The Last Dress from Paris(16)

A&A



Debussy

Musée de l’Orangerie

November 14, 1953

The kiss that saved me

“Saved her from what?” I practically yell. “My God, what was happening to her?”

“We can’t possibly know, can we, but things seem to take a sinister turn for the worse next.” Veronique’s face is suddenly grave. She couldn’t be more invested if the scene was playing out in front of her in wide screen. “Something bad happened the night she wore the next gown, the Mexico dress.”

I almost don’t want to look down, but how can I not? As the tiny lettering sharpens into focus, I read the words aloud.

A&A



Mexico

The garden

November 15, 1953

“I can make all this go away.”

I actually feel the words catch in the back of my throat. To think of A, whoever she was, sitting alone, doing what? Quietly predicting the end of something that seemed so potent just over a month ago. What could possibly have happened? It’s all so sad. I look at Veronique, willing her to deliver answers.

“Not good, is it?” She looks just as perturbed as I feel. “But then another twist comes with the final card. This one is different because it tells us so little—but perhaps will reveal a great deal. Unlike the others, there is no dress name and no location. We don’t know what kind of dress it was or where it was worn. And look, the handwriting—it does not match the others.”

A&A



Toile de Jouy

Off-white, puff sleeves, full length, high pleated collar

January 9, 1954

“I continue to hope.”

“Well, that’s not much use, is it?” I sulk. “It tells us nothing, then.” For someone who claims to be an aspiring journalist, I realize I could probably do with being a little less defeatist.

“Well, yes, I think it might, actually. The date means it came after the others—it is the final dress in the sequence. But there is no piece to match the card. It’s one of two dresses that are missing.” Veronique doesn’t look half as gutted as I expect she might, now that we have no way of knowing how the story will end.

“Urgh! This is so frustrating.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe the key will be finding out more about the name of the fabric it was made from, the toile de Jouy.” Veronique lifts the card closer to her face. “The description gives us a good sense of the dress, but the fabric used will define how special it was, the kind of occasion it might have been worn at. It needs more research.”

I focus back on the words, written in beautifully neat writing: I continue to hope.

“Okay,” I say slowly, more optimistically. “She had hope. Whatever it was, it wasn’t over. This is not the end of the story. But hang on, you said two dresses were missing. What’s the other one?”

“It’s the Maxim’s, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, Maman hit some hard times back in the fifties and was forced to sell it. I know she regretted it deeply for years and always felt awful about letting it go. She told me she cried the day she handed it over.” Veronique hangs her head and sighs, and I’m not sure if it is the sad memory of her mother or the brick wall my challenge just hit that has depleted her enthusiasm. “Of course, I did tell your grandmother when she got in touch that the Maxim’s is missing, but obviously she has sent you anyway to collect the other dresses, and you can take them all.”

“She knew the Maxim’s wasn’t here with you?”

“Yes, I couldn’t let her book an expensive Eurostar ticket without knowing the one dress she named is not in fact in my possession. Is something wrong?” Veronique looks nervous, like she has said the wrong thing, exposed Granny in some way, which is exactly what she has done.

“She only told me about the Maxim’s yesterday, Veronique, knowing full well I wouldn’t find it here. And she sent me anyway, because wherever it is, she doesn’t want me to leave Paris without it.” I can’t help but smile at Granny’s cunning.

“Okay, so now what?”

“I can’t disappoint her, Veronique. I can’t go back without it. I promised her I would return this dress to her, and I can’t fail her—or myself.”

I am suddenly overwhelmed by a need to find this dress, to hold it in my own hands, to complete the circle and try to get a sense of my grandmother’s connection to it. How did she end up owning these dresses after A wore them? Why did she then give them to Veronique’s mother? I feel compelled to find out. But what are the chances of locating the Maxim’s after all this time?

“Who did your mother sell it to? Do you have any idea?” Veronique is my best and only chance right now. If she doesn’t know, then the trail will be dead before it’s even started.

“If it went to a private buyer, then no, I have no idea, and I’m not sure I could even suggest where to start. It could be anywhere in the world. But at that time in Paris, there was really only one other place it could have gone. There was a famous old dress agency called Bettina’s in the Quartier du Sentier, where lots of the old fabric shops and factories were based at the time. It was very well known for stocking high-quality ready-to-wear collections. But occasionally a piece of couture would pass through its doors. Those pieces never stayed for long. The women who shopped there visited regularly, and I’m sure customers looking for specific items would have been tipped off the second they arrived.”