An array of hats from the New York inventory was already on display in the window and scattered throughout the salon. As Lady Haversham showed them around, Nell noticed two women peering through the front glass and trying the doorknob.
“May I?” She posed the question to Lady Haversham, but Oscar nodded to go ahead. By teatime, Nell had made three sales and two appointments for later in the week. Before leaving, Lady Haversham handed her the list of consultations she’d already acquired.
“It’s a trial period, you understand, but if what I’ve seen thus far is any indication, I believe my instincts were correct.”
When Oscar took her to dinner at the hotel near their flat, he complimented Nell on her remarkable day. “Maybe all we had to do was get you on familiar turf to bring out the best in you.”
“I’ve always given my best, but thank you for bringing me to London. For everything.” She lifted her water glass. “To much success.”
Chapter 18
Oscar stopped at her desk at the back of the consulting room as Nell organized the orders for the day. “A good day, I see. Mind if I have a look?”
She handed him the stack of work orders and receipts. Two of Lady Haversham’s friends had each ordered hats for two upcoming galas the Noble Women’s Society was hosting the week prior to the wedding. A garden tea for the eight bridesmaids of the wedding couple and their circle of friends. A dancing ball for the members of Parliament. Nell’s heart fluttered with the enormity of it. And all in just two weeks.
Oscar handed them back. “I’d like to see your sketches in the morning. This could be quite a turn of events.”
“It’s Friday. I was hoping perhaps I might call Quentin, the friend I mentioned who lives in London. I can work on the sketches tomorrow evening and Sunday when we’re closed.”
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that time is of the essence. You have to stay ahead of schedule to allow for those who procrastinate. We can only compete with the established businesses in London if we offer services above and beyond what they do. I’ll meet you for breakfast at seven sharp to see what you’ve done.” He started toward the door to leave, then turned around. “I almost forgot, we have tickets to a show tomorrow night. I’d like you to wear the sapphire-blue gown you wore on the ship. You never know when a reporter or one of our new clients will see us.” He popped his fedora on his head and sailed out the door.
Oscar had a point, and she did adore meeting with clients, listening to their chatter, the way they turned phrases and called her love. But an evening or two on her own didn’t seem a lot to ask.
* * *
The Gaiety Theatre on the Strand was magnificent with its gilded dome ceiling and curtained balconies, as was the musical revue on stage with talented singers and beautiful costumes. What Nell enjoyed most, though, was noting what the theater patrons wore. To Oscar, the evening was about being seen, but for her it was taking in ideas that she could incorporate into her designs.
As Oscar’s hand guided her deftly toward the exit, a voice rose above the crowd. “Well, if it’s not Prunella Marchwold.”
Nell would know that voice anywhere. Simone Honeycutt from Heathdown. The girl who’d taunted her in confirmation class. The girl who tried to lure Quentin away from her when they planned a picnic or walk on the village square. The last girl in England Nell wanted to see.
Simone elbowed well-dressed theatergoers like a trout swimming upstream until they were face-to-face.
Nell inhaled silently, a small tick in her jaw. “Hello, Simone. You’re looking well.” At least that was the truth. Simone’s hair was no longer in ringlets but pulled into an upsweep, a headband with iridescent peacock feathers adorning her forehead at the hairline. But her smile was the same, red lips tilted at the corners in a permanent smile. Angelic almost.
“What a shock to see you. Last I heard, you had moved to New York to be a salesclerk so you could send money home to your family. How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine. Not starving.”
Simone’s gaze traveled from Nell’s head to her feet, then a raised eyebrow as she looked at Oscar. She leaned in close to Nell’s face. “You always did go for older men, didn’t you?”
“My apologies. Oscar, this is Simone Honeycutt from my village in Heathdown. Simone, Oscar Fields, my c-colleague.”
Oscar nodded. “Always my delight to meet one of Nell’s friends.”
“Likewise. Prunella’s been one of my dearest chums since we were wee ones. So, tell me, Mr. Oscar Fields, how did a shopgirl rate a trip to London?”
Nell didn’t answer. She couldn’t. As Simone was talking, Quentin Bledsoe walked up.
His russet mop of hair had grown a shade darker, his face fuller than when he was a teen. But the smile was the same, and the glint in his eyes remained.
“Here you are, Simone. I lost you in the crowd.” When his eyes met Nell’s, his face faded to the color of paste. “Nell…Nell…You’re here. In London.”
An awkward moment passed, a flapping of butterflies in Nell’s stomach at the sight of Quentin and Simone together. She nodded. “We’ve been here a couple of weeks. You l-look well. How are you?”
Mr. Fields cleared his throat, his grip on her elbow firm.
She apologized and made the introductions again. Simone crossed her arms, a pouty look that Nell remembered all too well.
Quentin ignored Simone and opened his arms. “How about a hug for your old friend?” He took her in his arms briefly, but it was long enough to catch a whiff of his cologne. Woodsy. Warm.
They were blocking the flow of people exiting the theater, so Oscar suggested they move along, and Quentin fell in stride beside Nell. “I can’t believe you’ve been here two weeks and not called me.”
“I did plan to. We’ve been very busy getting organized. And we’ve had quite the rush of clients already. I would like to see you, though…and Simone, too, if we can find a time.”
“You have a shop here?”
“Yes. Oscar Fields Millinery of London. On Clifford.”
“It’s providential seeing you here,” he said. Simone tugged him toward an exit door. As people streamed between them, he looked over his shoulder. “You look smashing. Give me a call. You have my number.”
When Nell and Oscar made it outside, Nell looked up and down the sidewalk, hoping to catch up so they might talk further with Quentin. She hadn’t expected her fondness for him to surge through her like it did. And she certainly hadn’t expected to see him with Simone. The two of them, though, had disappeared into the damp night air.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, Oscar said, “Was that the boyfriend you were telling me about?”
“I…I don’t re-re-recall saying he was m-my b-boyfriend.”
“Good thing for both of us that he won’t be a distraction from your work. Although I do question his taste in women. Did you notice your friend’s ensemble? Simone, wasn’t it? Cheaply made. From one of the street fairs, I would imagine. Tell me, did you enjoy the theater?”
Nell ignored the question and watched the fog gathering in the trees of Hyde Park.
* * *
Gloomy, wet days followed, and instead of walking to the shop in Mayfair with Hazel and Marcella, Nell took the bus with them. Her assistants joked and pointed out sights along the way. The horses on their morning exercises in Hyde Park. The street markets. Bobbies with their rounded hats and whistles. Hazel giggled and asked if they remembered to bring a jumper and a brolly. A sweater and an umbrella.
Riding the bus, Nell scanned the streets for an incidental sighting of Quentin. She debated whether she should call him. He’d said she should, but perhaps he was merely being polite. He hadn’t contacted her. The thing that galled was that he’d chosen Simone. Or perhaps it was just a friendly relationship. Nell wanted to know more, but then again, she didn’t. And she knew that’s why she wouldn’t call him. He knew where she was. She would wait.
She did, however, enjoy talking
to her grandmother on the telephone every Sunday afternoon. Nell smiled when she remembered the first telephone being installed at Marchwold Manor and her grandmother’s amazement at the “newfangled” invention. Her grandmother still hadn’t gotten over shouting into the mouthpiece.
“You don’t have to shout, Grandmama. I’m not on the other side of the Atlantic, you know.”
“I know you’re not, dear. But you’re not here, either. Why don’t you put that dear man you work for on the line so I can have a word.”
“His room is on another floor. And besides, we’re building our client base, hoping to get some commissions for those who’ve been invited to the royal wedding. A lovely woman was just in the shop yesterday who I think is close to engaging us for her royal wedding hat. It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?”
“Such a to-do. Your aunt Vivian’s got herself worked into a right lather about it. Fretting she and Preston wouldn’t be invited, and now stewing like a pot of prunes that her gowns won’t arrive from London in time to get alterations done if they’re needed.”
“If she comes to London, be sure and give her my number. Maybe I could make a hat for her.” She knew that would never happen. Aunt Vivian, a London socialite before marrying her uncle Preston, had always treated Nell like she was an orphan someone left on the doorstep.
“And one for Josephine. She looks lovely in a hat. Something in blue to match her eyes.”
Josephine? Gramma Jo had been dead since Nell was four years old. Just the mention of her name brought a sour taste in her mouth. Had Grandmama gone daft? Jane had mentioned frail, not that her mental faculties were failing, too. And Nell desperately hoped Grandmama would be able to verify if what Nell remembered—or thought she remembered—held any truth.
“Grandmama, don’t worry. It will be perfect, I promise. I have to run now. I love you.”
“I’ll see you next week then.” Click.
No, not next week. The wedding wasn’t for another month, and there was still work to be done.
* * *
Quentin finally did call to invite Nell to dinner. She arranged to meet him at a tiny restaurant across from the Marble Arch she’d seen from the bus, in easy walking distance from her flat. She arrived at eight thirty, half an hour past when she told him she would be there, but a flurry of customers and a surprise visit from Lady Haversham had kept her late. When Oscar popped his head in to say he would be joining the Havershams for dinner, it was an unexpected stroke of good fortune. Nell had fretted all day about what to say should Oscar invite her to eat with him. She’d decided she would tell him the truth—she was dining with an old friend.
A friend. Her emotions were a knot, and now her calves ached from walking too fast. Quentin might have even given up. She ducked into the doorway under the awning, the smell of the wood fire overtaking her. Candles flickered on heavy oak tables, an aproned hostess greeting her. She explained that she was to meet someone, but she was late. Her words caught on her tongue, her stammering so frightful it was any wonder she was understood at all.
“Ah, yes, the gentleman over here. He’s just having a pint while he’s waiting.”
Quentin rose to meet her and held the chair for her to sit next to him rather than across. Their knees bumped as they settled into their chairs and the hostess said, “The cook is featuring prawns and scallops in lemon sauce and shepherd’s pie. Or if you fancy, our regular plate with bangers and mash.”
Nell and Quentin asked for the seafood dish at the same time. A pot of tea for Nell. Another pint for Quentin.
“Quaint little place. Don’t know as I’ve ever seen it.” Quentin adjusted the tie at his throat.
“I hope it wasn’t in-in-inconvenient.” She took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? She never stammered around Quentin.
“Too far, you mean?”
“Well, it is late, and you have to work tomorrow.”
“I work late most evenings, so this isn’t unusual, if that’s what you’re asking.” His voice was deeper than she remembered, the tone that of his father in the pulpit.
“I suppose. So you like your job? Tell me about it.”
“Let’s see. I’m an overseer for a few accounts but am acquiring more each week. The atmosphere is lively with the economy soaring like the wind one month, crashing against the rocks the next, but as long as people have money or can borrow it, I have a job. And yours?”
The waitress brought the tea and the ale with a cheery “’Ere you go, loves.”
She shrugged. “A lot like yours, actually. Busy. And I’m working very hard to build my reputation, and as you say, it can have its ups and downs.”
“So busy you didn’t even have time to call your oldest friend?”
Ouch. It was the sort of thing he might have teased her with when they were younger, but even though he had the old, good-natured grin on his face, the words had a bite to them.
“I should have called, and I even told Oscar—Mr. Fields—that I wanted to spend time with you. The truth is, this is a very important assignment. It could mean international exposure for the salon as well as a boost to my career.”
“Do you fancy coming back to England then?”
“I’m not sure. Mama’s in Kentucky, so it would be hard to leave the States. With me in New York, we can visit a couple times a year. If an opportunity came along, I don’t know. I would have to weigh the options.”
He studied her, his gaze the one she remembered. Thoughtful. Caring. Her insides tumbled. She was blathering on, not giving him a chance to tell her about Simone. Or perhaps he was encouraging her so he didn’t have to deliver bad news.
The taste of copper lolled on her tongue from biting her lower lip. “Sorry, I carry on so. I haven’t even let you get a word in. How’s Simone? She looks well. Bright and quite lovely.”
“Same old Simone. She talked me into going with her to the theater.”
“So, you’re not…umm…I thought p-perhaps…”
“Perhaps what? That I’d finally given in to her wiles after all these years? She’s swell, don’t get me wrong, but…no. There’s nothing going on with Simone and me except in her head.”
Nell laughed, her shoulders relaxing. “That’s a relief. You had me worried. You deserve someone much nicer.”
Their food arrived, the seafood swimming in a rich, creamy sauce, the smell of citrus enticing. Quentin gave her hand a squeeze and bowed his head, asking a simple blessing for the food and for God to find their hearts worthy.
Nell whispered, “Amen,” more in gratitude about Simone than the blessing of the food.
“How about you? Any beaus in New York?”
“I’m afraid not, much to Mama and Aunt Sarah’s chagrin. It’s not that they don’t applaud my career as long as it doesn’t interfere with finding the right husband.”
Quentin spooned in a mouthful of the seafood concoction. “Oscar seems like a decent chap, watching out for your best interest. Taking you to the Gaiety for a show.”
“He thinks it’s important to circulate in the right crowd.”
“And you? Do you enjoy that?”
“Occasionally. It gives me inspiration to see the current fashions and hairstyles, what elements might work in a hat.”
“You’re happy then designing for a nice salon and getting your name in magazines?”
“How did you know about the magazine?”
“My mother sent it to me. Said everyone in Heathdown was crowing about it.”
She gave him a playful touch on the forearm. “I’m not happy just because of the magazines, although that’s nice. It’s a combination of things. Not all women have perfect features, but they all have an inner beauty, and it’s pure bliss to see the transformation when someone with, say, plain features gets a glimpse in the mirror in one of my hats and feels beautiful. For some, I suspect it may be the first time. It’s not about my happiness, but other women discovering their own beauty and carrying themselves with poise.”
“Y
ou’ve always been passionate about hats. Remember the time you drew the Easter lambs and put a bonnet on every one of them?”
“Whatever made you think of that?”
“I saw the drawing when I went to see your grandmother. It’s in a gilded frame hanging above her writing desk.”
“I can’t believe she kept that. Oscar has promised me a couple of days after the wedding to visit her. I just hope we have enough business to keep us afloat here and stay that long.”
“You’ll be fine.” He leaned close and kissed her on the cheek.
“Aren’t you two the little lovebirds?” The waitress clucked her tongue. “I wish I could get my Johnny to look at me that way instead of that wretched bottle he’s in love with. What’ll it be? A nice tart for dessert? Some port for the gentleman?”
Quentin said, “Both sound divine, but we’d better be going.”
The night was damp but warm as they strolled on the walk and then crossed to the Marble Arch. As late as it was, people still ambled about, most of them with beagles and greyhounds and wiry-haired terriers on leads. Lovers holding hands. Frolicking newsboys still hawking the evening paper. Stooped men with canes and businessmen cutting across the park, going home to wives and children. Nell and Quentin.
Quentin talked about his family in Heathdown and King’s College in Cambridge where he had taken his accounting degree. She talked about her roommates, that she thought Calvin might be sweet on Jeanette and that she’d had a postcard from Greta, who’d finally landed a role with the vaudeville troupe and was playing Philadelphia.
“You’d like Greta, Quentin. She’s energetic and determined to make it as an actress.”
“Sounds a lot like someone else I know.”
“Do you think I’m daft for wanting to make women beautiful?”
He sidestepped something on the walk. “Not at all. Without dreams and passions, mankind would wither into nothingness.”
The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel Page 14
