Chapter 4

4

Blake resisted the urge to drop her forehead to the table as she waited for her coffee to arrive. She’d started the week full of enthusiasm, putting calls in to the creative directors at all the biggest fashion houses, the fashion editors at all the magazines she could think of, and then this morning she’d decided to hit the pavement and go into the London fashion district to see if she could physically find someone who could help her. Some of the people she’d spoken to were mildly interested, but most had taken a cursory glance at the design she’d shown them before shaking their heads or just shrugging and wishing her all the best. But she understood; they were all busy preparing for the upcoming festival, and they were all so, so young—they were making her feel old, and she’d only just turned thirty. Why would she have even thought that they might recognise a designer who may or may not have been well-known sixty or seventy years ago?

She stared at the sketch, looking up only to thank the waiter who brought her coffee. Blake picked up her spoon and carefully skimmed the chocolate off the top of her cappuccino as her eyes traced over and over the lines of the drawing and then the signature. She knew it by heart, but she still couldn’t stop looking at, hoping that there was something she’d missed, some hidden clue that she would find if she only stared long enough.

She set her spoon down and took a sip as she pondered what to do next. This is why you don’t pitch a story before you’ve done the research . Her stomach turned as she realised the mistake she’d made; if I don’t discover anything, there will be nothing to write about. If there’s nothing to write about …She swallowed. It wasn’t even worth going there.

Instead of wallowing, she took a notepad and pen from her bag and started to make some notes.

Historians? Would a fashion historian be interested?

Contact London College of Fashion or Royal College of Art as a starting point?

What about costume designers from film studios? Or period costume designers?

Blake sighed and dropped her pen. She’d been a writer for years and she was used to facing roadblocks—so why was this particular research project so daunting? She was thankful for the distraction of looking at the time, and then glancing around the room, realising her coffee date would be there soon. At her sister’s suggestion she’d contacted the lawyer and then Mia to see if she might be able to help her with the clues, and although Mia hadn’t been able to meet her at short notice, she’d told her that one of the other granddaughters who’d received a box might like to see her. Blake had jumped at the chance.

‘Excuse me,’ a woman said, placing her hand on Blake’s arm. ‘You’re not Blake, are you?’

‘You must be Lily.’ She stood and gave the woman a hug. ‘Thank you so much for coming to meet me. I take it you recognised me from the box?” She gestured to the little wooden box sitting on the table.

‘I did. There’s only a handful of people who would know what that little box could mean,’ Lily said. ‘Not to mention how frustrating what’s inside could be.’

Blake laughed at how right she was, and they both ordered more coffee before sitting.

‘It was such great timing when you text me,’ Lily said. ‘I live in Italy now, but I’m home spending some time with my mum.’

‘Italy?’

‘Let’s just say that my little box of clues had the most unexpected outcome for me,’ she said with a smile. ‘I went to Italy for work, and ended up making a life there for myself.’

Lily’s coffee arrived, and Blake noticed Lily’s diamond wedding rings as she stirred in a sugar. She was dying to hear more about what happened in Italy, but Lily spoke before she had the chance.

‘You’re having trouble deciphering your clues?’ Lily asked, gesturing to the wooden box on the table.

Blake stared down at it. ‘I am. And if I’m being perfectly honest, it’s driving me crazy.’

‘I know that feeling well. May I ask what clues were left for you?’ Lily hesitated. ‘If you want to share them, that is. Please don’t feel like you have to.’

Blake nudged it towards her across the table, along with the sketch she already had out. ‘Of course I don’t mind—feel free to take a look. Perhaps your fresh set of eyes will help me to understand them better, because I can tell you that I’m not doing very well on my own.’

She watched as Lily set down her coffee and carefully looked over the sketch, the fabric between her fingers as she looked up at Blake.

‘So, the link is presumably to a fashion designer? Or someone in the fashion industry?’

Blake nodded. ‘I think so. But no one seems to recognise the signature or the design, so it’s proving almost impossible to find any link. I anticipated this search could be one step forward, two steps back, but I don’t seem to be taking a step in either direction!’

Lily nodded as if she understood. ‘Okay, so you’re here in the fashion district because you thought someone might be able to point you in the right direction. Am I correct?’

‘Precisely. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I haven’t met anyone with the faintest idea of who I might be looking for, and all my other leads have come to nothing as well.’

Lily returned the clues to the box and sat back in her seat. ‘You just need one solid lead, and I think everything will fall into place,’ she said. ‘At least, that’s what happened to me. One person who recognises this is all you need, and the rest of the information will suddenly be much easier to uncover.’

Blake groaned. ‘It’s all just been so demoralising so far, as if there’s no point in even trying to figure it all out.’ What she didn’t tell Lily was that so much was riding on this discovery; her first article would be live by the end of the week, which meant that she needed more content, and fast.

‘I often think about that day, when we all met at the lawyer’s office. It would have been so easy not to go, wouldn’t it? I mean, part of me thought the entire thing was a hoax.’

Blake laughed. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I didn’t even think I’d go because it all seemed so strange, but on the day, I was just too curious not to. Part of me thought a mysterious aunt might have left me millions, and instead I received a scrap of fabric and a drawing.’ She paused, before asking, ‘Can I ask what was in your box?’

Lily smiled, almost as if she was shy as she presumably thought about her own clues. ‘A recipe and part of a theatre programme. They felt like impossible clues in the beginning, but then suddenly they all fell into place.’ She leaned forward. ‘So do you have any plans for where to search next?’

Blake sighed. ‘Other than starting to contact universities that offer fashion degrees or specialist fashion colleges, I feel like I’m at a dead end.’

‘Have you been into Vintage Bazaar?’ Lily asked. ‘It’s the most fabulous vintage shop for designer goods, my mum loves it there, and the woman who runs it is probably in her eighties, so she might be just the person to ask. From what I’ve heard, she’s been there for decades. Perhaps she might recognise it?’

Blake nodded. It was definitely worth a shot. ‘It all just seems so unlikely, doesn’t it? I mean, what are the chances of ever finding the person who left these boxes from just the clues inside?’

Lily reached out and patted her hand. ‘Don’t give up, that’s all I’ll say. When I went down the path of discovering my family’s secrets, it changed everything for me. I’m so grateful for that little box.’

‘You are?’ Blake met her gaze, seeing tears glistening in Lily’s eyes.

‘I am, and I’d hate to see you quit when there could be a whole piece of your family’s puzzle waiting to be discovered. What you discover might just change your life, because it certainly changed mine for the better, against all odds.’

Lily rose then, and Blake found herself disappointed that she was leaving so soon. She would have loved to spend longer with her, especially given the connection they shared—no one else could possibly understand better than another great-granddaughter who’d been left a box. She watched as Lily shrugged into her coat, and she suddenly had an overwhelming feeling that she didn’t want her to leave.

‘If I didn’t already have plans with my mother, I’d love to have spent the whole afternoon with you,’ Lily said. ‘But perhaps next time I’m in London we could meet for lunch? Maybe with Mia, too?’

‘I’d love that,’ Blake said.

‘But honestly, try the vintage shop. I think the woman’s name is Mathilda, and I’d be very surprised if she can’t help you, or at least point you to someone who can. I’d put money on her knowing exactly who you need to talk to, especially when she lives and breathes fashion.’

Blake glanced at her phone and saw the time was almost four, so she took a quick, final sip of her coffee and stood, too. The last thing she wanted was for the shop to close and to have to end the day with nothing more than she’d started with.

‘It was so nice seeing you today,’ Blake said, giving Lily an impromptu hug. ‘I’m so grateful that you said yes to meeting.’

Lily hugged her back. ‘Come on, we can walk out together and I’ll point you in the right direction.’

Blake packed up her things and put her bag over her shoulder, falling into step beside Lily as they left the café and strolled down the pavement. The day was warm, but with clouds clinging to the air and hovering over the sun, and she had a feeling she could wander with Lily all day and not run out of things to talk about.

‘Can I ask you one last thing?’

Lily smiled over at her. ‘Of course. What is it?’

‘Did you discover things about your family you now wish you didn’t know? Is there anything you regret, or wish you hadn’t found out?’

‘I did uncover something incredibly sad about my family’s past, but I’ll never regret following the clues. My life changed for the better the day I started asking questions about what was left for my grandmother. I also feel as if we owe it to our great-grandmothers, right? I mean, if yours was the same as mine, she was left with no other choice but to place her baby for adoption. I felt as if I was somehow honouring her, if that makes sense, giving her back her voice, in a way.’ Lily paused, tears coming to her eyes. ‘It sounds crazy, and if you’d told me a few years ago that I’d have set off on a wild-goose chase to track down my family tree, I’d have laughed you out of the room. But it was like it was just meant to be.’

‘It definitely makes sense. I feel as if the time is right for me to go down this path, too. And I know what you mean—it’s so hard to imagine what it must have been like for any women of that generation, leaving their families to give birth in secret, and then having to walk away from their babies. It must have been utterly heartbreaking.’

‘Unfortunately, this is me. I have to catch the tube, but if you keep walking down that street there,’ Lily pointed, ‘you’ll find it. And remember to ask for Mathilda. If she’s not there, go back tomorrow. I think it’ll be worth your time.’

Blake thanked her and said goodbye, standing and watching her go for a second before heading off the way Lily had directed. If this Mathilda didn’t have any ideas for her, then she had no clue what she was going to do next. But talking to Lily had reminded her why she was doing this. Even if it wasn’t for work, she owed it to her grandmother to find out the truth about how she’d come to be adopted.

She continued walking, wishing that they’d had longer together, and eventually found the shop that Lily had told her about. It was sandwiched between designer boutiques, and she stopped outside and looked up at the sign—VINTAGE BAZAAR. This was the place.

When she pushed the door open a little bell rang, and the sound of it made her smile. All of the other places of business she’d been inside had been more austere than warm, with icy air-conditioning and sales assistants wearing expressions that told her they couldn’t really be bothered talking to her.

But this shop was different. The clothes on display were classically beautiful, with bags and other accessories on tables, and Blake recognised a vintage Louis Vuitton travel bag that usually she would have run to and fawned over. But she was there with a job to do, and so she cleared her throat as a woman with thick silver hair pulled back into a low bun turned, her face lined yet beautiful, with a red sweep of lipstick adorning her lips. The woman pushed up the sleeves of her oversized blazer and set her gaze on Blake.

‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘But you wouldn’t be Mathilda, would you?’

The woman’s voice sounded as if she’d smoked her entire life, it was so raspy. ‘That, my dear, depends on who’s asking.’