewed some coffee. It was past seven and fully dark by the time she set down the tray in her tiny sitting room and Madeleine tiptoed back in.

‘Fast asleep,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Mads. I made you some coffee.’ Edie switched on a small lamp and turned up the heating. ‘I swear I’m feeling the cold earlier this year.’ She settled back into the couch, warming her hands around the mug of coffee. ‘You were going to tell me about Miss Aubrey-Finch’s fiancé.’

‘Ah, yes, and then I must go. Where to begin, darling? He’s tall. That’s mandatory, right?’

Edie nodded and put a finger in the air to signify it was a fundamental.

‘Very dark hair.’

Edie smiled and put a second finger in the air.

‘Now, the eyes. How would I describe their blueness?’ She sipped her coffee. ‘Like a stormy sea – the Atlantic. No . . . remember that exquisite silk you had a sample of, dyed from anil to give that amazing indigo?’ Edie nodded. ‘That’s the colour I mean.’

‘Fathomless,’ Edie murmured, reminded of Tom’s colouring. ‘Well, that’s three big ticks.’

‘He’s charming, yet, how you say, reticent?’ Edie nodded. ‘And dashing, yet speaks in a quiet voice. He’s mysterious.’

Edie put up a fourth finger. ‘No wonder she’s wanted him since childhood!’

‘
Absolument!
If the man wasn’t a client’s groom, I would have invited him home.’

‘Shame on you!’

‘Shame be damned. He’s not married yet.’

Edie sighed. ‘Well, he sounds like the dream.’ She gave a small twist of her mouth. ‘He sounds like Tom. I’m going to find him, Mads.’

‘I know, darling. Is that tailor back who you wanted to ask about the man-who-would-be-Tom?’

‘Don’t mock me. I have every intention of talking to Percival Fitch on his return.’ She reminded Madeleine of her plan to visit Fleet Street. Her friend gave her a nod of approval. ‘And in the meantime, there’s no harm in meeting Mr Wynter and seeing if he has any bachelor friends for us, is there?’

People passing by the Regency apartment building could hear women’s laughter suddenly leaking out into the increasingly damp street as drizzle began to show in the pavement’s gaslight.

_______________

Alex scampered into the club lobby, reaching for his fob watch, although he already knew he was running behind time.

‘Mr Wynter?’

He closed his eyes and took a breath, turning and ensuring his expression was even. ‘Yes, Henry?’

‘A message for you, Sir,’ he said. ‘Miss Aubrey-Finch rang to say that she has ‘‘wangled’’ a car rather than a taxi for tonight and she plans to pick you up, at the new time of seven-thirty.’

Alex felt relieved. The rush was off. ‘Oh, that’s excellent, thank you, Henry. Traffic was crazy coming from North London.’

‘It’s the rain, Sir,’ Henry said, as though it was an automatic response to every woe. ‘Oh, and one more thing, Sir – a gentleman rang to speak with you just before you left. I couldn’t get the message to you because you were in such a hurry earlier.’

‘Yes?’

‘Er . . . he’s in the drawing room, Sir.’

‘Here . . . at the club?’

‘Yes, Sir. I said he could wait for you. It seemed rather important, I gather.’

Alex frowned. ‘All right. Thank you, Henry.’ Who the devil could be chasing him down at nearing six? He strode into the drawing room only barely noticing a suspension of tobacco fog that vaguely shifted around the chandelier with his arrival.

A tall, slim man with neat, wavy black hair wearing a dark three-piece suit and a bow tie stood. ‘Mr Wynter?’

Alex frowned. ‘Yes?’ He watched the stranger approach.

‘My name is Benjamin Levi,’ he said.

Alex wondered why Levi was staring at him in a vague sense of wonder. ‘Should I know you?’

Levi gave a smile. ‘In one way, yes, but I realise why you don’t.’

‘Mr Levi, forgive me. I’ve had quite a long day and I am late to get ready to meet my fiancée, so if you’ll —’

‘Ah, yes, Miss Aubrey-Finch.’

Alex’s gaze narrowed. ‘What is this about?’

‘Shall we move out of the lobby?’