Chapter 6

6

PRESENT DAY

‘I was told you might be able to help me,’ Blake said, as she reached into her bag and took out the box.

Mathilda’s eyebrows lifted, and she leaned forward. ‘You have something you’d like to sell me? I have to warn you that we’re very selective about the pieces we stock here, but we’ll consider most genuine vintage items.’

‘Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to sell. I was actually hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction,’ Blake said, unfolding the paper and placing it on the counter. ‘I’ve recently come into possession of this sketch, and so far, no one has recognised the signature at the bottom. It’s a long shot, but I would very much appreciate you taking a look.’

Mathilda laughed. ‘You thought you’d try the oldest woman in fashion and see if she recognised it?’

Blake grimaced. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong! What I meant to say was that someone told me you were an expert in vintage designs, which led me to believe that you might recognise the designer.’

‘My dear,’ the older woman said, as she reached for her glasses, ‘you haven’t offended me in the least. All the young men and women who work in fashion, they don’t recognise anything from the past unless it’s from one of the big houses and has a designer name splashed all over it. Let me take a look.’

Blake realised she was holding her breath as Mathilda lifted the paper, her face changing slightly as she studied the design.

‘This is from the ’30s,’ she said almost immediately, holding the paper even closer to her face. ‘From the way the waist is drawn and the figure-flattering style, I can confidently estimate late 1930s. It’s most definitely pre-war.’

‘That’s the most information I’ve been able to ascertain since I began searching,’ Blake said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I presume you’re aware that it’s French?’

‘French?’ Blake shook her head. ‘I thought it was an English designer. What makes you say French?’

‘The French have always had a distinct design flair,’ Mathilda said, as she let the paper flutter back to the counter and moved around to search through a drawer. After a few minutes she triumphantly held up a magnifying glass. ‘In the ’30s, Paris was the epicentre of the fashion world, even more so than it is now, and I suspect this would have been a risqué design. It’s quite something.’

Mathilda leaned forward over the paper and moved the magnifying glass back and forth, before holding it steady and staring down. Blake found herself unable to breathe all over again as she waited for her to say something, hoping that perhaps she was going to recognise the signature, or another clue that she’d missed herself.

‘Unfortunately, this is not a signature I personally recognise, although that doesn’t mean that someone else won’t.’

Blake felt her heart sink. ‘I don’t have anyone else to ask,’ she admitted. ‘You were my last port of call.’

‘How badly do you want to know who the designer is? Does it hold sentimental value?’

‘I believe that the person who sketched this was my great-grandmother,’ Blake said. ‘So yes, it holds great sentimental value to me.’

The older woman’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, that certainly makes things more interesting. And you have no clue?—’

‘This is my clue,’ Blake said. ‘This was all that was left behind for my grandmother many years ago by her birth mother, and now it’s all I have to try to discover my family’s heritage.’

Mathilda lifted a finger and her eyes lit up as she moved back round to the other side of the counter. ‘Can you help me with the computer?’

Blake laughed. ‘Certainly. It’s the least I can do.’

‘Do that search thing young people do and type in the words “upcoming design exhibition in Paris”.’

Blake brought up Google and did as she was asked, and within seconds had a list of hits. ‘One of these?’

Mathilda adjusted her glasses and peered forward. ‘Yes! This one.’

It took a moment for the page to load, and when it did, a colourful display of dresses appeared. Her eyes scanned the page and she realised what she was looking at.

‘This exhibition has been in the works for years, but it finally received funding and is being put on later this year. I know the curator, Henri Toussaint, and his family personally.’

‘You think he’d know who designed this?’ Blake asked.

‘I think,’ Mathilda said, patting her hand, ‘that there is no one in the fashion world who’d be better equipped to help you. His family have been in fashion for generations, and if you tell him that you’re a friend of mine, he won’t be able to say no to helping you. He’s a very talented and knowledgeable young man.’

Blake shook her head in wonder. Thank you, Lily . If she hadn’t met with Lily, she would still be sipping coffee and staring forlornly at her clues, and instead she was standing before the most incredible woman, who’d just given her something to work with. Finally.

‘Thank you,’ Blake said. ‘You have no idea how much you’ve helped me, how much this means to me.’

‘Well, may I ask for something in return? I do like a good mystery, after all.’

Blake grinned. ‘Anything. Can I buy you dinner? Or…’ She stopped when she saw the smile on Mathilda’s face. She was much older than she appeared; Blake guessed that she would have to be well into her eighties, but she was somehow one of the most stylish, stunning women she’d ever seen. Even the way she stood, the way she held herself, made Blake want to stand a little straighter, to emulate this beautiful woman before her. She wondered if perhaps Mathilda had been a ballet dancer in her younger years.

‘Promise me that you’ll come back here when you discover who the designer is,’ she asked. ‘I doubt I’ll stop thinking about it until you do.’

‘If this Henri can point me in the right direction?—’

‘Oh, I have no doubt that Henri will point you in the right direction. And if he can’t, well, let’s just say that he’ll move mountains to find the answer for you. He prides himself on being a French fashion expert, so he’d never admit to not knowing something. He is obsessed with honouring designs from the past.’

Blake took the paper and carefully folded it, conscious of how delicate the edges were becoming. Tomorrow, she’d have to find a sleeve to transport it in so she didn’t damage it further—she only wished she’d thought of doing so earlier.

‘I’ll email him as soon as I get back to my office. And thank you for letting me use your name as an introduction.’

‘You’re more than welcome. I only wish I could have recognised the signature for you.’

‘Honestly, I’ve spoken to every art and fashion director in London, as well as the creative directors at multiple fashion houses, and no one has been able to help me. Until I met you, I was almost ready to give up.’

‘Something my mother always said was that nothing worth having comes easily, and I have a feeling this means a lot to you. So don’t stop asking questions until you have your answers.’

‘Thank you, Mathilda,’ Blake said, taking a few tentative steps backwards even while wishing she could spend longer in the shop. She reminded Blake of her own grandmother, of the years before she’d passed, when they’d had somewhere other than home to go to when everything was falling apart. Her grandmother had soothed it all with fresh biscuits from the oven and a smile, or a dash of sweet-smelling perfume to Blake’s wrist, or by brushing out her unruly hair that her own mother hadn’t touched for days. It was after she’d passed away that Blake’s life had changed, having to step in when there was no one else to turn to. She blinked and cleared her throat, forcing the memories away.

‘Before you go,’ Mathilda said, placing her hand on Blake’s arm, ‘are you sure you don’t need a few new pieces for your wardrobe? I have a blazer that would fit as if it was made for you.’

Blake laughed. ‘You know, I think you’re right, I do need a wardrobe update.’ She put the little box into her bag and followed Mathilda through the shop, excited about what she might show her. She suddenly felt alive again as she looked at the beautiful clothes, and a little shiver of excitement ran through her as she traced her hand down a silk dress on a mannequin.

Somehow, she had a feeling that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.