‘What do you want me to do?’ he snapped suddenly, standing and moving to lean on the mantelpiece, glowering at her. ‘I’m trying to please everyone. Marrying Pen gives some structure – a framework to build upon. I have to start somewhere.’
‘And not please yourself,’ she said in a terse voice.
‘I can’t please myself because I don’t know how to. This pain has got to stop.’ Alex withdrew from his pocket the red handkerchief.
Cecily frowned. ‘What’s this?’
‘This is what I’m reaching for. But don’t ask me what it means.’
His mother blinked at the red square with a heart shape cut out of its middle. ‘It could mean nothing.’
He nodded and sighed. ‘Or everything.’
‘But no one has come forward in the past two years.’
‘Exactly! That’s why I’ve let Pen get close.’
Cecily pulled a face of resignation.
‘I suppose I’ve reached the conclusion that I could spend the next few years wondering about that lost chunk of my life,’ he said, his finger tracing the shape of the heart, ‘or I could just get on with living. Penelope offers me that chance.’
‘You make it sound so clinical.’
‘But with Pen it doesn’t feel that way. We’re good together.’
‘I suppose you want my blessing?’ she asked.
He leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek. ‘How does a May wedding suit you?’
She smiled and he hated that she looked as sad as he privately felt. ‘Well, darling, I suppose Larksfell always does look its best in spring.’
_______________
Tommy sat on Edie’s lap as they rode the bus.
‘Hello, gorgeous,’ the conductor said to Edie as he ruffled Tommy’s hair. ‘You sure you’re not meant to be taking a taxi?’
She smiled, realising she probably did look conspicuous, but this was conservative dressing for her. At least the styling was; perhaps the tangerine of her otherwise plain dress was loud enough to attract attention, and clashing it with a fuchsia ribbon on her summer hat certainly didn’t reduce its bright effect. ‘Golders Green, please.’
‘Great day to be up here,’ he said, looking around the empty top deck. ‘Bit early for most, though, on a Sunday.’
She smiled politely and took their tickets. ‘Yes, I thought Tommy would enjoy it.’
Finally new people stepped aboard. ‘Have a great day, you two,’ he winked.
She nodded, hugging Tommy closer. ‘Everything all right with you?’ she whispered, kissing his warm, plump cheek.
He nodded happily. Tommy was not a great talker but she’d accustomed herself to his quiet way. Perhaps he takes after his father’s side, she sometimes wondered.
She put her cheek alongside his and stared at what Tommy seemed mesmerised by: the buses and cars grinding alongside. ‘Horsey.’ He pointed.
‘Big, isn’t he? And strong like you,’ she said, losing count of the tiny teeth he could now smile widely with. He was growing so fast.
Tommy nodded. He turned around on her lap to follow the progress of the horse and she stared at his bright, open expression and experienced a familiar sense of melting, a cleaving of hearts. I wish you could see him, Tom, she said silently. ‘You know something, Tommy? You make me want to be better at everything.’ He didn’t understand and he was straining to catch a final glimpse of the horse. His breath smelled of sugar from the three jelly babies she’d allowed him to choose and put in his pocket, encouraging him to say the colours aloud as he’d selected them with focused precision. Red, green and yellow, which he’d pronounced ‘Lello’. That was what she was going to call the canary she planned to give him for his birthday. Next year, maybe a puppy.
‘Are you looking forward to your party?’
He nodded shyly, and surprised her by planting a long, wet kiss on her nose that she was sure tasted of jelly baby.
She felt a sting of happy tears. And so much more enjoyable than a kiss from Ben, she thought privately.
_______________
Edie was aware that an old grief had her in its maw as she watched the dying man sleep. Sol’s complexion looked grey and he’d withered to half the person she recalled. He lay in the bed looking frighteningly small and if not for the weak, laboured rise of his chest, she could believe his spirit had already fled.
‘Wake him,’ Irena had urged. ‘He would want to know you’re both here. I’ll make some coffee. Come on, darling, you come with Aunty Irena.’ Sol’s wife had gestured for Edie to proceed into the bedroom as she steered the little boy into the kitchen, but it wasn’t awkwardness she was feeling; it was fear. Fear of being reminded of her previous life – the one she’d worked hard to distance herself from.
She needed to find the courage, though. ‘Sol . . .’ she whispered. Edie moved closer and took his hand. It was dry and his skin looked as thin as onion skin. ‘Sol, it’s me, Edie. Edie Valentine.’
He stirred. ‘Edie?’ he croaked and his eyelids fluttered.
‘Yes, I’m here.’
Sol turned. ‘I thought I was dreaming. Hello, beautiful.’
She smiled at the affectionate nickname, and the inevitable tears fell for a good man and old friend.
‘No crying for me, Edie. It’s not so bad, love. No pain.’
‘Oh, Sol. I’m so sorry I haven’t been to —’
‘Hush now. You’ve made my day.’ He frowned. ‘Is it day?’
She gave a watery laugh, glancing at the windows that had their heavy curtains drawn. ‘Yes.’
‘The light hurts my eyes. Shame. I’d prefer to go looking out at the sky.’
‘Don’t, Sol,’ she murmured.
‘Irena told me all about how you’re getting on. You’ll make us all proud.’
‘Hope so.’
‘I’m sorry I lost him, Edie,’ he croaked, reaching for her hand.
‘Me too. I miss Abba every day.’
He smiled sadly. ‘I meant Tom,’ he said, sounding so frail she wanted to call his wife, bring Tommy in quickly so he could see her fine boy, but didn’t dare let go of his hand or shift attention. ‘I’ve wanted to say that to you for a long time.’
Her tears began to flow freely and she gave up trying to dab at them.
‘He just wanted to buy you a gift.’
She caught her breath. This was the first snippet relating to Tom’s disappearance she’d heard since that terrible day.
‘Really? You didn’t mention it back then.’
Sol struggled to breathe as he spoke but was determined to say what he had to. ‘I forgot. I thought Abe would have mentioned it. We’re old men, Edie. Our minds aren’t what they used to be. Tom said he was feeling strong. He had plans to go to Piccadilly Circus but as we approached he realised it was too much and so I set him down at Green Park.’
‘I heard that. I never fully understand why he didn’t go to Savile Row with you. Why he was dropped off. I assumed he was scared and decided to head home on a bus out of central London, but it all became too much.’
‘He should have stuck with me. The Row is quiet.’
Edie nodded in agreement.
‘I dreamed of Tom not so long ago.’
She sniffed. ‘I dream of him all the time. Tragic, aren’t we?’
Her son peered around the door. She caught sight, beckoned to him, whispering.
‘Sol . . . this is our little boy. I called him Tommy.’
‘Tommy,’ he repeated in soft wonder, his voice gently rapturous.
‘Say hello to Solly,’ she whispered.
‘Hello, Solly,’ the little boy mangled with a slight lisp.
Sol chuckled. ‘Wow, Edie. He’s a Valentine all right, but I see Tom.’
‘Me too. I’m glad you do.’
‘I remembered something after my dream. It was as if I was there again. It was all so clear I could believe I could reach out and touch him, bring him back to you.’
Edie caught a sob in her throat; re
fused to crumple into tears.
‘You have to find the old man.’
‘Old man?’ she repeated, her voice shaking.
‘The one Tom was speaking to.’
She blinked. ‘I didn’t hear anything about an old man.’
‘I didn’t remember him at the time. It was all so . . . so . . . frantic when the police were making their enquiries.’ He stopped and gulped. ‘And losing Abe. I felt so responsible, Edie. I don’t think I was thinking straight. But in my dream I saw him, an old man, approaching Tom. I’ve seen him before when I’ve done deliveries. I think the old fellow feeds the birds at the park.’
Edie squeezed Sol’s hand. ‘Remember again. Tell me everything you can recall. Every tiny detail, Sol.’
_______________
The weather, though unseasonably wet, was also hot enough to send most people scurrying to the closest seafronts. Alex had booked a table at The Grand Hotel in Brighton and whisked a delighted Pen in Rupert’s new car to the coast in a roar of petrol fumes.
‘Glad I borrowed this motor. Mine’s far too sedate. I shall definitely have to get myself one of these,’ he yelled to her over the growl of the engine.
‘I shall race you to the purchase,’ she challenged, holding on to her hat, her face flushed with happiness.
After a laughter-filled lunch and a flute of champagne to add to the effervescence of the afternoon, he suggested a stroll on the promenade.
‘I have to tell you, Pen, you somehow manage to look as cool as ice-cream in this outrageous heat, and just as delicious.’
She grinned. ‘There is a saucy response that comes to mind with that remark.’
He laughed, delightedly. ‘I can work it out, I’m sure.’
She slapped him. ‘You’re a tease. I should be blushing.’
‘Really?’
‘I wish it wasn’t a tease,’ she said and gave him a sidelong, searching glance that he couldn’t hold.
They stopped and leaned against the dark Victorian lacework balustrade that separated the promenade from the shingle beach and enjoyed the balm that the very soft breeze brought.
‘Thank you for bringing me out today. It’s wonderful to hear you laugh,’ Pen said.
‘I actually had a question to ask,’ he began, frowning. Was this the moment he let go of his life to this point? He could feel the presence of the red handkerchief in his inside breast pocket, fancying that it was pressing against his heart, pleading with him to stay true. Whoever she was, she was looking for him. And as Pen turned towards the wind to catch its taunting relief, Alex heard it bring with it a plea. Find me. Damn it! That voice. It blew through his mind, disintegrating as fast as it came, so he was reaching after tendrils of the smoke it sounded like. The voice in his mind made him think of a garden. A tranquil, perfect garden of safety. Is that why he was suddenly gardening? Was her name Rose? Is that why he was growing magnificent perfumed roses over an arbour near his study window?
‘Ask away,’ Pen said brightly. ‘If I can help with something, I’d be glad to.’
Alex braced and smiled. He could do this. Had to, if he was to have any chance at normality again. ‘It is something I could use your help with, Pen. You see, I think I need a wife.’
Her head snapped around and she regarded him in wide shock; if this was what she hungered for, then she hadn’t seen it coming and he liked her all the more for that. He watched now as her normally violet eyes seemed to reflect the summery blue of the sky to match her dress. She’d never looked more gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but love seeing her speechless for once.
‘Do you mean it, Alex?’ she whispered, all amusement gone.
‘Care to marry me, Pen?’
Her shriek of joy managed to eclipse the music and squeals from the funfair rides on West Pier but even though it was noted by passers-by, all they saw was a woman oblivious to all around but the man she stared at so intently.
‘In a heartbeat,’ she gushed, clasping his hand and pulling it to her heart.
How could anyone resist her? ‘I’ll take it that’s a yes, then?’
‘Yes, oh, yes, I want to marry you with all my heart.’
‘May I kiss you?’
‘I’ll die if you don’t.’
Elders taking a seafront walk nearby hissed private disgust while younger people whistled as the couple on the Brighton promenade kissed and sealed a new society engagement that would set tongues buzzing wildly in London.
Meanwhile Alex could smell the perfume of roses and heard a woman’s heels walking away from him in his mind as a robin sang.
21
Edie stared at the newspaper with a dulled glaze in her eyes. The buttered toast appeared damp and lifeless to match her expression, while smudges of white had appeared on her already pale cheeks like night cream she’d forgotten to smooth in. Madeleine stood in unnerved silence, hands on hips, watching Edie.
‘Say something,’ she finally murmured. ‘Let it out.’
‘I’m not one for histrionics.’
‘Translation please.’
‘I don’t go in for screaming and tearing my hair out or slamming doors . . . but I feel as though I’m doing all of those things in my mind.’
‘How could this have happened, Eden?’
‘I’m not imagining it, am I?’ she begged. ‘Those are my sketches.’ She looked up at her friend as though pleading to be contradicted.
Madeleine visibly swallowed. ‘They’re not your sketches but they are your designs. Unmistakably.’ She shifted to stand behind where Edie sat, numb, in the salon. ‘How? You protect that folder like a child.’
‘It hasn’t left my possession.’
‘Where is it now?’
‘Here. In the office. I carry it everywhere.’
‘Wait. I’ll fetch it.’ Madeleine disappeared and then re-emerged, carrying the folder. She handed it to Edie, who undid the ribbon and opened it.
Sifting through the sheets, she searched for her sketches of the designs that were on display in the newspaper. Edie shook her head, making a soft noise of despair as she flicked through the drawings once more. ‘They’re gone. I didn’t notice before because they were finished and I’ve been working on the others. The three gowns featured in the article are missing,’ she said. ‘They were the most dramatic, my best work, but also effortlessly simple. The thieves could have them made up in days by an accomplished team of seamstresses.’
There was no passion in her voice at all. Madeleine laid hands on Edie’s shoulders. ‘You sound too calm. What’s happening?’
‘Calm? I feel dead, Mads.’ She flung the newspaper aside and stood, her arms clutching her elbows as if holding herself in pain. ‘Steadily, everything I love has been taken from me. I have told myself that there are people around me who have lost more . . . I’ve got Tommy, friends, I’ve got some money, and I’ve got my dreams. I’ve made all that enough – forgive me, Madeleine, I don’t mean to demean you.’
‘You’re not. I understand.’
Edie shook her head. ‘When Tom disappeared and then I lost Abba, I felt as though my life was over.’
Madeleine nodded. ‘Natural enough, but with Tommy needing you, you’ve picked yourself up and faced it all.’
‘Sometimes I cast out the words “Find me, Tom!” and convince myself he’ll hear it somehow and come back.’
Madeleine couldn’t hide the despair she felt on her friend’s behalf.
‘But this . . . this feels like the end for me, Mads. I’m tired.’
‘Eden, someone stole your designs. Get angry, get a lawyer . . . but don’t give up.’
‘I have a lawyer in my life.’
‘Then ask Ben what you should do.’
‘It’s House of Ainsworth’s word against mine. I can’t prove those are my designs!’
The phone rang. Madeleine answered the call. ‘Valentine’s, good morning. Ah, Lady Fincham, good morning. We’re not officially open yet but we’ll be happy to —’
E
die was back unfurling the newspaper and staring again at the sketches that were being described as ‘a new wave of bridal gown designs that herald the arrival of the jazz and cocktail age’. They appeared in the weekend feature on spring bridal wear in the Sunday Times. Edie hadn’t seen the newspaper until this morning as she’d spent Sunday listening to Sol recall in sudden vivid clarity about the afternoon she had lost Tom in London. Unbeknownst to her, by the time she’d returned to her flat in Chelsea, Sol was already slipping away from his family, released now that he’d spoken to Edie about that terrible day. She shook her head, still blankly staring at her designs with no clue as to how anyone could have taken them from under her nose. Only Mads had access, her mind screamed. But she dismissed the treacherous thought in a heartbeat and besides, the sketches had been in her care this last week.
Madeleine put the phone receiver down and looked at Edie, unsure. ‘That was Lady Fincham.’
Edie could guess what was coming. She made it easier for her friend. ‘I’m guessing she’s taking her business to House of Ainsworth.’
Madeleine hesitated. ‘She said they will make up the gown in white.’
‘Of course they will. That’s because they have no taste,’ she said in a bitter tone. ‘Did she at least wonder at how that bridal house could possibly have the same design to offer her daughter?’
‘She didn’t mention,’ Madeleine replied but Edie could hear the lie, knew her friend was protecting her feelings. Lady Fincham had probably accused Edie of copying someone else’s designs. It hurt. But she had no more tears to weep for herself.
The phone rang again. ‘That will probably be the Danby order,’ Edie murmured. ‘I guess Pippa Danby is having her gown made at House of Ainsworth too. I’m going out, Mads. Will you take care of it?’
‘Yes, of course, but . . .’
‘I just need some air.’
Her coat was hanging near the door or she would have left without it, despite the snap cold that had come with the rain. She didn’t have her bag and suddenly her folder of precious designs didn’t matter any more. Her bubble had been burst.
Edie walked without purpose, pausing to stare blankly into the windows of Peter Jones, where autumn fashions and even a few Christmas decorations were sneaking in. Fairy lights would go up in London in the next month or two and people would get into the festive spirit. She would have to bring Tommy out at night to enjoy them. But Edie didn’t feel like any of it right now, believing she had nothing to celebrate and nothing to look forward to but the misery of a collapsed dream.
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