But then the queen and Princess Margaret and the bridesmaids and the little boys were summoned to their carriages, which left the king and Princess Elizabeth standing alone in the middle of the hall, and as they looked at one another, his expression so tender and adoring, Miriam felt a pang of guilt to be intruding on such a private moment. She shut her eyes for an instant, and when she opened them again the princess and her father were walking away, arm in arm, to their waiting carriage.
“Well, now we can breathe,” Flora said in an ordinary voice, and around them everyone else was talking and exchanging smiles of relief and looking at their wristwatches. Miriam and Betty followed her upstairs, and they spent a few minutes helping to tidy the room where they’d spent the past hour. Only when the crowd outside let out an earthshaking roar did it occur to Miriam to go to the nearest window.
She hadn’t realized it before, but they were at the front of the palace. The view was incomparable, for she could see all the way up the broad avenue before them, and along either side of it were masses of people, thousands upon thousands, and every last one of them was cheering.
“What can you see?” Betty asked.
“There is a carriage, about halfway along the avenue, with many men on horseback, too. The crowds are very deep on either side of— What do you call it?”
“The Mall,” Betty said, coming forward to stand by Miriam. “I was out there on VE Day. The king and queen stood on the balcony, and the princesses, and Mr. Churchill, too. I was so far back I could hardly see, but my friends lifted me up on their shoulders and we had a pair of binoculars. I could just see them, little specks they were, and I was so happy. In all my life I’ve never felt so happy as I was that day.”
They stood and watched the carriage disappear from sight, and then they gathered their things, including the sewing basket that Miriam hadn’t once opened, and followed Flora downstairs to the side entrance. Monsieur Hartnell and the others arrived only a minute or two later, and Miriam was relieved to see that he was in far better spirits than he’d been earlier.
“Miss Dassin and Miss Pearce—the rest of our happy band. Shall we be off?”
“Isn’t Miss Yvonne coming with us?” Betty asked.
“She’ll stay until after the photographs have been taken,” Monsieur Hartnell explained. “Fortunately, the rest of us are free to spend the rest of the day as we please, and I plan on going straight home to bed.”
“May I leave on my own? By foot?” Miriam asked him.
“Hoping to join in the festivities? By all means. Tell the bobby at the gate that you were here with me. And thank you again for your splendid work.”
In moments she was walking down Buckingham Palace Road, only rather than melt into the crowd, as Monsieur Hartnell had assumed, she made her way south, against the current of merrymaking well-wishers surging toward the palace and the burgeoning crowds. It was rather touching, the way everyone seemed so avid for a glimpse of the royal family on their distant balcony, and it was sobering, too, to imagine how the princess would feel when she stood before the multitude in a few hours and thanked them with her smile and a wave of her hand. How did she not find it unendurable?
It was raining again, and Victoria Station was just ahead, so she ran inside, hoping she’d be able to find the entrance to its Underground stop without going back into the rain. She’d never had cause to use the stop before, nor the rail station above—
No. The night she had come to England, her train had arrived at Victoria. Not even ten months distant, though her memories since then encompassed something like a lifetime. So much had changed over those months.
On the far side of the arrivals hall, a group of people were gathered around a newsagent’s kiosk. She approached, indulging her curiosity, for it was only a few minutes past eleven thirty. Ann would still be at the abbey for some time.
A portable wireless, the size of a large hatbox, had been set up on the counter of the kiosk. The people were listening to someone speak, a man with a deep, sonorous voice, but he was not a newsreader, for there was something in the cadence of his words that made her think of poetry. She inched ever closer, straining to make out the words. It was a prayer, not poetry. The group of people were listening to the royal wedding.
The prayer ended, and another man began to speak, and then she was surprised to hear the softer voice of a young woman. The princess herself, making her promises in a clear, high voice. Around Miriam, the other listeners smiled, and some even wiped tears from their eyes. It was rather moving, she decided, if not quite enough to bring her to tears, and she was tempted to remain and listen until the end.
Ann had said the entire ceremony would be broadcast again that evening, however, and she much preferred to listen to it with her friend at her side, if only so she might have the unfamiliar parts of the wedding service explained to her. So she stepped back and continued to the Underground entrance a few yards away, and in another forty-five minutes she was home.
She was shivering by the time she walked through the door, for the rain had been falling hard enough to soak through her coat. After exchanging her good suit for her warmest skirt and jumper, she built a small fire in the sitting room hearth, which quickly took the chill out of the air, and filled the kettle with fresh water. Ann would certainly want a cup of tea when she returned.
She was still setting out the tea things when the front door opened.
“Miriam? Are you there?”
“I am. I had not thought you would be home so early.”
“Me neither. I thought I’d have to fight my way through the crowds, but everyone outside the abbey charged off in the direction of the palace. The Tube was practically empty.”
“You should change. I will put the kettle on to boil.”
When Ann came downstairs again, she wore her nightgown, robe, and slippers. “I know, I know. It’s not even one o’clock. But I’m that tired. Seemed like the easiest thing to put on.” With that, she flopped down on the sofa and let out a long and rather tremulous sigh.
“Are you hungry? There is not much in the larder, but we have some bread, and a tin of sardines, too.”
Ann shut her eyes and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. “Maybe just some tea. Now, tell me all about the palace. Were you upstairs in the private apartments?”
“Yes, but I only saw the princess’s sitting room. After that Betty and I went to help with the bridesmaids. We did see Princess Elizabeth before she left.”
“How did she look in the gown?”
“Beautiful,” Miriam said honestly. “Beautiful, and very happy, too.”
“They’ll be coming out on the balcony soon. Do you want to switch on the wireless?”
At first, all Miriam could make out was a thrum of voices and cheering and the occasional car horn, but then, after a minute or two, a melody emerged from the din. The great crowd was singing, a choir of hundreds of thousands, and had she still been inside the palace she would have been deafened by it.
“‘All the Nice Girls Love a Sailor,’” Ann guessed. “I can’t imagine Queen Mary’ll approve of that.”
There was an even greater roar from the crowd, so loud it drowned out the song, and at that moment the BBC announcer began to speak.
“The doors are opening, and here is Her Royal Highness the bride, and the Duke of Edinburgh is at her side. They are standing alone on the balcony and receiving a tremendous ovation from the crowd. Listen to them now—just listen to the crowd as they cheer. And now we have the whole family group before us, on this famous balcony, and the princess is waving. This is what we’ll all remember. This is the picture of the day that we shall all remember.”
“That’s all we’ll see of them until they leave for their honeymoon,” Ann said after another minute or two. “Do you want to turn it down a bit?”
Miriam lowered the volume on the wireless and sat in the armchair that was usually Ann’s favorite spot. “You must tell me about the abbey. Did you sit with Mis
s Duley and Miss Holliday?”
“Yes. We were right near the back, and there were people in front of us, so we couldn’t see much. The music was lovely, though.”
“We will listen to it later. Did you not say it would be on the wireless this evening? In the meantime we should have something to eat. I will prepare some sardines on toast.”
“I, ah . . . I think I had better wait. I’m feeling a bit off my feed.”
“What is wrong?” Miriam asked, noticing how pale her friend had become.
“I feel a little light-headed. That’s all. I only need a minute.”
The kettle was singing, so Miriam returned to the kitchen, filled the teapot, and left it to brew. Then she found a clean dish towel and dampened it with cold water. Returning to the sitting room, she folded it in quarters and set it on Ann’s perspiring forehead.
“Voici. This should help.”
“I don’t know what’s come over me,” Ann fretted. “I ought to have eaten something earlier.”
Miriam was about to reassure her friend that she simply needed a cup of tea or a bite of toast, and then she would feel better and all would be well. And yet . . .
Ann had been feeling unwell for several weeks. Often in the morning, and not always when she was hungry. It never lasted for very long, and after nibbling on a plain cracker or a piece of dry toast, she always said she felt better. She had been tired, too, so tired that she had been going to bed at eight o’clock or even earlier, and she had even complained, more than once, that she was exhausted. Ann, who never complained about anything. Ann, who—
Of course. How had she not realized, long before now, that Ann’s missed breakfast had little to do with her white face and trembling hands, and her exhaustion had nothing to do with their endless hours at work on the gown?
She sat beside her friend on the sofa and gathered Ann’s hands in her own. “Are you going to tell me?” she asked, her voice gentled to the merest whisper. “Because you know, do you not? At the very least, you suspect it.”
“I am. I . . . I was going to tell you.”
“I know.”
“I can’t stay here. People will talk. I want my baby to have a good life, but here, he or she will forever be Ann Hughes’s bastard. I’m sure it’s the same in France.”
“It is.”
“I’ll go to Canada. To Milly. In Canada no one needs to know. I can be a widow and no one will ever question me about how . . . how . . .”
Ann squeezed her eyes ever tighter, but she wasn’t able to hold back the tears that rained down her ashen face. “Oh, Miriam. This is my home. This is all I know. I can’t bear to leave it all behind.”
“You can bear it. You will.”
“I’m running away.”
“You are not. You are beginning again, that is all. As I did when I came to England.”
“So is distance the cure? To simply take myself to the opposite side of the world?”
“It will help. It helped me, and I did not go so very far. But time is also important. Time will help you to heal, and it will wash away some of the memories that trouble you.”
“I don’t think I can ever forget.”
“No,” Miriam admitted. “You will not. But the weight of it is not so much after a while. Perhaps it is the case that you grow stronger? For you will. I promise you will.”
“And until then?”
“You endure. You have done it before, have you not? When your brother was killed?”
Ann nodded, her movements slow and pained. “Yes,” she whispered. “You’re right. I have done it before.” Straightening herself, she wiped at her eyes with the tea towel. “What now? What do I do next?”
“First, I think, you wait a little. To be absolutely certain of the baby. Once you are sure, you write to your Milly and ask for her help. You tell Miss Duley you are moving to Canada to be with your family there. You sell what you can. You take what you cannot bear to leave behind. You say your farewells. And you never look back.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Heather
September 4, 2016
Excited as she was to have been invited to Miriam’s reception, the question of what to wear had concerned Heather, who hadn’t anything more formal than a sundress in her suitcase. When her panic level could still be classified as low grade she’d texted Tanya, who had promptly replied with the name and address of a boutique in Soho and firm instructions on what to do once she got there.
Ask for Micheline. Tell her about the event. Buy what she tells you to buy. Stop freaking out. Have fun. xoxo
She’d followed Tanya’s advice to the letter, and had emerged with a black dress in some kind of silky fabric that made her feel like a movie star when she put it on, a pair of heels that were a solid two inches higher than her usual shoes but looked sensational, and a necklace that reminded her of chain mail but was actually a kind of crocheted silver lace.
Daniel picked her up at a quarter to six, and he looked just as good in a suit and tie as he did in jeans. They took a taxi to the Tate Modern, and the driver, after some consultation with Daniel, took the long way round so they wouldn’t get caught up in traffic. At some point they crossed a bridge, and the traffic seemed to ease a bit, and then the driver was pulling to a stop at the side of an enormous brick building that looked more like a warehouse or factory than a museum.
She let her gaze roam from the building’s exterior to the crowds of people still milling around outside, and that’s when she noticed the gigantic banners hanging from the largest of the museum’s facing walls.
MIRIAM DASSIN
COLLECTED WORKS
UNTIL 31 DECEMBER
They walked around the perimeter of the building until they reached the entrance for the Boiler House wing, and even though the museum was about to close they were waved inside after Daniel showed them his invitation. Although Miriam’s artworks were being shown on the third-floor exhibition space, the reception itself was two floors up, in the members’ bar.
The reception had only begun a few minutes before, but already there were at least a hundred people milling around. Waiters were circulating with plates of hors d’oeuvres and bottles of champagne for anyone who needed a top-up, and a handful of children had been installed at a table loaded with art supplies and bowls of baby carrots and mini pretzels.
“My brother’s children,” Daniel explained. “Along with two strays I don’t recognize. The little girl is his youngest, Hannah, and a particular favorite of Mimi’s.”
“For someone who is so private, your grandmother has a lot of friends.”
“She does,” he agreed, “but they respect her reticence, and the Tate people have accepted this is the most they’ll get from her. She’s allowing them to take some photographs, but she’s asked them not to film her remarks.”
“She’s giving a speech?”
He collected two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Heather. “She said she would, but I’ll check in on her later. I can always offer up a round of thanks if she’s feeling shy. Right—brace yourself. Here comes my family. You might want to drink your champagne while you still have a chance.”
In a matter of minutes she was introduced to Sarah, Daniel’s mother, a younger and somewhat sterner version of Miriam; Nathan, his father, who seemed to be enjoying his son’s discomfort at being the momentary center of attention; Ben and Lauren, his brother and sister-in-law; David and Isaac, his mother’s younger brothers; and assorted spouses and cousins and family friends who were honorary aunts and uncles. “The lines between friend and family are always a bit blurry in my mind,” Daniel whispered in her ear.
It seemed that someone, presumably Daniel, had told his parents and siblings about Nan and her connection to Miriam, and apart from condolences on her grandmother’s death and the standard sort of inquiries about her trip and hotel, they didn’t bombard her with too many questions. She likely had Daniel to thank for that, too.
They prob
ably noticed that he’d been holding her hand when they walked in, and that he looked to her every few minutes, no matter where in the room she was, as if he was making sure she was fine and not trapped in a tedious conversation, but they were too nice to say anything about it.
Daniel took her outside to the terrace, which had incredible views of St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Thames, and that’s where they found Miriam. She was talking with a pair of young women, and Daniel greeted one of them with a quick hug before making introductions.
“Heather, this is my cousin Nathalie and her friend Ava. It was their badly timed exam that meant you and I were able to visit the palace the other day.”
Miriam was wearing a beautiful coat that was embroidered with interweaving ribbons of every color imaginable, and it was either something she had made herself or some kind of couture marvel from Paris. Heather kissed her on both cheeks, and she listened to Nathalie and Ava talk of their summer course at university, and it was hard, at times, to keep her attention on Daniel’s cousin and her friend because the view across the river was so distracting.
After ten or fifteen minutes had passed, someone from the museum sidled up to Miriam and asked if she was still interested in addressing her guests. She nodded, and Daniel smiled at his grandmother and took her arm to escort her inside.
Miriam accepted a microphone from the museum employee and went to stand, alone, in the middle of the room, and by then everyone, even the children, had fallen silent.
“Good evening. I will not take long, for it is no secret that I much prefer to express myself through my work alone. It is also the case that an excess of silence may be interpreted as rudeness or ingratitude, and so I wish to tell you that I am very grateful for your friendship and love, and that I am deeply honored to have my work displayed here, in one of the world’s greatest museums of art.”
The Gown Page 30
