Chapter 7

7

ONE WEEK LATER

Blake sat in her office and scrolled through the comments beneath her first article and couldn’t stop smiling. Not only had she had a steady stream of co-workers stopping by to congratulate her on a great launch; but also almost every woman who’d commented had loved her piece, and seemed as fascinated as she was with the clues. Helpfully, some had even asked to see the clues in case they recognised the designer’s name, and so Blake was preparing her next story, along with photographs of the sketch and the piece of fabric. She smiled at the picture of herself standing outside the Vintage Bazaar shop with Mathilda. Writing about the older woman who’d helped her had been her favourite part of this instalment, and she read over the words again. Mathilda was a woman who embodied fashion, her own personal style more Paris chic than modern, her store full of clothes that had been made to last a lifetime, not a season. If ever there was someone who could delve into the history of fashion, it was Mathilda .

Blake took out her phone and scrolled until she found Lily’s number, wanting to thank her. If they hadn’t had that meeting at the café, she might have given up on her search completely. But instead she was already planning out her next article, not to mention waiting for a reply from her email to the curator in Paris that Mathilda had mentioned. It was as if meeting Lily had all been part of the plan, and Blake also wanted to ask her permission to mention her in her next article. She had a feeling her readers were going to love hearing about the other women who’d been given boxes similar to hers, and she was starting to wonder if she couldn’t also do a piece on all the women—a homage to Hope’s House and the mothers who’d given birth there.

But as she was holding her phone, it rang, and she didn’t need to look at the screen to know that it was her sister. Years earlier, Abby had taken Blake’s phone and given herself a customised ringtone, as well as the name ‘Favourite Sister.’ It still made Blake smile whenever she saw it flash across her screen.

‘Hey, Abby.’

‘Hey! Just checking in to see how the sleuthing is going. Any updates?’

‘Well,’ Blake said, leaning back in her chair and twirling her pen between two fingers. She refreshed her computer screen and saw that two more women had left comments since she’d last looked, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Women were actually connecting with her story.

‘Blake? What is it? Tell me what you’ve discovered!’

‘I don’t know much, but I do have a lead,’ she said, knowing that she should have told her sister earlier. She’d kept it secret at their last Sunday dinner, letting her siblings direct the conversation as she’d sat wondering when she might hear back from Henri Toussaint. Thankfully, they hadn’t noticed how quiet she’d been.

‘Here, in London? How long have you kept this from me? What else?’

Blake groaned. ‘No, the clue is actually in Paris.’

‘Paris? How fabulous! So, you have a name?’

‘I have a name for someone who should be able to help me. He’s curating an exhibition, and apparently he’s one of the most knowledgeable people in the fashion industry about design history. It’s the only promising lead I have.’

‘When do you leave then?’

‘Leave?’ Blake turned away from the comments she’d been reading to focus on her conversation with her sister. ‘What do you mean, leave ? I’m waiting for him to reply to my email, but I’m sure he’s very busy with the upcoming exhibition and?—’

‘Blake, if the clues are pointing to Paris, then surely you need to be in Paris? Why wait for an email when you could just go and see this guy and speak to him in person?’

Blake sighed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought about how nice it would be to actually be in France as she was trying to discover more, but it wasn’t like she could just up and leave. There was the cost, to begin with, and there was no guarantee that this Henri would even agree to see her if she just turned up.

‘I can’t just?—’

‘Blake, you’ve always said that you’d love to travel, and this is your chance. What’s holding you back? Seriously, what could go wrong?’

Blake went silent. What was she supposed to say to that? She’d always tried so hard to support Abby’s love of travel, content with being the sensible, stable one while her sister explored the world. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she had responsibilities, that she couldn’t just go, but even as she thought them, she knew she was only making up excuses.

‘Blake?’

‘I’m here.’

‘You deserve to travel and have some fun for once, even if it is for work. Let me hold the fort here while you go and be the reckless sister for once.’ Abby laughed. ‘Who knows, you could even add a few days to your trip for fun, and explore the city?’

Blake’s heart started to beat a little faster. Abby was right, there was nothing holding her back, and perhaps it was time for her to be a little more spontaneous. She’d spent so much of her life being serious that she feared she might forget entirely how to live a little.

‘You know, this is work for me, so I’d have to clear it with my editor, and?—’

‘But if she says yes, if she tells you to go?’ Abby nudged, in a way that only a sister could without being overbearing. ‘Will you go then?’

‘Yes. If she told me to go, then I’d go. Of course I would.’ Would I, though? Would I honestly want to go to Paris, find this man and try to get the answers to my questions in person? She knew the logical answer was yes, because without his input she might not have another story to run with. But still.

‘You promise?’

Blake laughed. She could almost see the smile on her sister’s face. ‘Yes, Abby, I promise.’

Abby let out a little squeal down the line, and Blake held the phone away from her ear for a moment. Trust Abby to get all carried away when it wasn’t even confirmed whether she’d have to go or not.

‘This is going to be great for you, Blake. You’ve been the most amazing sister to us, the parent we never had, but you can’t keep living your life for us.’

I know I can’t. Trust me, Abby, I know . ‘I’ve been happy for you to do the living for me, Abs, you know that. I don’t have any regrets about the decisions I’ve made or the way things turned out.’ That wasn’t entirely honest—she did have regrets, about not asking for help or sharing how bad their situation was at the time, but she would do it all over again if it meant keeping her family together.

‘Well, maybe it’s your turn to be someone different now. A new chapter, and all.’

‘Abby, I don’t even know if I’ll be going to Paris, I only said that?—’

‘I have to go, keep me updated! Bye!’

Blake opened her mouth to say something else, but the line had gone dead. Typical Abby. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought her sister already knew about the lead and had called simply to harass her into going.

‘Is there something I need to know about in Paris?’

She put her phone down on her desk and turned to see Deborah standing there, her hands in the pockets of her high-waisted, wide-legged pants, which made her legs look ridiculously long. Blake glanced down at her jeans and vintage blazer with the sleeves pushed up—not quite Deborah, but after a little help from Mathilda, and a noticeable dent in her bank balance, she at least didn’t feel dowdy beside her boss.

‘I finally have a solid lead,’ Blake said. ‘I was just about to send you the second story so you could approve it before I upload.’

Deborah arched a brow. ‘The lead is in Paris?’

Blake nodded and quickly hit print on her story when Deborah held out her hand. It only took seconds for her to collect it from her printer and pass the page to her, and she felt as if she held her breath for the entire six minutes it took Deborah to read it. She finally let it out properly when her editor smiled at her and tucked the page under her arm, silently clapping her hands together and giving her a beaming smile.

‘This is brilliant, Blake, truly brilliant. I always knew you were good, but this? This sets a new benchmark. It’s like I’m hearing an authentic voice in a sea of rehearsed bullshit. No wonder our readers haven’t been able to get enough of that first instalment.’

Relief coursed through her body, her head hammering as if she’d just been given the praise she’d been waiting for her entire life. ‘Thank you.’ Genuine praise from Deborah was rare, so she felt like a schoolgirl getting her first A-plus from a notoriously tough teacher. But she’d known when she’d written it that it was different, because for the first time, she’d put part of her true self into her writing.

‘Call through to my assistant and have her book you tickets to Paris. How many nights’ accommodation will you need?’

Blake opened her mouth to answer, but suspected she looked like a goldfish gasping for air, because nothing came out. Deborah didn’t seem to notice, or if she had, she chose to ignore it. She’d already turned on her heel, pausing at the door to Blake’s office.

‘I think you should take at least a few days, even a week if you need it. Just make sure you have your story ready for me next Friday. This is worth making space in the budget for. I want you to turn the trip into a fabulous story,’ Deborah said, before calling over her shoulder. ‘And make sure you take photos! We need to start posting on our socials to help promote the articles!’

Blake didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She didn’t make impromptu travel plans, and she certainly didn’t go to Paris , but her sister’s words kept ringing in her ears, and she knew that if she didn’t go, it would be because she’d let fear hold her back. Besides, what was it that Lily had said? Something about discovering her family’s secrets changing her life?

She picked up the office phone to dial her editor’s assistant, her hand shaking as she pressed the buttons. Blake took a deep breath.

Paris . She’d read about the city of love her entire life, and now she was finally going to see it.

Maybe.

No, not maybe.

Definitely .