The Tailor's Girl

by Fiona McIntosh

  Madeleine did so and Edie began struggling to fit her son’s small arms into short, thick sleeves. Maybe I should design a children’s range? she thought. To make it easier for mothers . . .

  She refocused on Madeleine’s voice. ‘. . . Sarah’s an angel. And what’s more, we took three new appointments,’ Mads added, beginning to unpack groceries. ‘I’ve brought stuff for chicken soup, but you look too well for it.’

  ‘Never too well for chicken soup. Can you get it on?’ Mads nodded. ‘So, tell me about Sarah’s first day.’

  Madeleine prattled amiably for a few minutes, helping Tommy into boots and a hat, while Edie pulled out a jar of peppercorns from her pantry and inspected all the ingredients her friend had thrown on the table.

  ‘Perfect,’ she approved. ‘Right. Off to the park we go,’ Edie said, taking Tommy’s hand.

  ‘Oh, I must tell you,’ Madeleine said, her tone full of intrigue as she walked with them to the door. ‘I met Alex Wynter today, the soon-to-be husband of our client.’

  ‘And I meant to tell you that I spoke with Pen moments before you arrived. She’s invited me to lunch at The Savoy tomorrow.’

  The Frenchwoman’s mouth opened in impressed surprise. ‘Did she invite me as well?’

  Edie grinned. ‘Afraid not, Mads. She should have! Apparently she wants to introduce me to a gaggle of girlfriends and is determined that Valentine’s becomes the salon of the socialite bride.’

  Madeleine let out a small whistle. ‘Well, she’s worth her weight in gold, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. And she has no airs or graces, that girl. I like her very much.’ Edie stepped out onto the landing outside the door.

  ‘She deserves her handsome groom, then.’

  ‘Is he?’ she said, pulling on Tommy’s bobble cap. ‘There, you’re more handsome than Mr Wynter,’ she said to her son and gave him a hug.

  ‘Wynter isn’t just handsome – that description is far too ordinary. Non,’ Madeleine said, smiling to herself in memory. ‘Monsieur Wynter sizzles!’

  Edie grinned helplessly. ‘Tell me about him when we get back.’

  ‘Have fun, you two. Don’t be late. I need to get home tonight.’

  _______________

  Holding Tommy’s small hand, they crunched across the red-and-gold carpet that littered the pathways of the park, and as Edie let his happy chatter fall around her like the late autumn leaves, her mood lifted immediately.

  After a game of chase, they caught their breath with an obligatory visit to the pond, where Tommy was happy to lose several minutes gazing into the depths to make sounds of delight as he spied the bright flash of an orange goldfish tail. Edie was once again reminded that she nearly had everything she could ever want in life.

  ‘Your daddy’s going to find us, Tommy. Did you know that?’

  He nodded shyly, not looking at her.

  Edie knew she could have just asked him whether he’d like to eat chocolate for dinner and he’d have given an identical response. It didn’t matter. She wrapped her arms around her child because when she held him like this, her life felt safe and in balance. Despite Ben’s betrayal, he’d inadvertently given her the one gift she longed for. He’d given her Tom. Now, she knew he was alive.

  ‘And not tomorrow, because I have a lot to catch up on,’ she continued, ‘but the day after, I’m going to begin my hunt to bring your daddy home.’

  Tommy squealed a soft laugh and her emotions surged at the sound. ‘Da,’ he prattled. It could have meant anything, but to Edie it meant Daddy.

  ‘Yes, darling. We both want him back.’

  _______________

  They arrived back at the flat with Edie feeling a fresh sense of purpose and empowerment.

  ‘You two look rosy-cheeked,’ Madeleine remarked.

  ‘Blew all the mists away in my mind.’

  After dinner, Madeleine bathed Tommy and then read to him while Edie cleaned up in the kitchen and brewed some coffee. It was past seven and fully dark by the time she set down the tray in her tiny sitting room and Madeleine tiptoed back in.

  ‘Fast asleep,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, Mads. I made you some coffee.’ Edie switched on a small lamp and turned up the heating. ‘I swear I’m feeling the cold earlier this year.’ She settled back into the couch, warming her hands around the mug of coffee. ‘You were going to tell me about Miss Aubrey-Finch’s fiancé.’

  ‘Ah, yes, and then I must go. Where to begin, darling? He’s tall. That’s mandatory, right?’

  Edie nodded and put a finger in the air to signify it was a fundamental.

  ‘Very dark hair.’

  Edie smiled and put a second finger in the air.

  ‘Now, the eyes. How would I describe their blueness?’ She sipped her coffee. ‘Like a stormy sea – the Atlantic. No . . . remember that exquisite silk you had a sample of, dyed from anil to give that amazing indigo?’ Edie nodded. ‘That’s the colour I mean.’

  ‘Fathomless,’ Edie murmured, reminded of Tom’s colouring. ‘Well, that’s three big ticks.’

  ‘He’s charming, yet, how you say, reticent?’ Edie nodded. ‘And dashing, yet speaks in a quiet voice. He’s mysterious.’

  Edie put up a fourth finger. ‘No wonder she’s wanted him since childhood!’

  ‘Absolument! If the man wasn’t a client’s groom, I would have invited him home.’

  ‘Shame on you!’

  ‘Shame be damned. He’s not married yet.’

  Edie sighed. ‘Well, he sounds like the dream.’ She gave a small twist of her mouth. ‘He sounds like Tom. I’m going to find him, Mads.’

  ‘I know, darling. Is that tailor back who you wanted to ask about the man-who-would-be-Tom?’

  ‘Don’t mock me. I have every intention of talking to Percival Fitch on his return.’ She reminded Madeleine of her plan to visit Fleet Street. Her friend gave her a nod of approval. ‘And in the meantime, there’s no harm in meeting Mr Wynter and seeing if he has any bachelor friends for us, is there?’

  People passing by the Regency apartment building could hear women’s laughter suddenly leaking out into the increasingly damp street as drizzle began to show in the pavement’s gaslight.

  _______________

  Alex scampered into the club lobby, reaching for his fob watch, although he already knew he was running behind time.

  ‘Mr Wynter?’

  He closed his eyes and took a breath, turning and ensuring his expression was even. ‘Yes, Henry?’

  ‘A message for you, Sir,’ he said. ‘Miss Aubrey-Finch rang to say that she has ‘‘wangled’’ a car rather than a taxi for tonight and she plans to pick you up, at the new time of seven-thirty.’

  Alex felt relieved. The rush was off. ‘Oh, that’s excellent, thank you, Henry. Traffic was crazy coming from North London.’

  ‘It’s the rain, Sir,’ Henry said, as though it was an automatic response to every woe. ‘Oh, and one more thing, Sir – a gentleman rang to speak with you just before you left. I couldn’t get the message to you because you were in such a hurry earlier.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Er . . . he’s in the drawing room, Sir.’

  ‘Here . . . at the club?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. I said he could wait for you. It seemed rather important, I gather.’

  Alex frowned. ‘All right. Thank you, Henry.’ Who the devil could be chasing him down at nearing six? He strode into the drawing room only barely noticing a suspension of tobacco fog that vaguely shifted around the chandelier with his arrival.

  A tall, slim man with neat, wavy black hair wearing a dark three-piece suit and a bow tie stood. ‘Mr Wynter?’

  Alex frowned. ‘Yes?’ He watched the stranger approach.

  ‘My name is Benjamin Levi,’ he said.

  Alex wondered why Levi was staring at him in a vague sense of wonder. ‘Should I know you?’

  Levi gave a smile. ‘In one way, yes, but I realise why you don’t.’

  ‘Mr Levi, forgive me. I�
�ve had quite a long day and I am late to get ready to meet my fiancée, so if you’ll —’

  ‘Ah, yes, Miss Aubrey-Finch.’

  Alex’s gaze narrowed. ‘What is this about?’

  ‘Shall we move out of the lobby?’

  He shrugged. ‘You’re not a member here, Levi, and you’re also not a guest, I’m guessing. I hate to be churlish, but I am in rather a hurry, so —’

  ‘In a hurry to marry?’ he interjected.

  ‘You’re baiting me, Mr Levi.’

  ‘I don’t mean to.’

  ‘But you don’t deny it.’

  Levi grinned, looking at the richly thick oriental rug splayed on the pale stone floor of the lobby. ‘No. But then, I owe you.’

  ‘Owe me?’ Alex repeated. ‘Owe me what?’

  ‘Well, this, for starters,’ Levi said, and threw a loose punch at the man facing him.

  The blow, delivered from too close, missed Alex’s chin and connected with the top of his cheek, by the eye. It was enough to unbalance him as he was moving away, and in that moment of amazement his shoe slipped on the fringe of the oriental rug, and he was falling. In less time than it took him to expel his breath in astonishment, he felt his head hit the flagstones.

  When Alex opened his eyes he saw a cluster of familiar faces, all concerned, and Henry with a look of utter fury written across his. This felt horribly familiar.

  ‘Preposterous! Keep that man still!’ Henry ordered.

  Alex blinked and shook his head to see club staff holding his attacker, who was breathing hard with a stare of hatred directed at him.

  ‘Ben?’ he said. It was out of his mouth before he understood how he knew the name. But then people were distracting him.

  ‘Are you all right, Sir?’ other staff were anxiously saying and he could hear murmurs and mumbles from his fellow club members. The drawing room had emptied into the lobby, men still clutching their first gins or whiskies of the evening. Several looked astounded, some appeared angry by the disturbance, and a few were just plain amused.

  ‘Help him up, Charles,’ Henry snapped at a younger porter.

  ‘Don’t fuss,’ Alex pleaded. He was hauled to his feet and he gingerly touched the spot high on his cheek.

  ‘You’ll have a shiner there in the morning, old chap,’ one wit laughed.

  ‘Should I summon the police, Sir? Do you plan to press charges?’ Henry was blustering.

  Alex was shifting his jaw from side to side. ‘No. Just leave us, please.’ He made a gesture with his hand that they were to let the offender’s arms go.

  ‘Are you sure, Sir? Do you know this man, Mr Wynter?’

  He regarded Benjamin Levi. ‘Yes, I do recognise him,’ he admitted, feeling the ghost of his past lay a chilled hand across his shoulder. ‘I’ll deal with this, Henry. I’m sorry for the disturbance, everyone. I’m sure Mr Levi is as well.’

  The defiance didn’t leave him, but Levi was able to offer a remorseful expression. ‘My apologies to all.’

  ‘Your apology should be to Mr Wynter, and when you have made it, Sir, I will personally escort you from White’s,’ Henry assured the interloper.

  Alex caught the attention of a waiter. ‘Get me a Scotch. Make it a double.’ He looked at Ben with a query. ‘Make it two doubles. We’ll be in the billiards room.’ Alex took a deep breath. ‘Follow me, Ben.’

  His visitor did so in silence until Alex pushed through the double doors and switched on one set of lights that glowed low over a single table, set up for the evening’s play.

  ‘They won’t be in until later,’ he said. Alex cleared his throat and leaned against the thick round corner of the table. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, Alex unsure where to begin.

  ‘Did you volunteer to go to war, Ben?’ Conversation had to begin somewhere, and he could see that his guest wouldn’t start it. Unfortunately, it sounded like an accusation and Levi heard it that way.

  ‘I’m no hero like you, Wynter, if that’s what you mean. But I was conscripted in March 1916. Single men of a certain age were asked to join up and I did as duty called. Except —’

  Alex never heard what happened to Ben Levi’s war campaign because there was a knock at the door and his companion stopped talking. The waiter entered, carrying a tray.

  ‘Your whiskies, Mr Wynter. Henry . . . I mean, Mr Johnson, asked me to bring the bottle too, Sir.’

  ‘Thank him, please.’ Alex took both glasses and the half empty bottle and waited for the man to leave before he handed a glass to Ben. He slammed the bottle down on the edge of the table and swallowed the slug of Scotch, wincing at the burn in his throat. Even opening his mouth hurt just now. His eye socket throbbed too.

  Ben Levi drained his glass also and leaned against the wall. ‘The repercussions of my actions could have me disbarred. It peeves me to say this, but thank you for not calling the police.’

  Alex glared at him, wishing he could recall more, although memories were arriving regularly now and he sensed he’d never been closer than this moment to discovering the secrets of his past. ‘Don’t thank me. It was self-interest. I need a public scrap in my life about as badly as you do, Ben. You rang me after my father died. It struck me as strange then. What were you fishing for?’

  ‘Let’s just say I was testing the waters.’

  ‘Of what? For pity’s sake, man, speak plainly and spill what you’ve come here to say!’ He poured himself another measure of whisky, larger than the last, but didn’t drink it. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, sounding disgusted, and watched his companion’s pulse pound at his temples.

  ‘I came here today not for you but for someone else. Someone I have hurt badly. Someone I have loved all my life and now lost – again.’

  Alex sipped his drink, touching the back of his head where he remembered it slamming onto the stone. A distant headache beckoned. ‘And what does it have to do with me, Ben Levi?’ but even as he said the name, he felt a strange sensation of dawning moving through him. It felt as though he was walking down a dark corridor towards where candlelight illuminated a room he’d been searching for. But he had to find his way through a maze of corridors, pushing through cobwebs and parting curtains. Suddenly, with the curiously familiar shape of Ben Levi, head hung and mumbling what might be construed as an apology, he had the notion that he was about to start tearing through those cobwebs.

  ‘Does the name Valentine mean anything to you?’

  The whisky lost its sweetness and turned sour in his throat. ‘Increasingly, yes,’ he croaked. ‘I discovered only today that the suit I was wearing when I was knocked down in Savile Row and regained my memory after years in a wilderness bore the label of Abraham Valentine. Also today, and quite by coincidence, I realised that my fiancée is having her bridal gown made by a salon in Chelsea called Valentine’s, and I also learned a woman of that surname made deliveries to the hospital I was repatriated to.’ Even as he said it, he felt the separate events beginning to mesh and it set off a reaction within that made him feel traumatised, yet elated. ‘The same?’ he asked, holding his breath as he met Levi’s dark gaze.

  Ben nodded. ‘Abraham Valentine, the tailor from Golders Green, is the father of the designer of your fiancée’s gown.’

  ‘Then I need to speak with her,’ he said, ramming down the glass. ‘She may hold the key to —’

  ‘Wait, Wynter! Hear it all. I’m sorry again for assaulting you. The fact that she’s never stopped loving you and you don’t even know her name got the better of me. I hate you with every ounce of loathing I can muster, but I’m ashamed of my actions towards someone I have loved for a lifetime, but I also can’t let you marry Miss Aubrey-Finch when you already have a wife.’

  The shock of these words hit Alex with a trembling sensation that seemed to arrive out of nowhere; up from his shoes, darting to all extremities and settling at the back of his throat until his lips felt numb and his mind scrambled with dizziness. Alex staggered slightly, had to hold on to the side of the bill
iard table to steady himself as more cobwebs were torn away and the candlelight became clearer. ‘A wife?’ he choked out. More events began to collide in his mind. Memories began to coalesce with speed and meaning. ‘My wife,’ he repeated in a tone that was both anguished and filled with wonder.

  ‘Do you remember her name, Wynter? Can you at least do that much and demonstrate that you deserve her?’

  Alex was moving his aching head from side to side, slowly reaching, grasping towards the sound of clicking heels and the smell of violets. He could hear church bells and laughter, the splash of bathwater, the image of long dark hair against his chest. He groaned.

  ‘Wynter? Are you . . .’

  Alex couldn’t hear his companion any longer. Levi’s voice sounded as though it was coming from a long way away. He was hurtling on his thoughts, riding them like a wave of agony. Once on a childhood train journey to Scotland he had hung out of the window and felt the wind grab at his hair and whistle around his ears, taking away his breath, forcing him to close his eyes near enough but not so much that he couldn’t squint at the scenery whizzing by. One moment he saw a farmhouse, the next it had moved behind him and his gaze was already locking on the next, only to flash past him. That’s how this moment felt. Images, plentiful, fast-moving and like a waterfall rushing through his mind. And just like a waterfall, they all gathered at the bottom in a well. The well began to fill him, rising deliriously quickly, flooding his thoughts with familiarity and recognition. His head pounded with its speed and fury until he was sure the banks of his mind might break with the pressure as the sound of clicking heels suddenly delivered him a vision . . . and the vision had a voice. She also had a name.

  He gasped.

  ‘Edie,’ he groaned and the well overflowed. Tears stung his eyes and slipped down his hurting cheek and Alex felt the choking emotion of memory returned in full as the last of the cobwebs were torn down. ‘Eden Valentine,’ he said, knocking his glass, which landed with a dull thud on the thick carpet of the games room, spilling whisky that splashed on his shoes in a hundred droplets like the scenes that were scattering in his mind, filling all of its corners with vignettes of life with Eden Valentine.