The Last Dress from Paris(56)
“Yes, Mum?” She senses the exasperation in my voice, which is what I am hoping for.
“Oh. I’m interrupting, aren’t I? I was just wondering about your plans, darling. Whether you know when you’ll be back exactly?” She never believed my determination to stay in Paris either then.
“Not really, no. I’m making real progress here and I think I just need a few more days, then we’ll have all the time you need to chat about you.” I can feel Leon’s eyes turn to me at the mention of my return home.
“Okay, I was just going to offer to book your return ticket for you if you’re pushed for time? That way you can get a refund on the ticket you don’t use, and you’ll be up, seeing as you didn’t pay for it in the first place. Perhaps I can send a car to pick you up at the airport?” And that bit is appealing, if it means I can avoid the claustrophobic crush of the Piccadilly line. Another time I might have wavered, but she can’t see the man I’m sitting next to.
“Thanks, Mum, but I’m not ready to leave just yet.”
“I’m not sure I understand”—by which she means she hasn’t been paying attention to much of what I’ve said since I got here. “Why is this trip so important?” Her steely edge is always simmering just beneath the surface.
“Because it’s important to Granny, that’s why.”
There is a very long silence that I’m reluctant to fill, until finally she adds, “I’m pleased you and Granny are so close, Lucille, you have such a different relationship with her to the one I had growing up. I just wish you and I, well, that we were . . . closer too.” And, I have to say, the admission floors me. Why now? Why does she have to pick this moment, when I am curled into Leon, to start a conversation that needs more than the two minutes I can currently give it?
“Oh, Mum, we need to talk about this properly, when I’m back, not now when it’s all so rushed. What I’m doing here is important, but I’m also having fun, doing something for me for once, and to be honest, I’m not ready for that to end yet.” As soon as I say it, I feel bad. It’s just not in my nature to be as ruthless with her as she has been with me over the years. “Look, I’m sorry.” I’m backtracking already. “I’m just on my way to sort something out now, and then I’ll make plans to come home. I promise.” That satisfies her, and I end the call.
“I really hope that photograph is in the shop, Leon, because my time in Paris is running out.” The thought of returning home to unpick everything with Mum and face the dressing-down Dylan will be readying for me is coming very close to ruining this magical evening altogether.
“Only if you let it,” says Leon. “And for what it’s worth, I’d love for you to stay. And not just for a few days. Longer.” Then he kisses me again, letting his hands wander over me and under my coat this time, and I want to redirect this taxi back to his place and forget everything else in the world.
* * *
? ? ?
It feels like so much has happened since I last stood in Bettina two days ago. Veronique has beaten us here, so now all three of us are on the hunt, searching carefully through every cluttered surface in the shop. Veronique, who has already allowed herself to be totally sidetracked by what she tells me is a sample of the finest French hand-sewn guipure lace, says her news can wait. Finding the photograph, if it is here, has to come first.
We plan to divide and conquer. Leon disappears onto his knees behind the till to tackle the massive disorganized clutter of paperwork that sits beneath it. Veronique takes the left-hand side of the shop, I take the right. If this throws up no results, we agree we will have to move into the back room and go through every one of the box files.
Please, God, no.
We work in silence, sifting through everything that is stuffed within this Aladdin’s cave. I check the wall behind a hanger of silk scarves, and painstakingly pick through a box of hundreds of vintage postcards in case our photograph is nestled within them. I open a small heart-shaped jewelry box, its lid embroidered with a bunch of garden roses. I examine the inside of every handbag in the place. I run a hand through a display of leather belts and rearrange a glass cabinet of old cologne bottles. Nothing. I get down on my hands and knees and effectively crawl under the hanging clothes, feeling the dust resettle on me as I go. I debate whether I need to push apart every item of clothing on my rail in case the picture has somehow got wedged between two items that haven’t been touched for years. And I do, a completely fruitless task that wastes another forty minutes.
We’ve all been in the shop for well over an hour now, and our enthusiasm is definitely starting to wane. Leon disappears out the back, returning moments later with three ice-cold beers that we all sip from the bottles. He’s leaning over the counter drinking his while Veronique offers to share her news, to revive our spirits a little.
“I did some digging around at work on the fabric of the missing dress—the Toile de Jouy—and it was used by Dior around the same time as the other dresses we’ve been following. Perhaps it is safe to assume, given that all the other gowns have been by Dior, that this one is too. Interestingly, it is also very similar to the pattern of fabric that he chose to decorate some parts of his first boutique. From what I found, it is not a fabric he used in a general collection, so I think we can assume this dress was a special commission.”