Chapter 8

8

PARIS, 1927

Evelina stood on the pavement as dusk changed the sky above, stealing the sun and leaving the sky a moody combination of dark and light. I’m in Paris. I’m finally where I belong . She wished she’d arrived in the daylight so she could have marvelled at the sights around her, but still, there was nowhere in the world she’d rather be.

Beneath a flickering street light across the road, a scantily clad woman stood, her lips painted a bright red and her breasts almost spilling from the corset-style dress she wore. Evelina tucked back into the shadows as a man approached the woman, keeping a watchful eye on them as the woman laughed and took the man’s hand, leading him out of sight and down an alleyway. Evelina stayed where she was and took one of the pieces of bread from her satchel and the hunk of cheese, in an effort to appease her growling stomach. It had been hours since she’d last eaten, and even though she’d intended on nibbling just a little and saving more for later, she found that she ate every last bite as she stood there.

It didn’t take long for the woman to return, and Evelina wiped the crumbs from her hands and crossed the road once the man had left.

‘Excuse me,’ Evelina said, as the woman shook her head.

‘This is no place for you, chérie. Go home.’

Up close, the woman wasn’t nearly as attractive as Evelina had thought she was. Her face was overpainted, her lipstick smudged and she was much older than she’d appeared, her face creased with lines.

‘I’ve just arrived in the city, and I’m looking for somewhere to stay.’ Evelina cleared her throat. ‘Could you recommend anywhere?’

The woman folded her arms, glancing around as if to check that no one was watching them. Or perhaps she was looking for customers. Evelina had lived a sheltered life, but she knew about the sins of the flesh and what this woman was standing on the street corner for.

‘Go down the street and turn left,’ the woman said with a sigh. ‘Ask for Juliette. Hopefully she’ll have a bed for you, and don’t come back round these parts again after dark.’

Evelina nodded. ‘Merci, merci.’

The woman reached out and crooked her finger beneath Evelina’s chin, studying her face before making a noise in her throat and dropping her hand. ‘Paris at night is not a place for a pretty girl like you, do you hear me? If a man tries to talk to you, keep walking, as quickly as you can. Don’t stop until you reach the boarding house.’

Evelina thanked her, assuring her that she understood before hurrying along, keeping her head down as she followed the directions given to her. The shadows seemed to leap at her as the sky became even darker, and she heard laughter down an alley that made her move even faster. How could a place that had been so vibrant and picturesque during the day, when she’d visited with her mother, become so terrifying? It was as if every dark corner hid a secret that she didn’t want to hear whispered.

She felt inside her pocket for her money, knowing how little it was, and how few nights of safety she would be able to pay for before it ran out. But it was all she had, and she was terrified that someone might try to steal it from her. She was going to have to find a job, and quickly, as well as somewhere safe to hide her earnings.

There was a small sign hanging from a door when she rounded the corner, and Evelina hurried up the steps, her hand raised to knock, when the door suddenly swung open. She immediately came face to face with an old woman, with deep lines creasing her face as she scowled at her.

‘Madame, my name is Evelina Lavigne and I?—’

She saw a much younger woman standing inside through the open door, her face streaked with tears, and she noticed that the old woman standing before her was holding an evening dress in her hands.

‘What do you want?’ the woman snapped.

‘I’m looking for a room,’ Evelina said, surprised by the rude response.

‘We have no rooms available.’

She went to shut the door but Evelina leaped forward, pressing herself against it. ‘But I have nowhere else to go! Please, madame, please?—’

The door was shut in her face, and Evelina stood there as darkness seemed to wrap itself around her, the realisation of what it truly meant to be on the streets and all alone settling over her. But just as she was about to turn away, her shoulders slumped in resignation, she heard raised voices from inside.

‘What do you mean, you can’t mend it? She needs to wear it within the hour!’

There were more muffled words exchanged before the door suddenly flew open again, and a young woman in what appeared to be a maid’s uniform ran past her, crying. Evelina quickly stepped forward before the door shut again, realising what was happening.

‘Madame—’ Evelina began, as her gaze fell on the dress in her arms.

‘You again! I said I have no rooms available, and unless you know a seamstress who can disguise a hole in a couture House of Chanel dress?—’

‘May I?’ Evelina asked, setting her bags down at her feet and gently coaxing the fabric from the woman’s hands before she could stop her. She turned it over and immediately found the rip in the back, which had clearly rendered it unwearable to the young woman inside.

She ran her fingers up the seam, smiling when she recognised exactly how she could fix it. It wasn’t hard, not for someone used to taking garments apart and making new clothes from them.

‘Do you have a sewing machine? I have thread in my bag and?—’

The woman in front of her planted her hands on her hips. ‘You’re telling me you can fix this?’

Evelina smiled, even though she was terribly nervous, still holding the dress. ‘I can. Most certainly I can.’

‘How much do you charge?’

‘I’ve just arrived in Paris and I need a room, madame, that’s why I’m here. If you can find a bed for me?—’

‘Come in,’ the woman said, flapping her hands for Evelina to step forward into the house, before calling out past her. ‘Rapha?l, come and fetch the mademoiselle’s bags! She will be staying with us tonight.’

Evelina found herself shuffled inside, smiling at the tearful younger lady and the gentleman beside her who was patting her shoulder as if she needed constant consoling, before being bustled upstairs into a tiny attic room by the older woman, presumably Juliette, and pointed towards an old sewing machine. Evelina dusted it off and laid out the dress on the table beside it, carefully inspecting the garment in front of her and trying not to grin too widely as she realised that it was the very first time she’d held a House of Chanel dress in her hands.

See, Papa. Sewing has already secured my first night’s board in Paris . And she smiled to herself as her fingers skimmed the dress, a pin between her lips as she carefully folded the fabric together and set to work.