Dressing the Dearloves

by Kelly Doust

  ‘No family is perfect, my dear. Goodness, especially not ours! My mother had to run away from my father because he was so violent towards her. He threatened to kill her if she took her children, but when she left without us he still chased her to Paris and attacked her for daring to leave. Then he bullied her into making it appear she’d died there.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Nick said, sitting down next to Sylvie.

  ‘It is,’ Victoria nodded. ‘But at least she got one of her children back, and she ended up living a long and eventful life with the man she loved, so who’s to say that isn’t the right thing to have happened? We all have our own paths to lead . . . Mine led me here, and I can’t say I wish it had been different.’

  ‘Well,’ Nick said, putting his arm around Sylvie. ‘You can’t ask for better than that, can you?’ Sylvie looked up into his eyes, hearing the catch in his words. Nick squeezed her shoulder tighter, telling her all she needed to know.

  ‘No, young man,’ said Victoria, smiling at both of them sweetly. ‘You certainly can’t.’

  40

  ‘Here, darling, I think it’s meant to go like this.’

  Wendy fussed about her daughter in the hallway, rearranging the gold chain upon Sylvie’s crown and placing it over her long curls, now highlighted from the sun. A tiny pearl and crystal pendant in the shape of a teardrop fell just above her forehead, forming the centre of the striking headpiece, which was on loan from Penns as her ‘something borrowed’.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Sylvie touched her mother’s wrist.

  Wendy handed her a full bouquet of creamy white roses from the garden, encircled with dark green leaves, then brushed away some imaginary dirt from Sylvie’s shoulder, and lingered to look at her daughter’s face.

  ‘Oh my God,’ her mother said, hand over her mouth, tears glittering in her eyes. ‘You look so utterly gorgeous, my darling.’

  Sylvie grinned. ‘Fat, you mean.’

  ‘No. Definitely not fat.’

  Sylvie’s train pooled on the floor behind her, made of the same vintage French lace as the rest of her gown. Its long transparent sleeves were fitted, and the bodice was tastefully cut to hide her new bosom. Wendy reached out to touch Sylvie’s stomach, which was full and taut in the floaty, feathery gown. She held either side of her large belly and bent down, blowing Sylvie’s bump a quick air kiss, before propelling her forward so that she could see herself in the full-length mirror.

  ‘Look.’

  Sylvie caught their reflections in the murky glass, with the edge of Rose’s framed portrait on the wall behind them. She looked like a whale wearing a meringue, but who cared? The replica sapphire brooch was pinned inside her bodice. They were smiling like fools.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready,’ she said, feeling not quite sure that she was, all of a sudden. But the thought of Nick made her feel steady and calm.

  Wendy wiped at the corner of her own eye with a handkerchief. ‘Look at me, darling. I’m a mess,’ she laughed. ‘How on earth am I going to get through the service?’

  ‘You’re asking me? Some Dutch courage would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ Sylvie sniffed wistfully.

  ‘Bad luck, darling. A wee sip of my champagne? We can always stop here for a moment, if you need to. It’s traditional for the bride to be late.’

  ‘No thanks, better not. Penn and Tabs will be down there already, and I don’t want Nick thinking I’ve bolted.’

  ‘Good grief, no – it would be a bit late for that, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Quite.’

  Stepping out over the threshold, Sylvie made her way down the steps in her silver ballet flats, with only the slightest waddle – she was due in two months. Wendy steered her down the path to where Robin was waiting, his arm held aloft and waiting for her.

  ‘Looks like it’s time, Quicksilver.’

  Sylvie took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, biting her lip.

  ‘Okay, Dad,’ she said, giving him a wobbly smile. ‘You can give me away now.’

  ‘With pleasure, darling,’ Robin said wryly, leaning over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Let’s do this.’

  Rounding the corner of the house, the sun shone down on the fifty or so chairs forming a circle around the rose-covered gazebo, laid out on the grass in the blooming garden. Nick had his back to her, but at some ripple in the crowd, he turned around, causing Sylvie’s breath to catch in her throat. It all felt surreal. Heart beating faster, she flashed him a goofy grin and – unable to help herself – waved.

  Nick laughed and waved back, his fringe flopping down in his face as a breeze drifted through the clearing.

  Sylvie could feel the warmth and love radiating out at her from the congregation as she walked down the path towards him, catching many of her friends’ faces smiling up at her, and felt so glad to be amongst them. Compared to when she arrived back just a couple of years ago, she couldn’t believe how far she’d come.

  There were Penn and Tabs standing opposite Nick, while Sam and his brother Greg lingered over on the groom’s side. Even from here, Sylvie could see Tabs cock an eyebrow at Sam, and wondered how long it would take before they were joining them down the aisle. Tabs’s mother had caught the look – Sylvie saw her nudge Tabs’s father, shaking her head disapprovingly.

  ‘Stuff them,’ Tabs had said recently, when Sylvie had asked her what had happened when she broke the news about Sam, and the fact they were moving in together. ‘It’s my life. I’m the one who has to live it! If they have a problem with the fact he’s not Indian, they can go jump.’

  Penns was wearing her customary floaty kaftan, but off-white and embroidered to match both Sylvie’s and Tabs’s dresses. Penny gave her a sly smile, before flashing her feline gaze over at Olu, who was sitting a few rows back next to Jon and the tanned surfer boyfriend from their night out in Peckham Rye. It looked like Olu was a keeper, although Jon’s love affair with Rohan the surfer was your classic on-again, off-again drama that both men seemed to live for. Sylvie couldn’t imagine all the ups and downs. Because life was so good with Nick. So gentle and steady, but exciting, too – she’d never thought it was possible for someone to appear so good on the outside, but be so generally wicked beneath. He kept her guessing, in every way, and she couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with him.

  Not seeing the small step now under the huge globe of her belly, Sylvie tripped. The crowd gasped, and Gigi rose in her seat to help her, but when she saw Robin right her Gigi smiled with relief and gave Sylvie a wink. God love her grandmother, she was wearing the most eye-wateringly audacious get-up Sylvie had yet seen her in – a gold kaftan with matching turban, and a dizzying array of costume jewellery.

  Ignoring the hiccup, Sylvie made her way down the path towards Nick. Through Henry’s garden – Henry and Rose’s garden – and towards him.

  ‘Speech, speech!’

  The guests raised their glasses as Gigi held aloft a full bottle of Dom Perignon and banged it with her knife, never to be outdone. Someone finally turned down the music, lowering the din.

  Laughing, Robin stood up and shouted over the hubbub of voices. ‘All right, all right, quieten down!’

  With its whitewashed walls and temporary wooden flooring, the reinvented barn didn’t look much like the draughty studio it had been for as long as Sylvie could remember, or even much like it had looked only the week before, when they’d been madly readying it for today. The orangerie – while in perfect condition for a proper, grand wedding – was simply too large for their small group of guests. They had wanted something more intimate.

  Thanks to the herculean effort of both of her parents, and with help from Penn and Tabs, the old barn had been transformed into a lovely, rustic reception venue: small and cosy, with two long tables of twenty-five and a small space cleared at the end for dancing. Horseshoes hung on the walls for good luck, under boughs of tumbling ivy and blooms plucked from Rose and Henry’s garden. The ancient wooden beams were festooned with twink
ling fairy lights. Votive candles flickered on the tables around them, and the families and their thirty or so guests looked flushed and gorgeous in the shifting candlelight.

  Her parents sat side by side, Robin’s cheeks shining from too much wine and stray hairs escaping from Wendy’s loosened chignon. Sylvie took another sip of sparkling water. It was lovely to see her mother looking so relaxed and glowing. Or maybe she’d always been like that? Sylvie couldn’t quite remember.

  She reached over to rub her new husband’s knee, sending a little wish skywards that they would always be as happy as they were now. Nick looked so handsome in his linen suit – relaxed and tanned, biceps straining against his crisp white shirt. She refrained from pinching herself, settling for a kick from somewhere deep inside her belly instead.

  ‘It’s here somewhere,’ Robin shouted, patting down his suit comically, before retrieving the cue cards from his pocket. The crowd whooped and whistled.

  Tabs looked at her sideways, grinning. Sylvie’s eyes crinkled as she mouthed a silent thank you. Cutting her the pregnant version of Sylvie’s favourite McQueen wedding dress had been one of Tabs’s last acts in her role at the fashion house – from this week forth, they would be in business together, fulfilling the vast number of orders they’d had for their first capsule collection of Tabitha Rose. Tabs would be moving down to Bledesford herself after the honeymoon, to keep Sylvie company and work on the business. Just as well too – Sylvie was going to have her hands full very shortly.

  ‘As father of the bride, it’s my duty to say a few words on behalf of Wendy and myself about this daughter of mine and her lucky husband. And so, here goes . . .’

  Sylvie ducked her head, feeling a little dazed by all the attention – it was years since she’d felt so comfortable being at the centre of it. She hadn’t even blinked when Gigi – catching the sun alarmingly in her gold get-up – insisted on blessing the wedding with a traditional chanting ceremony she’d picked up from her travels in the Far East.

  ‘I know Lizzie will be watching us now from wherever she is, cursing the fact that she couldn’t be with us today.’ The room fell silent. ‘But she would have agreed with me: you are quite the best thing that’s ever happened to me and your mother, to Bledesford, and to this strapping young man here.’

  For a moment, everyone’s smiles dimmed. It had been tragic losing Lizzie, mere days after her and Nick’s meeting with Victoria, but everyone had agreed that the shock of being reunited with her sister again after all these years might very well have been too much. Sylvie was just so sorry to learn about her great-grandmother’s life, and wondered how someone so clever and privileged could have become so bitter and unhappy over the years, and how, somehow, she had never recognised it herself.

  Sylvie had realised a lot of things about her great-grandmother since she’d died. Like how fearful of change the old lady was. How stubborn, and unyielding – about so many things. It had been a shock to come to terms with just how much Lizzie had influenced her own perception of what it meant to be born a Dearlove. In truth, their family was just as flawed as any other – more so, perhaps.

  Sylvie looked around the room for Victoria, her great-great-aunt, and spotted her sitting beside Penny’s Olu. Earlier in the evening, they had been deep in conversation, with Gigi interrupting them to present the old lady with a heaped plate of food. Gigi and Victoria had got on like a house on fire when Sylvie had brought Victoria to Bledesford to visit, and they liked sitting for hours on the wooden bench outside the kitchen in the sun, talking about life, the universe and everything. And now that Victoria had moved back to Bledesford again, where she could be looked after by Wendy, they spent huge amounts of time together. Sylvie admired Victoria’s grace, her elegant way of carrying herself in the beautiful silk dress – ‘which I made for myself, darling, oh, years ago’ – with its lovely pearl buttons and gathered sleeves. On the other side of the trestle table Sylvie spied Sam, playing footsies with Tabs under the table. He was trying to make her giggle, and wasn’t paying much attention to Robin’s speech.

  Her father brought his short speech to a close. ‘None of us would be here if it weren’t for the bride and groom. Not only did Sylvie and Nick manage to save this place by putting us on the National Trust register, restoring Bledesford to a much better condition than it’s been in since before the war – but they also managed to turn us into a viable operation. Thanks to Nick’s work on the gardens to reinstate Henry Ball’s original vision, we’ve had several thousand visitors already in our first six months of operation. And along with the Dearlove Fashion Museum and wholefoods café – thanks, Penn, for all your PR efforts, by the way, putting out the word in the right circles, and our small but wonderful local team of staff – we’ve hopefully brought Bledesford back from the brink. Added to that, we welcomed Victoria Dearlove – sorry, Bruckner – home, finally, to where she belongs. And so I ask: is there anything this couple can’t achieve together? I think not. Although I suppose Sylvie and Nick will be having a well-deserved break soon, what with their other creation in the works . . .

  ‘And so, I ask you to raise your glasses in a toast. To clever Sylvie and her Nick, who achieved the impossible. May they have many happy years of marriage ahead of them, and may the future of Bledesford always be secure for their children – all six of them.’

  ‘Not bloody likely!’ Sylvie whispered to Nick.

  ‘Six kids . . . Why not?’ he whispered back.

  ‘To clever Sylvie and Nick, who are impossible!’ Penns intoned loudly beside her, grinning.

  ‘Hear, hear!’ cried Gigi, taking a long swig from her magnum of Dom.

  ‘You can take the girl out of rock’n’roll, but you can’t take the rock’n’roll out of the girl,’ Sylvie murmured, before kissing Nick’s ear.

  He swivelled his head to meet hers and caught her in a passionate kiss. Sylvie felt the baby do a backflip, and started laughing.

  TV GUIDE, SUBSCRIPTION CHANNELS

  A gripping new two-part Netflix doco about the glamorous Dearlove dynasty hits our screens this week. Get set for glamour, intrigue and a decades-old mystery finally solved by the award-winning team behind Viscountess: The life of Nancy Astor.

  SOMERSET TIMES

  Local Bites column

  Nick Henshaw of county favourite Raspberry Hills Farm and Bledesford Manor’s Sylvie Dearlove welcome their first child, a baby girl named Xanthe Rose Dearlove Henshaw. Both mother and daughter are doing well and the family issued a statement to say that Bledesford’s much-anticipated summer festivities program will continue as planned.

  Acknowledgements

  Firstly, a massive thank you to my brilliantly clever publisher and friend, Catherine Milne, as well as editor Julia Stiles, cover designer Laura Thomas (for the most gorgeous cover ever), proofreader Annabel Adair, and to all the equally clever, hardworking folk at HarperCollins: CEO James Kellow, managing editor Belinda Yuille, proofreader Shannon Kelly, typesetter Kelli Lonergan, publicists extraordinaire Alice Wood and Sarah Barrett, and sales manager Tom Wilson. Plus the tribe of people who contributed to bringing this book into the world – from sales, marketing, operations, inventory and accounts; the people in the warehouse who pick and pack; and the booksellers and readers – my heartfelt thanks.

  Thank you to my wonderful agent Jane Gregory, Stephanie Glencross, Claire Morris, Laura Darpetti, Sara Langham and everyone else at Gregory & Company for your tireless support and work to help my novels reach the widest possible audience.

  Thank you to Belinda Alexandra for your kind quote; I’m honoured.

  To my writing group, the sensational Women of the Word – Maggie Hamilton, Catherine, Josephine Barrett, Chris McCourt and Sarah Smith – thank you. Every writer needs encouragement and it could not come in a more enjoyable form than your lovely selves.

  I am also very grateful to the friends, family members and colleagues who have been supportive and kind about my writing – you know who you are. A special shout out to Jes
sica Guthrie, Katrina Collett, Rebecca Huntley, Kristy Allen, Jacinta Tynan, The Dousts and Lou Johnson for your enduring friendship and support. Gracias, amigos!

  And most importantly to my dear familiars, James and Olive, who make everything possible.

  About the Author

  KELLY DOUST is the author of the novel Precious Things, her memoir A Life in Frocks, vintage fashion bible Minxy Vintage and The Crafty Minx series of craft books. With a background in book publishing and publicity, Kelly has worked in the UK, Hong Kong and Australia, and has freelanced for Vogue, Australian Women’s Weekly and Sunday Life Magazine. She now lives in Sydney and is a Lifestyle Publisher for Murdoch Books.

  Praise for Precious Things

  ‘A wonderful and unusual story . . . an impressive debut’ – Better Reading

  ‘Beautifully written and downright enchanting. Every character had a story and each story connected and drew me in to the point that I couldn’t put the book down until I found out all their endings’ – mybookdiary.com

  ‘Wonderful storytelling – I was bewitched’ – Charlotte Smith, author of Dreaming of Dior

  ‘a sparkling, feminine narrative, highlighting that what is lost can also be found’ – Kirstie Clements, former editor, Vogue Australia, and bestselling author of The Vogue Factor

  ‘A mesmerising and sublimely told tale about how our stories and secrets outlive us, intertwined in the threads of our precious things’ – Jacinta Tynan, author of Mother Zen, and television presenter, Sky News

  ‘Doust is to be commended for this pleasurable excursion into the world of fashion and objets d’art’ – Sydney Morning Herald