Chapter 29

29

LONDON, 1947

Hope sat down with her morning cup of tea and opened the newspaper out on the table. It was her daily pleasure—half an hour to herself before the rest of the house woke, the silence of the kitchen an indulgence that she never took for granted. The only time she broke her routine was if one of her girls went into labour; otherwise, she fiercely guarded her little moment in time. In some ways she felt older than her years, with a routine not dissimilar to her own mother’s many years ago when Hope had lived at home, only she wasn’t looking after a brood of her own children.

At the moment, there were only two girls in residence, and once Hope was finished, she’d make a pot of tea and toast and take it up to their rooms, or place it on the kitchen table if they came down. She liked to care for them as a mother would, loving them in a way that their own family hadn’t when they’d discovered they were pregnant. It was the one kindness she could give, wholeheartedly and without expecting anything in return.

She took a sip of her tea and looked over the front page, pleased to read about the military celebrations that had taken place in London the day before. She looked at the photos of the victory parade and read about the night-time fireworks, before finally turning the page. There were countless remembrance articles, as well as some pieces about female pilots and what they were doing now that the war had ended, but it was the international section of the paper that most caught her attention.

Hope forgot all about her tea as she folded the paper and lifted it higher, squinting as she looked at the grainy photograph of a woman who looked very familiar to her. She would never forget the faces of her girls, but usually once they walked out her door, she never saw them again. Which was why she couldn’t take her eyes from the paper, because there, staring back at her as plain as day, was someone she’d never expected to set eyes on again, not after all this time.

Paris, France: Fashion designer Evelina Lavigne showed her much-awaited collection in Paris earlier this year, but failed to inspire with her post-war designs. Once thought to be the most up-and-coming designer in France, Evelina famously set down her pencil on the eve of World War II, vowing not to design again until the war was over. There were rumours about her absence when she disappeared from Paris, with many surprised at the way she rose to fame so swiftly, only to step back at the peak of her career.

According to those who were at the unveiling of her new collection, Lavigne’s designs lacked the vision, foresight and effortless femininity of her earlier collections, and will no longer be stocked exclusively at Les Galeries Renaud, as they once were. When asked to comment after the release of her collection, the designer stated that she was looking for new opportunities, and had ended her business relationship with the Renaud family, helmed by the family’s heir, Antoine. Evelina has not been seen since the night of the unveiling, and her whereabouts are currently unknown, although enquiries to local authorities indicate that foul play is not suspected. Antoine Renaud, on behalf of the Renaud family, declined to be interviewed about their decision not to stock her collections, and he stated that their business relationship had ended in the late 1930s.

Evelina’s one-time rival, Coco Chanel, has recently announced her new line of Mademoiselle Chanel perfume, in retaliation over her dispute with the Jewish-French Wertheimer family over her perfume, including her famous No. 5 scent that is arguably the most famous perfume in France.

The article continued, but it wasn’t Coco Chanel who Hope was interested in, so she set the paper aside. Evelina had told her that her career had been in fashion, but other than that, she’d given Hope few details about her life in Paris or what she’d left behind. Hope had had no idea that the stylish, beautiful young woman, the first to turn up on her doorstep when she’d opened her house, was so well-known. Hope was impressed that she’d used the war to excuse herself from her work and therefore disguise her pregnancy, and even more impressed that she’d been able to make her way to London so swiftly given what was happening at the time. She was reminded of herself, and she only wished she’d seen the parallels more clearly at the time.

Whereabouts currently unknown . Hope reread the article and studied the photo again, her eyes searching every inch of the grainy black-and-white. Evelina’s face looked the same, but she wasn’t smiling, her hair pulled back off her face in a far more severe style than Hope had seen while she was with her, when she usually had it loose about her shoulders or casually pinned up high. Hope had no idea what her designs had looked like pre-war, but she was wearing a jacket over a slim-fitting dress in the photo, presumably from the new collection that hadn’t been so well received. It looked very stylish to her, but then she wasn’t up with the latest fashions.

She sat a moment, trying to remember the name Evelina had said over and over during childbirth, convinced that it was Antoine and wondering if it was the same man mentioned in the article. Hearing that she’d disappeared again made Hope wonder if perhaps she’d left France and returned to London, and she almost expected to hear a tap at the front door and find her standing there, as she once had. It reminded her of the promise she’d made to her, back before she knew how difficult it would be to fulfil, when she’d been naive about the realities of adoption.

Hope finished her coffee and closed the newspaper, going into the adjoining room and opening a cupboard. She reached inside and took out the little box, reading the tag that she’d so carefully printed years ago, when Evelina’s baby had been named, her new family bursting with excitement over the daughter they were about to welcome to their home.

The weight of the box in her hand felt familiar, flooding her with memories of how the box had come to be, seeing Evelina sitting in the front room with her baby cradled in her arms. It wasn’t something all her mothers liked the idea of, and she didn’t even suggest making one to most of the women in her care, but every now and then she knew it was the right thing to do, and back then she’d had her own reasons to be sentimental. Most of the mothers were young and frightened, wanting to do what needed to be done and then walk out her door as if it had never happened in the first place. But some of her mothers were different. Those broke their own heart in giving up their child, their pain almost unbearable to watch, knowing that in a change of circumstance, they would have nurtured and loved their child for the rest of their lives, finding it near impossible to believe the situation they’d found themselves in. Evelina had been one of those women, and Hope had half expected her to change her mind about the adoption entirely, right up until the moment she walked out of the door with her two bags in tow. Hope hadn’t wanted to overstep, but she’d been so close to asking her if there wasn’t another way, if she wouldn’t forever regret the decision she’d made. She’d learnt since then, the years showing her that it wasn’t her place to ask questions, not after the mother had settled on her intentions.

Holding the little box in her palm reminded Hope of her own pain, but it also reminded her of the good she’d done, the way she’d helped the women who’d sought out her services. Evelina’s baby had taken the longest to adopt, because it was Hope’s first time doing so. Now, she had a waiting list of would-be parents, eager to hear from her or the doctor she sometimes worked with who knew many couples who were unable to have a child of their own. Now each baby was delivered into the arms of their adoptive mother within days of being born, which was always bittersweet.

She held the little box close to her heart for a moment, tempted to open it, but at the same time knowing she would never betray Evelina or the other mothers who’d chosen to leave them behind. They contained secrets—secrets that were not hers to know; secrets that might stay hidden forever if the boxes’ contents remained unclaimed. Just as her own box contained secrets that were only intended for one person to discover.

When she’d found suitable parents for Evelina’s daughter, Hope had tucked the box into her blanket, expecting that it would go with her. But the child’s new mother had looked aghast at anything that might remind them their new baby wasn’t truly theirs, and so Hope had taken the box back and carefully tucked it safely away, imagining that one day when the child was grown, she might come looking for answers.

She kept hold of the box and two more that had been left since, deciding to take them upstairs to her office and find somewhere else for them. In the cupboard, they seemed too easy to discover, and she wanted to keep them well hidden, to ensure they were safely stored until they were needed.

Hope dropped to her knees in her office and placed the little wooden boxes beside her, rising to retrieve the cast iron fire poker and using it to loosen one of the floorboards and then another. She didn’t look inside for the box she’d already hidden for her own daughter, finding comfort in knowing it was there, but not wanting to remember; not today. Instead, she placed the boxes of secrets belonging to others beside hers, before carefully replacing the floorboards and putting the poker back beside the fire.

It was then she heard a call from one of the bedrooms, and she stood, wiping away a stray tear as she stared down at the floor. Each box held pain, she knew that only too well, but they also held love, and her wish was that one day they would be reunited with those for whom they were intended; that they’d see their name handwritten by Hope on the tag, and come to understand why they’d been put up for adoption in the first place.

Hope cleared her throat, swallowing away her emotion, her thoughts still full of the mystery of Evelina as she went looking for the young woman who’d just called out to her. Sometimes she wondered if she was capable of delivering more babies, of holding more mothers as they cried, as they realised how painful it was to give up their own flesh and blood once they’d held their babe in their arms, although her own pain was beginning to subside.

Without me, they’d have no one. That’s why I keep doing this .

And it was for that reason she opened the bedroom door and stretched out her arms to the frightened young woman with the engorged stomach, stroking her hair as she mourned the child she hadn’t even met yet. Frightened, confused and let down by those who should have loved her the most, she reminded her of Evelina. But Evelina had possessed a strength that Hope hadn’t seen in any of the other mothers she’d since helped, and she’d always wondered what had happened to her, and whether she’d returned to her beloved Paris.

Life was cruel, especially to women, and for that reason, Hope knew that she’d be welcoming strangers into her home until her very last breath, strangers just like Evelina. Especially when she could comfort them in their pain in a way that no one else could, intrinsically understanding their loss and the emotions that came with it. Knowing what the alternative was if they didn’t have someone like her to come to.

I hope you’re safe, Evelina. And I hope you know that you can always come back here to me, whether it be months or years. I will welcome you with open arms .