The Gown(26)

“This stretch of road was built first,” Ann said. “Before the rest of the estate. I grew up in the last house but one.”

“The houses are very tidy,” Miriam said, not wishing to lie by saying they were pretty or charming. Surely Ann could see that was not the case.

“They are. And it’s quiet here, which is nice. People are friendly, but they keep to themselves, too, if that makes any sense.”

There was such a relentless sameness to the houses on the street. One after the other they continued on, with little changing apart from the number on the door. Even the white lace curtains in the front windows looked identical. How would she ever find the correct house in the dark?

“Here we are,” Ann said, and then, as if she’d read Miriam’s thoughts, “the top of my gate is rounded, see? And the others nearby are all straight across or pointed. That’s how I keep track when I come home in the evenings and it’s black as pitch. Silly streetlights don’t help either. They’re so dim you can hardly see your hand in front of your face.”

Beyond the gate, the front yard was covered with paving stones, with not a blade of grass peeping up between them. Ann unlocked the door and beckoned Miriam inside.

“Come on in, and don’t mind your shoes.” They stood in a tiny entranceway, with barely room enough for the two of them. “There’s a coatrack behind the door, and in bad weather or winter you can leave your shoes on the mat here.”

Moving into the front room, Ann pulled open the draperies, revealing a set of crisp net curtains beneath, their edges embroidered with a pretty design of marguerites. The room was furnished with a plump sofa and matching chair upholstered in brown horsehair, a small occasional table between them. On the opposite wall was the hearth, and it was flanked by a wireless in an enormous wooden cabinet. Near the window was an étagère crammed with little china figurines and other decorative items. Daintily crocheted lace doilies lined each shelf, as well as the top of the wireless cabinet, the mantel above the hearth, and the backs of the sofa and chair.

“This is the sitting room, and here’s the kitchen,” Ann said, continuing into the adjoining room. “I’ll put on the kettle so we can have a cup of tea in a bit.”

The kitchen was far more modern than Miriam’s mother’s had been. Instead of a coal range, the centerpiece of the room was a compact gas cooker adorned with white enamel and chrome trim. A sink was in front of the window, a draining board to its side, and on the far wall was an old dresser, its shelves laden with rose-patterned dishes. The remaining wall was taken up by a table with two chairs, and beyond, just past the dresser, was a sort of storage room with open shelves lined with jars and tins and boxes.

“If you go through that door you’ll see the pantry, and beyond that is the washroom. There’s a bath and sink and an inside WC, thank goodness. We’re ever so lucky in that way.”

Miriam edged forward, her attention caught by the door to the garden. “May I go outside?”

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve set the kettle to boil. Key’s in the lock, so just give it a turn.”

Miriam stepped into the garden and, for an instant, was stunned by the riot of color and scent that greeted her. It was, as Ann had said, quite small, with a modest patch of lawn in the center and a low shed in the far corner. Everything else was flowers.

An arching lilac, its plumy blossoms faded, dominated one corner. A climbing rose clambered across the fence, its sturdy canes intertwined with a tangle of clematis, its feet obscured by a shaggy mound of lavender. And in the middle of the main flower bed there was a peony, still flowering though it was well into July.

She reached out, her hand trembling, and let her fingertips brush against its petals. The scent was heavenly, like roses but even sweeter. It had been so long since she’d seen a peony in bloom.

Ann had come into the garden. “Can you believe it’s still going? My neighbor gave it to me a few years ago. It was a division from one he’s had for years. I can’t remember the name.”

“‘Monsieur Jules Elie.’ My mother had one.” Her voice was calm, yet she had to blink back tears. How silly to cry over a flower.

“It sulked for ages. This is the first year it’s agreed to put on a show. But then, everything is happy this summer. Endless heat and plenty of rain, too. And I was worried, I’ll tell you, after the winter we had. I was sure I’d lose half— Oh, there’s the kettle.”

Miriam followed her inside, though she’d have given almost anything to remain in the garden, and watched as Ann filled a teapot with water from the kettle.

“There. Let’s leave that to brew while I show you the upstairs.”

The staircase was steep and narrow and led to a small landing with two doors. Ann opened one and beckoned for Miriam to follow. “Here we are. Milly left her furniture, since it was too dear to send it all the way to Canada. I hope you like it.”

The bedroom was enormous, at least four meters square, and held a large double bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a side table. There was even a small upholstered chair in the corner. The furniture, chair excepted, was a matching suite of veneered wood in a modern, streamlined shape. Not precisely to her taste, but what did it matter? It was a hundred times nicer than her horrid little room at the pension.

“What do you think?” Ann asked. “Nice, isn’t it?”