“I believe he was. But she engaged me to help her with a particular matter. Can we go inside?”
Estella unlocked the door, snapped on the lights and led him into the front room. She asked him to sit but she stood by the fireplace, beneath the Kahlo painting.
“News of Miss Thaw’s ah, death, was a little delayed in reaching me,” he said, settling back into the chair, propping a briefcase on his lap and snapping it open. “She’d given me instructions to locate a Miss Estella Bissette, which I very much hope is your name”—Estella nodded—“and to pass on this letter. I’ve been here every day for the last fortnight at various times in the hope of catching you. She was very clear in her instructions; I wasn’t to post it.”
He held out a letter and Estella reluctantly walked over to take it from him. What now? What more could happen on this awful day? It wouldn’t be good news, of that Estella was certain. Letters never were.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll show you out.”
“It’s not quite so simple. I need you to read it while I’m here because there are some papers she had hoped you would sign after doing so.”
Estella unfolded the letter, the man’s intent eyes upon her, and read words that she almost couldn’t believe.
Dear Estella,
This is the most presumptuous letter I’ve ever written in my life because it assumes two things I can’t be certain of. One, that I may die. And two, that you’re my sister. The second I truly believe and the first, well, let’s just say that I’ve always had a sixth sense when it comes to the future.
I’ve asked Mr. Fowler to give you this in the event of my death. Perhaps you’ll never read it. Strange as it sounds, I hope you do. The reason I vanished right before your first showing was because I was pregnant. Even though I’d only slept with Alex one time, and I was very careful to wear a diaphragm, fate played yet another trick on me.
Of course I haven’t told Alex anything about it. He once told me that in the field you’re stronger if you’re not leaving behind someone you love. And I knew he’d love a child. I thought maybe I’d tell him after the war was over. Or maybe I’d be too much of a coward and never would. I don’t know.
All I knew was that I couldn’t raise a child. How would I know the first thing about it when my only role model was Harry Thaw? And I was terrified that, if Harry knew I had a child, he’d take it from me somehow and he’d do to it what he’d done to me. It seemed safer out of my hands.
I gave it to Mrs. Pardy to look after until I could work out another solution. But I always knew what the best solution would be. For you to take the child. Raise it as your own. And maybe one day you can tell Alex that he has a son. I think he’d like to hear those words from you.
All my love
Lena
“What?” Estella whispered when she reached the bottom of the letter and looked over at Mr. Fowler, sitting calmly on the chair as if they might be about to have aperitifs rather than shocking disclosures.
“Here are the adoption papers,” Mr. Fowler said. “If you’d like to take on the responsibility Miss Thaw wants to confer on you, all you need to do is sign here.” He pointed to a place on a sheet of paper and held out a pen.
“But Alex is the father. I can’t adopt the child. It’s his.”
“Miss Thaw understood that his work precluded him from caring for a child, at least while the war continues. She had me insert a clause that if Mr. Montrose would like to raise the child as his own after the war then it would revoke your rights. I rather think she hoped you might raise it together.” Mr. Fowler looked at Estella over his glasses. “Is there any chance of that, do you think? Simpler all around for everyone if so.”
After what she’d just done to him, she’d be lucky if Alex would ever speak to her again. And the roiling shame of Harry’s disclosure still sat trapped in her heart, a place where it would stay, never to be confessed to Alex. “There is no chance of that,” Estella said despairingly. “Alex doesn’t know about the child?”
Mr. Fowler shook his head.
“Excuse me.” Estella stood up abruptly and strode over to the nearest telephone. While she couldn’t bear the thought of talking to Alex after what had just passed between them, he needed to know he had a child.
Mrs. Gilbert answered. “Hello, dearie,” she said. “You’ve just missed him. He left for Newark an hour ago.”
“Newark?” Estella said stupidly.
“Back to London again. Doesn’t expect to return for a long time, he said. I’m just closing the house up now.”
“Do you have any way to get a message to him?” Estella asked desperately.
“I don’t. I never do.” Mrs. Gilbert’s puzzlement told Estella that she didn’t know what had transpired between Estella and Alex.
“When he calls, when he gets in touch with you, can you tell him I have to speak to him urgently. It’s important. Please.”
“I would if I could, dearie. But I don’t expect to hear from him at all.”
Estella hung up the phone and stared at Mr. Fowler.
“I take it you’re not interested in the child,” Mr. Fowler said, putting the papers back into his briefcase.
“Of course I’m interested in the child,” Estella said. “What do I need to do? Where is the baby? When can I see it?”
Mr. Fowler held up his hands. “One thing at a time. If you sign the papers, there is one thing you must agree to. Miss Thaw was adamant that in signing this contract you would commit to never telling the child who its true parents were. That you would be the child’s mother. And whomever you marry would be the child’s father. Mr. Montrose is the only one with the power to revoke that, of course, should he choose to tell the child he is its father.”
“But I can’t do that!” Estella cried. “Of course the child deserves to know who its real mother and father are. Why would she say that?”
And as soon as she’d asked the question, Estella knew. Lena was as ashamed of her history as Estella was. She wanted to give the child a clean past, not a notorious mother who’d grown up as a plaything for cruel men.
Mr. Fowler held out his pen. “Those are the terms of the contract. If you want to adopt the boy, his parentage is not to be revealed to him by you.”
A little boy. How lovely. Estella’s heart thudded, already letting in love for a baby she’d never met. She couldn’t refuse the child just because Lena was wrong in her ultimatum. Estella had to take him, had to care for her nephew, had to give the child a chance to know Alex someday in the future.
Estella signed her name.
“Mrs. Pardy will bring the child here in a fortnight,” Mr. Fowler continued. “I’m allowing time for you to think about it, in case you change your mind. Better to do it now than later.”
“I won’t change my mind,” Estella said firmly. “He’s my nephew.”
“Even so, it’s part of the agreement. If you’re serious about this, a fortnight should be sufficient to prepare the house for the arrival of a child.”
A child. Alex and Lena’s child. A child Alex didn’t know about, wouldn’t know about unless Estella could find a way to get a message to him. “What’s the boy’s name?”
“I believe it is…” Mr. Fowler consulted some papers “…Xander. I’m sure you can change it if you want to.”
Xander. “No, it’s perfect.”
The next day, Estella’s mind was not on poor Janie who she stabbed with a pin half a dozen times before Janie said, “Out with it. What’s going on?”
Estella, crouched on the floor, looked up at Janie and shook her head, as if that would make the news settle, make it become real rather than a strange dream she had yet to make any sense of. “Alex and Lena had a child,” she said slowly. “And it’s arriving here in two weeks. I’ve just adopted it.”
Janie’s eyes widened so much that Estella thought they might pop like buttons out of their sockets.
“Get your purse,” Janie commanded. “We’re going out for a dr
ink.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“It might steady your hand,” Janie said, attempting a joke but Estella couldn’t make herself laugh.
Not long after, they sat at the nearest bar and Janie ordered two sidecars. “Tell me.”
Estella did. She told her the whole damn mess. What had happened in Paris. What Harry Thaw had told her. What the lawyer had said to her the night before. That she had no way of letting Alex know he had a child.
“I need another drink,” Janie declared when Estella finished. “Two whiskeys. On the rocks,” she called to the bartender. “A sidecar is too diluted for a conversation like this.” Then she lowered her voice. “You shouldn’t be ashamed about Harry. You didn’t do those things. He did.”
“My mother slept with him!” Estella cried. “How could she? Then she gave him Lena. I don’t know who I dislike the most right now. At least Harry has the excuse of lunacy. My mother’s only excuse was poor judgment.”
“Why don’t you write to her? Maybe there’s an explanation for everything.”
“There is no possible explanation for it,” Estella said, sipping whiskey to stop her throat constricting with a noose of sadness and shame. “I can’t write to her anyway. I don’t know where she is.”
“Maybe you could let Alex decide if it’s a problem for him or not,” Janie said, reaching out to hold Estella’s hand.
“Do you know what it feels like to wake up and remember that Harry Thaw, a murderer and a rapist, is my father? To know that my mother gave him my twin sister to look after? I want to die every time I think of it. Harry Thaw is a million times worse than Alex’s father. I can’t bear to see the pity in his eyes if he were to find out. I can’t bear to tell him that my mother left Lena with him. Can’t bear to have him think that I might pass on Harry’s lunacy if we ever had children of our own. Harry’s mother had it. Harry had it. What if I get it? I won’t tell him.”
“So it’s better just to hurt him instead?”
Estella withdrew her hand from Janie’s and finished her whiskey. “I would give up my soul not to have hurt him. But to stay with him and hurt him each day over a lifetime would be so much worse than having us both suffer one catastrophic hurt right now. Enough about me.” She put down her glass. “Did you take my advice?”
“Not yet, no.” Janie’s bravado fell away.
“Start dating your husband,” Estella said firmly. “Find out who Nate is. Really get to know him this time. The pressure of marriage is off; you’re already committed. Relax and enjoy whatever it is you have. See what it might turn into. If it turns into even half of what I feel for Alex…” Estella broke off. An unhelpful segue. One which only made her light a cigarette and pretend the smoke had made her cough and choke, rather than the emotion.
Janie scrutinized her. “Maybe I will take your advice,” she said. “Nate’s back tonight. Although I suspect that no matter how many dates I go on with my husband, he’ll never look the way you do right now talking about Alex.” Janie lit a cigarette too. “I almost envy you,” she said wistfully. “To know that love really exists. Do you think you’d rather have that knowledge, or have never had it because it would mean never…”
“Never feeling like this?”
Janie nodded.
Estella tapped her cigarette on the ashtray. “I don’t know. Every moment of every day, I remember the first time I really kissed him. It was ecstasy. But he also tried to stop that kiss from going any further by saying to me, ‘It’s not fair to you, given who my father is.’ He was ashamed of a father who was merely a bullying criminal. Mine is a psychopathic, murdering rapist.” She stopped, struggling to speak through the tears that were pressing in yet again. “What Alex said reminds me of why I had to leave him. But he would never have said it if we hadn’t kissed. Without one memory, I wouldn’t have the other. So I can’t wish that it never happened. But I wish it was so very different.”
Neither spoke. Janie gave a cold stare to a man advancing on them with a round of drinks in his hand and he scuttled away. Then she stood up. “I’m going to go home and invite my husband out for a drink tonight,” she said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe what I have is worth making something of.”
After Janie left, Estella sipped her drink. There was something to be thankful for at least: Xander. She would do the best she could for her nephew, for Alex’s son. She would make sure that Xander knew only love and not pain.
For the next two weeks, Estella lost herself in making clothes for the showing she had committed to holding at the Barbizon in March, changing the fabrics to accommodate the rationing she imagined was headed America’s way now that the country had gone to war. Men’s cotton shirting, jersey, lightweight wool. A crisp silk faille that she bought for a special price from one of the mills after the restaurant that had ordered it for tablecloths ran out of money, would be perfect for a dress Estella had in mind; it would sit off the shoulder, showing elegant collarbones, the sleeves twisted, a wraparound bodice atop a mid-calf flared skirt. Just two pattern pieces, so it was cost-effective, with the nipped waist and emphasis on the shoulders that women were used to, but it was the women’s actual shoulders now accented, not false padding.
In between such coups, she counted down the days until the baby would arrive. The morning it was due, she flew across to the door the minute the bell rang only to find Janie on the doorstep. Janie looked different somehow, happier, lighter, smiling properly.
Janie strode in, and before she’d even removed her gloves and her hat, she spoke. “I talked to Nate. I asked him what made him happiest of all and he talked about how he used to play baseball and how he loved the feel of the leather ball hitting the wood of the bat. I asked him to take me to a baseball game and so we went and had hotdogs and he explained all the rules and it was fun because he was having fun; because he was happy. So I told him that marriage was my dream come true but so was modeling. That I just couldn’t sit at home all day. That I’d only work for you, if you’d have me. That it would make me happy, the way baseball did for him. Then we went home and made love and he wasn’t quite so efficient.” Janie grinned and Estella actually laughed, shocking herself that she was still capable of happiness.
“I’m so glad,” Estella said. A happy Janie was a sight to behold. It was like the hot sun of Australia blazing in and making everything brighter.
“Shall we get started?” Janie asked.
Estella shook her head. “Not today. The baby’s coming today.”
“Tomorrow then,” Janie said briskly. “I’m coming at nine in the morning. Mrs. P will help with the baby, I’m sure.”
All Estella could do was nod at Janie transformed, purposeful. It made her want to be the same. She kissed Janie’s cheek. And she remembered, for just one short moment, the feeling of discovering what was breathtaking about love, rather than what left her empty of all air.
Not long after Janie left, the doorbell rang again and there stood Mrs. Pardy with a nine-month-old baby in her arms. A glorious little boy, chubby and fat and so delightful that Estella immediately said, “Look at you!”
Xander smiled at her and waved his plump little arms about.
“Can I?” she asked Mrs. Pardy.
“Of course. He’s seen so few people in his life but he’s such a curious little mite. Every time he meets someone new, he wants to explore them.”
And explore he did. As soon as Estella took him from Mrs. Pardy, Xander’s hand squeezed Estella’s cheek, a finger popped into her mouth, another poked her in the eye and she reached up just in time to stop one traveling up her nose. She laughed. “Well, you’re as much trouble as your father.” It came out so impulsively and so true that she couldn’t unsay it.
“Come in,” she said to Mrs. Pardy to cover the sudden emotion. “I shouldn’t have left you standing on the doorstep.”
Mrs. Pardy studied her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nursing a broken heart.”
Estella hugge
d Xander tighter. He wriggled in her grasp, looking at her with dark brown eyes so much like his father’s that Estella knew she was going to cry.
“We need tea and pastries,” Mrs. Pardy announced. “You get to know the little fellow and I’ll be back in half an hour with something to make you feel better.” She patted Estella on the arm and made her way to the kitchen.
Which left Estella alone with Xander, with Lena and Alex’s son. She sat on the sofa, the child on her lap, facing her. Xander smiled at her and she smiled back through a mask of tears, knowing she’d just fallen headlong in love. That if she couldn’t have Alex, Xander was the next best thing.
Chapter Thirty-four
Each day, Xander spent time in the workroom lying on a rug or bouncing in his bassinet, cooing at Janie, cooing at Sam when he came in every evening after his paid work had finished. Mrs. Pardy took him every now and again, out for a walk, or to put him to bed, but he spent most of his time with Estella, happy to watch, to be adored. And Estella found herself smiling all the time now because Xander loved to receive her smiles. They made him shriek and grin and bubble over with happiness.
At last they had enough samples. The showing was set for early evening, when the women of the Barbizon had finished work for the day, in the first-floor lounge which had a stage to accommodate the concerts and plays that the actresses and musicians of the Barbizon often performed. There was no decoration, just wooden balustrading that ran around the room, the palm trees wafting fingers of leaves in the corners, the black-and-white tiled floor. And the women, chatting and laughing and eager to find out what they were about to see. Estella had given each of them an order sheet and told them they were the first to ever see the clothes. She sat with them in the audience, studying their reactions to her creations, knowing their faces would tell her everything she needed to know.
Janie glided onto the stage, wearing sample after sample, starting with playsuits, perfect for running around the squash courts in the basement and for moving straight into the dining room for dinner, followed by cotton bathing suits for the Barbizon swimming pool that came with matching wraparound skirts to assuage the scruples of the matron.
The Paris Seamstress Page 36
