The Gown(77)

It was a square of fabric about the size of a cloth napkin, and on it she had embroidered a woman standing alone, and she was made of many smaller pieces of fabric appliquéd to the backing, one by one, like so many layers of paint. The background was impressionistic, with scattered lines of stitching that hinted at close-set buildings, or perhaps they were faces in a crowd.

The woman was looking over her shoulder, her face in profile, and one arm was thrown back in warning. She wore a Star of David on her coat.

“Is it you?” Kaz asked.

“No. I never wore the star.”

“Your mother, then.”

“I think so, yes. She was so beautiful.”

“This is . . . my God, Miriam. This is the work of an artist. You are an artist. Do you not see it? You must continue this work. Promise me you will.”

“It will take a very long time,” she cautioned. “This alone took me weeks. And my ideas for it are not small. I cannot imagine how I will ever finish.”

“A long time, yes,” he agreed. “But not forever.”





Chapter Twenty-One


Heather


September 1, 2016

Heather was awake at dawn the next morning. Daniel had walked her back to the hotel after their late afternoon coffee, and after promising to talk to his grandmother, he and Heather had exchanged cheek kisses as if they were both French or, more accurately, unsure of how to behave when a handshake was too formal, a hug was too touchy-feely, and a straight-up kiss was just too much.

True to his promise, he’d called that evening.

“Mimi is keen to meet you. We thought ten o’clock tomorrow would be a good time. Her flat is on East Heath Road in Hampstead, just around the corner from the Tube. The building is called Wells Manor and the name on the buzzer is Kaczmarek. I’ll email you all of that, as well as a map.”

“Thank you. I know you think this is no big deal, but it really is. At least to me it is.”

“You’re welcome. I was also wondering if you might like to go out for dinner with me. I would’ve asked you earlier, but then I began to worry you might feel I was taking over your holiday.”

“Not at all. If anything, you’ve saved it. Were you thinking tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately, I have a department meeting at six and they usually drag on forever. Would Friday night suit you?”

“It would,” she said, feeling very glad he couldn’t see how she was bouncing around her hotel room.

“Then it’s a date. We can sort out the details tomorrow—and do let me know how things go with Mimi. Ring me anytime.”

HEATHER HAD LET herself get so starry-eyed over her date with Daniel that she’d forgotten to ask him what sort of gift she ought to take to his grandmother. It didn’t seem right to show up at Miriam’s empty-handed, but she could hardly hand over a bottle of wine at ten in the morning. Food was tricky, since Heather had no idea if Miriam had any allergies or was diabetic or simply didn’t like certain things. But she had a feeling that flowers would be a safe bet.

Dermot was at the front desk when she headed out, and was able to recommend a good florist around the corner from the hotel. “Ask for one of their hand-tied posies,” he advised. “I get one for my mum every Christmas and she loves them.”

Armed with the posy, which looked and smelled like it had come out of Nan’s garden, though its thirty-five-pound price tag would have horrified her grandmother, Heather found her way across London to Hampstead station. According to the map Daniel had sent her, she had only to walk down the hill a little before heading east to Wells Manor, one of several blocks of century-old mansion flats that overlooked Hampstead Heath.

The manor’s redbrick exterior was patterned with zigzagging rows of a light-colored stone, the overall effect making the building look, rather comically, as if it were wearing an argyle sweater. An ancient intercom system was set into the wall of the vestibule, and she found the button for Kaczmarek without trouble; there were only sixteen apartments in the entire place.

Miriam answered right away. “Hello? Is that Heather? Do come up. I am on the top floor. I shall wait by the lift.”

The inner doors unlocked with a click, and Heather walked into an entrance hall that was impressive and homey at once, with polished oak paneling, burnished brass fixtures, and a tile floor with an intricately patterned border. An elevator was straight ahead, the broad flight of the central staircase curling around it. It had a scissoring gate that passengers had to pull shut behind them, and in every movie Heather had ever seen with such an elevator, it ended up getting stuck. The stairs it was.

She was hot and sweaty and out of breath by the time she got to the top floor, and for a moment, just as she came eye to eye with Miriam for the first time, she fretted that the other woman might disapprove of her. Her sundress was wrinkled, her makeup was melting away, and her nose told her that the all-natural deodorant she’d swiped on an hour before had failed her entirely. It didn’t help that Miriam was the picture of effortless French chic in a white linen tunic and slim, ankle-length trousers. Even the silk scarf she’d knotted around her neck was perfect.

“It is so nice to meet you,” she said, still puffing a little, and held out the posy.

“What a lovely surprise,” Miriam said, and sniffed at the flowers appreciatively. “But come here first.” She gathered Heather into a fierce, heartfelt embrace, only loosening it enough so she might kiss her on both cheeks. “At last, at last. Do you know, I hardly slept last night? I was so eager to meet you. And now you are here and you look so much like Ann. The same pretty hair, and the same eyes, you know. But let us not linger here—come with me and we will have some coffee, and I will put your beautiful flowers in water.”