Chapter Twenty-Seven

Present

It felt like ancient history now, so close to Christmas, but Tegan couldn’t stop mentally congratulating herself — and Ryan — on the Halloween event. It had gone extremely well. The pumpkin trail had been well-received by the families and the temporary exhibition of the Halloween-party artefacts had gone down equally well. Once the witch’s hat, the silver rope, Biscuit’s ghost outfit and the cat outfit had been checked over and tidied up a little by some experts, they’d formed the centrepiece in a case in the morning room.

Tegan had managed to get some of the photos blown up for display as well — the main ones being Elsie, Holly and Pearl doing their Macbeth thing, and of course Marigold and Biscuit were there in A3 size as well. In fact, the exhibition was accompanied by crazily spooky music, the occasional childish giggle and the odd bark from an unseen dog, which Tegan considered genius.

Tegan herself had been entranced at the detail on the reproductions. She hadn’t intended to use the ones of Viola and Laurie, but, possibly against her better judgement, she’d put those digital files in for enlargement as well. She’d told herself it was international relations of a kind — an American friend of the family and the traditions associated with Halloween coming with her to Pencradoc. The letter from Pearl to Elsie had been included too.

At the last moment, she’d added Laurie’s soldier photograph to the files as well, along with Fabian’s. The addition of Laurie’s soldier picture had given a poignant reminder to the viewer, she’d thought, that those had been the days before the War and things would change for that generation of young people in unthinkable ways. Fabian had been a famous war artist, so that had been the reason he’d gone in there too. It had also been a nod to Merryn’s idea about the World War One exhibition that she, Tegan, had dismissed. She felt a bit guilty now that she’d refused to do it. Truth be told, it had seemed like too much work — but she acknowledged, her original reasons still stood. A wedding was so much nicer.

She wondered if part of the reason she’d been so against the idea in the first place, though, was because she’d known, on some level, that it would have involved her much more closely with Viola and Laurie, and that was something she hadn’t been at all ready to do back in September.

‘The Lost Generation,’ Merryn had said when she’d brought little Rosie to Pencradoc, the baby dressed as a tiny, round pumpkin. ‘Elsie knew Rupert Brooke as well — he was at the Slade when she was. He was one good-looking chap, but rather a tenuous link to Pencradoc, so maybe just as well you didn’t add him.’

Tegan remained silent. She hadn’t even considered Rupert Brooke. She knew who he was, of course — even she had a knowledge of famous war poets. But she’d had no idea of his link to Elsie.

‘However, Rupert certainly wasn’t at this party,’ continued Merryn. ‘But goodness me, I bet they had a blast that evening! And who’s this? Viola? I recognise her from that sketch.’ She pointed to the picture of Vampiress Viola. ‘But she looks different in the photo — more like . . .’ She paused for a moment, then looked at Tegan. ‘More like you, actually.’ Merryn grinned. ‘How unsurprising. I’m supposed to look like Alys, Elsie’s aunt. And you look like her friend. We were clearly meant to work here.’

‘Hmm,’ Tegan said, all the while thanking her lucky stars that Ryan wasn’t there for Merryn to comment on how much he looked like Laurie.

Ugh.

But as Tegan now acknowledged, that event was ancient history and today she was in London with Ryan.

At the platform, waiting for him, she had anticipated her usual “ugh” reaction to happen when she thought of the day ahead with him, and it didn’t come.

Surprising.

But, to be honest, she’d felt a lot happier over the last few weeks working with Ryan and exchanging emails, calls and visits. The “ugh”ness had definitely dispersed and she felt a lot happier because of it. And he’d definitely helped the Halloween exhibit work well. So there could, actually, be worse things to be doing on this chilly December morning than being in a Christmassy London with Ryan.

He had the address of Ianthe’s studio on his phone and as they headed in the general direction of Covent Garden, Tegan could certainly feel her spirits lifting. Ryan was dressed from head to toe in black. His scarf was black and his gloves were black and he had a huge, long, black overcoat on, atop of big, clunky, metal-buckled boots — black, of course. He was, it seemed, still a goth at heart, even though he’d changed his hair, told her it had been an “art student phase” and they were six years down the line from Glasgow. It honestly made her smile at the irony — because she, on the other hand, was dressed in pastel-blue trousers, a long white coat that was made of bobbly white wool, a pale-blue-and-white pom-pom hat and navy-blue ankle boots. They must have made a bizarre sight walking down the street together, but, then, this was London, this was almost Covent Garden and this was almost Christmas. So, she supposed, they could literally be anyone heading to the capital to do some Christmas shopping and enjoy the Hyde Park Winter Wonderland.

‘It’s just along here,’ Ryan said, pointing along a side street. ‘Sybill said she was brilliant at what she did. I’m not sure I’m the best placed of the two of us to consider fashion and what’s good or bad.’ He gestured to his outfit. ‘One colour and one colour only. That’s largely my wardrobe. So I’m pretty glad she forced us both to come.’

‘Yes. We were kind of cornered, though, weren’t we?’

Ryan laughed, clearly thinking back to that night in the White Lady. ‘We had no chance. Once Sybill saw us in there, I think she thought we’d be safe to send off on an outing together. She could maybe see we’d called a truce.’

‘A truce. Of course.’ Tegan smiled. ‘I have to say, thanks again for the Halloween stuff. The exhibition got some great feedback.’

‘And so it should. Everything’s back at Wheal Mount now for next time.’ He held up his forefinger. ‘Correctly filed under H-P.’

‘Halloween at Pencradoc.’

‘Of course.’ Neither one of them acknowledged, though, that the enlarged photos of Laurie and Viola were hidden in the Pencradoc attics with some other exhibition things from older events. It had seemed wrong, somehow, to remove them from the house.

Also, they both found the photos rather eerie to look at, almost as if they were staring into their own souls. Ryan didn’t want them anywhere near where he’d be working, e.g. in the Wheal Mount archives. And Tegan didn’t want them anywhere near where she could stumble upon them accidentally. Hence, they were well away from her office and she hoped they — and their associated ghosts — would haunt up there for a little while instead.

‘This is it.’ Ryan came to a halt outside a dark-blue door and she pressed the buzzer. A pleasant voice answered, the door clicked open and soon they were inside, climbing up some steps to the first floor of the building.

‘Hi!’ A young woman Tegan assumed was Ianthe Shelley greeted them with a smile. Her hair was in a messy bun and she was wearing a patchwork minidress, red socks and high-top trainers. ‘Welcome to where the magic happens. I’m Ianthe, although you probably guessed. And, yes, that is my real name and, yes, I was named after Percy Bysshe Shelley’s daughter. That’s usually what people want to ask me. Tegan and Ryan, yes?’ They both nodded. ‘Cool. Over here.’ She led them to the other side of the room, where what Tegan assumed was a tailor’s dummy was covered with a white sheet. ‘I’ve done my best with her,’ she said. ‘The pictures and sketches you sent were really helpful. It was good to have all those different angles. She’s all ready for you. I’ve also spoken to my friend who’s a florist and I can get you an evergreen headdress and bouquet made up to match Elsie’s. It should last the length of your exhibition. Is that okay? I’ll be sorting out delivery tomorrow. Unless you want to take her with you today?’ Ianthe grinned, seeing their expressions. Tegan imagined hers must match Ryan’s. ‘No? Too high risk on the train? Don’t blame you!’

‘Um, we just want to see how it’s getting on today. We’ve got some other things to — do — in London, soooo . . .’ said Tegan quickly.

‘It’s fine. Just kidding. I’d never trust anything so precious to an average person. Not that you two are average, mind — just saying.’ Ianthe took hold of the corner of the sheet. ‘Are you ready?’

Tegan nodded and Ianthe whisked the sheet off the dummy.

‘Oh, my word!’ Tegan was mesmerised. ‘It’s — beautiful. Absolutely stunning. May I touch it?’

‘Yes, of course. If your hands are clean?’

Tegan nodded that they were and she touched the delicate fabric. She could see the original sheath dress from the sketch, pulled in under the bust with some sort of overskirt that stuck out into those frothy layers. There was a sash tied under the bust and the length was just above where she guessed the wearer’s ankles would be.

But there was just something . . . something that wasn’t quite right with it. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew that something needed to change.

‘Ryan . . .’ She didn’t need to say any more. He was as stunned by the dress as she was. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘The sash,’ he said, after a moment. ‘The sash should be red.’

* * *

Ryan didn’t know where that comment had come from. But he knew, even as he marvelled at the dress, that the sash should, indeed, be red.

That was the way he remembered it.

‘Am I right, Tegan?’ he asked quietly. ‘Is that the way you — interpreted it?’

‘I did.’ She nodded, looking just as confused as he knew he did.

‘Red?’ Ianthe stared at them. For one horrible moment, Ryan thought she was going to complain and shout at them, and refuse to release the frock . . . but, surprisingly, she nodded briskly. ‘That’s easily sorted. Give me a moment.’

She went over to a wall full of shelves containing all sorts of materials and fabrics. Ryan knew nothing about types of fabric — if it was shiny, it was likely satin. If it was fluffy, it was likely velvet. That was, basically, where his knowledge started and ended. But he could appreciate all the different colours laid out like a bag of tempting sweeties.

‘This one, I think.’ Ianthe pulled a ream off the shelf, cut a length off it and brought it back to the dummy. Expertly, she folded it into a long sash shape, removed the green one and tied the red one efficiently under the dummy’s bust. ‘There.’ She gave it a couple of tweaks and it hung down the gown as if it had always been there.

‘Perfect,’ said Tegan.

Ryan nodded. ‘Exactly right.’

‘Cool. I’ll hem it up and that’ll be in the package as well.’ Ianthe smiled. ‘All happy with it?’

‘It’s . . . wonderful,’ said Tegan. ‘Truly it is.’

‘Great. Can you hang around while I finish up the paperwork, invoices, all that boring stuff?’ asked Ianthe. ‘It’s mainly a Pencradoc thing — for Tegan, I suppose. Is that okay with you, Ryan? Are you happy to stay with us?’

Tegan looked at Ryan — they did have other things to do, but, really, it was no problem. He didn’t particularly want to do any of those other things on his own, either.

‘I’m in no real hurry,’ Ryan heard himself say. He gestured for the women to go ahead of him into Ianthe’s office. He realised shortly afterwards though, that what he really wanted to say, was, “Sybill, why on earth did you make us come here together?”

Because he had the feeling that that excuse for the viewing of the dress was simply a ruse. To get them to spend some time together before Elsie’s wedding.

No.

He corrected himself.

Before Elsie’s wedding exhibition .

To distract himself, he picked up his phone and checked his emails. There was one from the Glasgow gallery and his stomach somersaulted. He clicked into it and read it.

Good afternoon, it said. We are pleased to advise that you have been shortlisted for the role at the new gallery and we will be arranging an interview with you in the near future . . .