Adele nearly danced out the door. She walked over to the shop which Donelli recommended and purchased two white tucked shirtwaists and two skirts, one navy blue and the other a blue and black plaid, as well as a blue-gray smock that could cover her from shoulders to knees to keep lint and threads off her clothes.
She saw herself in a full length mirror for the first time in her life. The woman who stared back was tall and slender with a tiny waist and sad dark eyes. The salesclerk recommended a small felt hat and a pair of gloves that fit snugly on her work-roughened hands.
She only wished none of it was necessary.
Chapter 11
THE NEXT MORNING Susannah set off for the depot both to draw and ask around for information about Brian while Adele walked over to Donelli.
Adele was barely out of her cloak and hat when Donelli handed her the garments his former employee left unfinished when he quit the day before. She sat at the worktable, and opened her workbasket. Her breath caught when she found her thimble. It was nested in the larger brass thimble Brian used when they had bent over the quilt frame together on long winter evenings. With a sigh, she slid her thimble out and slipped it on her left middle finger. Threading a needle, she began to work.
The day was mostly devoted to finishing the garments, but was periodically broken up by interruptions to aid in fittings and make alterations. Donelli referred to her as Mrs. Strange to customers, although he called her by her first name privately. He had instructed her to call him Signor Donelli.
By the end of the day, Adele was tired; more from tension than the work itself. After all, she had plowed fields and repaired harnesses alone in her time. By comparison, this was easy, almost enjoyable work. Her tension came more from the desire to do her job well enough to keep it at least long enough to get a lead on Brian's whereabouts. Jobs for respectable women were in short supply in San Francisco.
Antonio Donelli had no complaints. In fact he was well pleased. His new tailor was skillful and rapid. He was concerned, though, that Adele's attractiveness might cause a problem. He would have to watch closely.
Adele seemed to ignore the more suggestive remarks, other than to quietly remind customers she was married.
It was Christmas Eve Day when a messenger brought a note to the shop. Donelli read the note and quickly went back to the workroom, where Adele was fitting a lining in a suit coat.
"Mrs. Strange, I have a request I've never made of an employee before. Would you object to working on Christmas Day?"
"You mean tomorrow?"
"Yes, I have a special commission." He waved the note. "One of my best customers is back in town after being gone for a couple of years. This note says he needs a complete new wardrobe, from the skin out. New measurements, full haberdashery, the works. And it's a rush job--believe me--we'll both be sewing overtime on this one. This man demands the best."
"But why on Christmas Day? I expected to have to work on Saturdays, but couldn't even a good customer come in on Monday, the twenty-seventh."
"He's not coming in. He's expecting us to come to him. I'll need your assistance with the sample books and measurements. Besides, I'll bet you haven't seen those mansions on Nob Hill yet."
"Mr. Donelli, I am willing to help you tomorrow, but, I would like to have January sixth off instead. That's when my family celebrates the season and I don't want to abandon my sister and daughter our first Twelfth Night in San Francisco. This city is foreign enough without that."
"What about your husband?"
Adele looked down. "I don't know where he is. He disappeared a couple of weeks ago and we haven't found him yet. That's why we're here," she added quietly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Donelli lifted Adele's chin. With her dark hair and eyes, she reminded him of his late wife Angelina, dead for the last fifteen years and buried in their hometown of Sorrento. If she were not a married woman, he could fall for her himself. But, even though he thought her beauty might attract customers, he never expected any follow through. He was, at heart, a religious man, and there were rules for such things.
"That's all right, Mr. Donelli. My problems aren't yours. I won't mention it again. When do you want me to come in tomorrow?"
"Be here at eight. I'm going to dawn Mass, but afterwards I'll rent a carriage and we'll leave from here. Expect to spend the day there. And you may have January 6th off instead."
RIGHT ON TIME the next morning, Adele arrived at the shop wearing her plaid skirt, which she considered dressier than the blue. The streets were nearly deserted. Most San Franciscans were either in early morning services or home with their families and all the shops and restaurants outside of Chinatown would be closed and shuttered all day.
Adele left Bea with Susannah, who agreed not to go out to draw that day since Mrs. O'Bannion was going to Mass and then to the home of her married daughter for Christmas Dinner. Susannah even offered to cook breakfast and supper for the other tenants so Mrs. O'Bannion could spend the full day with her grandchildren.
She and Donelli packed up cards mounted with fabric swatches and illustrations of the latest men's styles, as well as pencils, paper, tape measures and some small sewing notions. After loading up, Donelli handed her up into the carriage and, with a flick of the whip, they set off through the quiet morning streets.
The closeness of the middle-class apartment houses and shops soon drifted into larger single houses as the carriage wended its way up California Street to Nob Hill.
Nob Hill was a revelation to a country girl like Adele. Huge, often garish, two- and three-story mansions, built mostly from gold, shipping and railroad money, covered the hill. Rolling lawns with elegantly sculpted hedges, wrought iron fences and statuary took her breath away. The wealth and excess were evident, even to the gilded Christmas wreaths attached to front doors and gates.
"This is like a fairy land. Can you imagine never having to scrimp and make do? When I got married, my husband and I had to decide whether to get wedding rings or fix the axle of our wagon. The axle won."
"Is that why you wear that iron thing instead?"
Adele looked down at her gloved hands. "Yes." Brian was going to get her a gold ring when he disappeared. But now she was almost too sentimental about the ring she had to want a new one.
The carriage pulled up the curving carriage driveway of a three-story wood and brick mansion, a little older than some of the other houses on the Hill. The house was also remarkable in that it alone bore no Christmas wreath.
Donelli remarked, "This house dates back to the 1850's. Oscar Carroll built it when he made his first killing in shipping bringing goods in for the forty-niners. Carroll Enterprises is the largest import/export company in California."
"So we'll be meeting Mr. Carroll?"
"Actually, the senior Mr. Carroll lives in Europe now. He left the business to his sons, who live here now. Both of the Carroll brothers have been customers for years."
Tying off the reins, they dismounted and began unloading the carriage. The front door was answered by Jennings, the butler, who directed them to a parlor off the hall that was nearly as large as the entire Stoddard farmhouse.
"Mr. Carroll will be down shortly," he intoned and left them.
Adele looked around in awe. "I've never seen anything like this before."
"It's quite something, isn't it, Mrs. Strange. And yet, this house is actually quite conservative in decor. Many of the houses on the Hill are so ostentatious you would think an imperial potentate lived in them."
"But the size. We lived in two rooms," Adele breathed. "Two rooms for the four of us. This house probably has room for twenty people."
Donelli chuckled. "Probably not that many. Let's get set up now."
Setting up their samples on top of the piano and settee, Adele slipped on her smock and both tailors draped their tape measures around their necks with the ends dangling down their chests. She gathered up the stack of illustrations in her arms as the parlor door opened.
"Mr. Carrol
l," said Donelli, his hand outstretched, "so good to see you again after all this time."
"Thank you for giving up your Christmas for this. I expect you will bill me extra for the inconvenience."
Adele turned at the sound of the voice. On seeing the giant who had just entered, she gasped and dropped the illustrations, which floated to the floor at her feet. All color drained from her face.
Donelli stared at her. "What's the matter with you, Mrs. Strange? Come here and meet Mr. Blair Carroll."
Adele picked up the stack of illustrations and, holding them close to her, approached the tall man. His hair was coal black and cut so ruthlessly short that it would not dare to curl. His equally black mustache was trimmed to reveal a scowling, no-nonsense mouth. He had an old scar on his left temple and yellow remnants of a new bruise in the same place. She stared into eyes that were gunmetal gray and just as hard and cold.
She held out her right hand. "Mr. Carroll...I'm pleased to um--meet you. I'm Adele Strange, Signor Donelli's assistant."
She looked hopefully into those hard gray eyes. They returned no hint of recognition. Maybe I'm mistaken, thought Adele.
Then he took her hand to shake. She looked down at his right hand. The little finger was gone. I'm not mistaken. It is Brian. It must be. It couldn't be anyone else. She looked up at him again, still holding onto his hand. As if struck like lightning, he pulled it away and put it behind his back.
"Not a pleasant sight for a woman," Blair declared. "Still getting used to its being missing myself."
"It doesn't bother me, Mr. Carroll. If you want, I can take any gloves you have back with us and fix them so it's less obvious."
"What do you have in mind?"
"I'd stuff the little fingers with cotton batting and tack them to the ring fingers so they move together. It's a very simple thing, but it gives the right illusion."
Blair thought about the worn leather gloves that were fixed in the selfsame way. Coincidence, he thought. How many ways could there be to fix a pair of gloves?
"Amazing, Donelli, a woman who can think."
Adele started at the venom in those words. Who was this man?
Donelli caught it, too. "She's only been with me a week and she's already the best assistant I've ever hired. I think you'll be pleased with her work."
"As long as she doesn't prattle."
Adele felt her face heating up with anger and tears prick her eyes. Prattle! Remembering her position, she bit back a retort. Blair Carroll obviously had no idea who she was. But if he were the same man, Brian Strange would never have made such remarks.
Or would he? Adele remembered Brian making similar remarks rather unconsciously the first week or so after she had found him. Living and working around the Stoddards, the comments had soon stopped as if they had never been made. This man definitely had a painful history where women were concerned that had been wiped away when he lost his memory. If he was himself now, that history was back in his mind.
Ready to take his measurements, Donelli without comment helped Blair remove his too-tight dressing gown. Under it he wore the muslin shirt and black trousers he had arrived in San Francisco wearing. Donelli pulled at the sleeve of the shirt. The style looked familiar to him.
"I know it's cheap garbage, but nothing else I own fits anymore," Blair commented. He laughed ruefully. "I've picked up a lot of muscle in the last couple of years. Wreaks havoc with the wardrobe."
Donelli fingered the shirt. "Looks well made."
"If you like wearing a feed sack."
Adele reeled at the insult. He had been married in that same shirt and didn't call it garbage then. She had to stay calm and professional, even though her knees and hands were shaking and her stomach churning. She picked up a pad and pencil and began to take down the measurements as Donelli called them out. It was mindless work, particularly since she knew the numbers by heart. She repeated the numbers back parrot-like, until....
"Inseam, thirty-seven...."
Automatically, Adele corrected him. "Thirty-eight," she said without looking up.
Donelli and Blair looked back. "What did you say?" Donelli asked.
"Ah, I--um--think that's not--um--doesn't sound right. He looks more like it might be thirty-eight. Measure again, you'll see."
He did. "You're right."
Adele shrugged.
The rest of the day was devoted to selections. Blair chose very little of what could be called casual wear. White shirts, dark suits and vests, all in the finest fabrics. New dressing gowns, a smoking jacket.
"I don't know why I need a smoking jacket. I don't seem to smoke anymore."
"So you don't have to wear your suit coats in the house," commented Donelli.
You smoked? thought Adele. I didn't know that.
Overcoat, evening clothes, nightshirts....
"Nightshirts?" asked Adele.
Blair laughed. "She's right, Donelli. Damned nuisance. Guess they keep me from frightening the maid. Shit, she can stay the hell out of my room. No nightshirts."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah, you talk to the haberdasher about hats, socks and underwear. I don't have time to be bothered. What's the soonest I can expect something?"
"Well, I have to draft patterns. You were never a standard size and you certainly aren't now. If we work straight through, we can probably have some things ready by New Years Eve."
"Can't you get me anything sooner? These damned trousers I'm wearing have extensions on them, for God's sake! I can't go to the office in these rags!"
"Excuse me, Signor Donelli," interrupted Adele. "If Mr. Carroll doesn't mind that the fabric quality is not up to his usual standards, I can have a suit ready for him by tomorrow morning. And two shirts."
"Are you referring to that sacque suit?"
"Yes, I've got a pretty good idea it will fit him. He can borrow it and the shirts until we get these new clothes ready."
"Why would I be borrowing a suit? I'll buy it, even if I only wear it for a week," Blair stated flatly.
"It's not for sale, sir. I made it as a Christmas present for my husband, but I wasn't able to give it to him. You're the same size, so it should fit. But I really want it back."
"You'd give your husband a used suit?"
"Under the circumstances I'm sure he wouldn't mind. It wouldn't be the first time, Mr. Carroll."
"He must be quite a brick...." Blair then noticed that Adele spoke of her husband in the past tense. He stiffened uncomfortably. "Sorry, I misunderstood. Bring it by tomorrow. I'll return it later."
"Thank you for understanding, Mr. Carroll."
Truly, he did not understand it. In fact it confused the hell out of him. She seemed sensible, as women went. Not that women tended to be sensible, even under ideal circumstances. Why she would be sentimental about clothes she made for her dead husband. He was dead; it appeared from her references to him in the past tense--Blair could not begin to speculate. Well, it saved him a few dollars but from the hundreds he would be spending, what difference did that make?
It suddenly occurred to Blair that he wanted to ask Mrs. Strange about it. That shocked him, because normally he did not give a damn about what women thought--if they thought.
The lady was well-named Mrs. Strange, he thought. She was strange, compared to other women he knew. She made him feel very strange.
Hungry, almost.
It was a feeling Blair Carroll had already decided he liked not one bit.
ADELE WAS silent all the way back to the shop. She helped Donelli unload and went into the workroom to finish the hem and sew buttons on the suit while Donelli returned the carriage. He returned a half hour later with a bell-shaped bread loaf and some hard boiled eggs. While Adele sewed, he brewed coffee, then pulled out a large roll of paper and began to draft a suit jacket pattern based on the measurements. When the coffee was ready, he poured two mugs full and cut two generous slices of the bread.
"Here," he said. "It's pannetone. It's Italian sweet bread we ea
t at Christmas time. I have no anisetta to put in the coffee, but I suspect neither of us would do well tonight if we have liquor. We have some long nights ahead of us, it appears."
"Thank you." Adele took a bite and smiled. "It's delicious. My sister couldn't bake better, I'll bet."
"Oh, I buy them at a local Italian bakery. The man's a Sicilian, but he does bake a good pannetone."
Donelli sat down opposite her. "Seriously, something shook you up today."
Adele responded evasively, "No, it was nothing."
"I know Carroll is a real bastard where women are concerned. Something to do with his father, I've heard. You mustn't take it seriously; it has nothing to do with you."
"No, he didn't--doesn't--even know me." Adele dropped her hands to her lap and sighed. "Mr. Donelli, he's going to hate this suit. Did you hear how he was about the clothes he was wearing? This isn't much better."
Donelli picked up the jacket, now finished with all its buttons. True, it was only serviceable black wool broadcloth, but it wasn't unfashionable. He draped it on the mannequin, pinned Blair's measurements on the form and took out his tape measure. The measurements were exact. This jacket would fit perfectly over a dress shirt. He picked up one of the previously finished cambric shirts and measured it. It, too, was perfect.
"Have you met Mr. Carroll before, Adele?"
"The man you introduced me to today was a stranger to me." She put down the trousers, finished. "Mr. Donelli, I know we have lots of work to do yet, but I need to go home and feed my little girl and have some supper. I can be back in an hour and work all night if necessary."
Donelli dismissed her. "Come back in the morning. I'll have at least one of the patterns done. Oh, and Adele, I've decided to waive the advance I gave you for the clothes--as a Christmas present. You've done yeoman's duty today."
Adele thanked him with a shy smile as she gathered up her things to go back to the boarding house.
When Adele got back to the boarding house, Susannah greeted her with a hug and some good beef stew and fresh baked bread from the morning. After supper, Adele went upstairs and opened her shirtwaist to nurse Beatrice. Little Gent jumped on the bed and curled up beside her. She quickly scratched between his ears. There was the comfort of the familiar in this strange and disquieting city, the soft purring of Little Gent, the gentle pull on her nipple by her hungry little girl. Tears began to flow uncontrollably and stream down her cheeks. She had found Brian Strange, but he wasn't the man she'd lost. The man she found was a monster.
Remember My Love Page 14