Chapter 9

9

PARIS, 1927, TWO MONTHS LATER

Evelina had worked many hours alongside her mother over the years: at markets, bent over roses and vegetables, and helping out on the rose farm whenever she was needed, and although she’d lamented it at the time, now she was grateful. For if she hadn’t been used to such backbreaking work, she would surely have stumbled within her first week in Paris, and been running home with her tail between her legs by the end of the first month. She’d oftentimes wondered if her father would have taken her back, if he wanted to see her come begging, having failed at what she set out to do, or whether he would have closed the door on her and forbidden his wife and other daughters to open it.

After the first night, when she’d easily mended the dress and saved the evening for the other house guest, Juliette had told her that she could stay in the attic room for as long as she needed, for a rather modest sum that included breakfast and also an evening meal. It seemed that her efforts in fixing the dress that night had endeared her to Juliette, who often asked her to mend things when she returned from work each day. It wasn’t unusual for her to arrive home and find a basket of folded items waiting on her small bed, and in exchange for her generously discounted rent, she’d sit in the stuffy room with the tiny window cracked open, humming as she mended all manner of things until late into the night. But she didn’t mind—it meant she had somewhere safe to stay, and two meals a day, without having to spend what little money she had.

It had taken two weeks for her to find a job, and although it was poorly paid, it was something. Evelina made certain to be the first to arrive each day, often waiting on the cobbled street before the doors were even open, and she did all the menial tasks required of her, from dusting to scrubbing floors, being sent back and forth on errands, all the while dreaming about being one of the seamstresses measuring and tending to the women buying gowns.

She was working at Théo Devereaux’s, and although it wasn’t House of Chanel, it was a fashion house, and she wasn’t complaining. She learnt that he’d once been at the pinnacle of fashion in Paris, although now most of his clients were much older ladies who liked his more conservative style.

‘Where is Nathalie?’ came a panicked call through the back rooms.

Evelina stood a little straighter, taking a few steps away from the cupboard she’d been cleaning to listen to the commotion.

‘We have six dresses to be altered today and only two seamstresses,’ Théo muttered as he stalked into the room. ‘ Six dresses! If she isn’t here in the next five minutes?—’

‘Excuse me, monsieur,’ Evelina said, clearing her throat and taking a few hesitant steps forward, her hands folded in front of her. ‘I can be of assistance.’

He looked down his nose at her, his glasses sliding lower as he studied her. He was at least fifteen or even twenty years her senior, with a head of thick dark hair peppered with grey.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Evelina Lavigne,’ she said. ‘I started here six weeks ago, and I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to show you my sewing skills.’

He laughed, and then his face turned sour. ‘You expect me to let you touch my garments?’

Evelina faltered, her voice catching in her throat. Tell him. Tell him why you can do this . ‘Monsieur, there is no one more careful than me,’ she said, surprised by the confidence in her own words. ‘If I make a mistake, I will forfeit all my pay. Please, let me show you how capable I am.’

‘Your pay would not cover the cost of one dress,’ he retorted, although she could see by the way his manner had calmed that he might be considering her proposal. He hadn’t yet turned away or told her to leave, which she was hoping was a good sign. Or perhaps he was beginning to realise that she might be the only additional seamstress available on short notice.

Evelina didn’t say anything else, just stood and waited for him to speak again. And when he did, she could barely stop the smile from coming to her lips.

‘I shall watch you do a hem first, and then a small alteration,’ he said. ‘If you make a mistake?—’

‘Merci, monsieur,’ she said, as sweetly as could be before he had time to continue. ‘I will not disappoint you.’

Evelina followed him into the room filled with sewing machines, two with women sat in front of them, their heads bent as they worked, garments piled beside them. She sat at the empty table and set the pieces of equipment around her where she liked them, sitting straight as Théo brought her the first dress. The clothes he designed were beautiful, and they came with a price tag that would have made her mother’s eyes water. She knew what a privilege it was that he was entrusting her with even one alteration.

She didn’t have any inclination to be nervous, not when it came to the one thing she knew she could do well, but it was difficult with him standing over her. Sewing was like breathing to her, and as she listened to his instructions and felt the fabric beneath her fingers, she felt as if she’d come home. To the place she belonged; to the place she was supposed to be.

Only this time, she wouldn’t let anyone tell her to leave.

‘Mademoiselle Evelina,’ Théo said, his arms folded as he looked down at her, his face softening as she looked up. There was something about the way he was watching her, the way his eyes had widened, that suddenly made her nervous. ‘You have done the one thing that few people have ever achieved.’

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise, not certain she knew what he was referring to.

‘You have impressed me,’ he said, shaking his head and giving her the barest glimpse of a smile. ‘Well done.’

When he turned to leave, she lifted the fabric again and set to work. She intended on impressing him so many times that he couldn’t help but make her new position permanent.