‘Tough few days?’ Blake asked, surprised to see her editor light up a cigarette.
‘I keep a packet of these in my bag for emergencies, and this box has been here for almost six months,’ Deborah said as she took a long, slow drag and blew the smoke away in the other direction. ‘I officially gave up years ago, but every now and then, I let myself have one. Let’s just say that this week, I’ve almost smoked the lot, so yeah, you could say it’s been a tough few days.’
Blake grimaced. ‘It’s that bad in the office?’
‘It’s that bad.’ Deborah sighed as they began to walk. Blake was grateful for the sunshine, but wished she’d known to pack trainers as she hurried to keep up. ‘We’re in the same situation as almost every other magazine, trying to serve our loyal print customers while at the same time aiming to stay relevant enough in the digital landscape to attract new readers and keep ouradvertisers. And when things don’t go to plan, I’m the first one they blame. It’s not just all of you who could lose your jobs; mine’s on the line, too.’
‘I see wine in our immediate future then,’ Blake said, comfortable enough to speak plainly after so long working together. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t realise how bad things were for you.’
‘There’s a reason I booked Kitty’s,’ Deborah said, as they neared the restaurant. It was easily within walking distance of their Mayfair office, so it made perfect sense they’d chosen to go on foot. ‘The food is excellent, but the wine list is even better, and to be honest it might be the last long lunch I can charge to the company card if things don’t improve.’
They both laughed, before walking the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Blake liked Deborah; they were a good team, and she couldn’t have asked for a better editor, but it didn’t stop her from being nervous about what she was about to pitch, especially looking at the time frame she’d been given to finesse it. Or how much she’d be putting her own life under the microscope. But if she wanted to push herself, then she was going to have to get used to feeling slightly out of her depth.
The restaurant appeared ahead of them, with its awning stretched out at the front and the two outdoor tables full, a small dog looking up at her from beside its owner. Blake had only been a couple of times before, and always for work, and each time it had reminded her of how a little bistro in France would look, with the restaurant nestled at the bottom of an old brick building, rather nondescript until one stepped inside. She opened the door for Deborah and followed her in, where her boss was greeted by name, before they were ushered to a table near the back. The restaurant smelt delicious, and Blake found her stomach rumbling immediately.
‘Okay, tell me all about this new idea of yours,’ Deborah said as she nodded to the waiter that they did, indeed, want the winelist. ‘It sounds intriguing. Why didn’t you pitch it to me before now?’
Blake folded herself down into the chair, surprised that they were getting straight to business. She tucked her long hair behind her ears, running her fingers to the ends as she often did when she was nervous. ‘It is intriguing, but I wasn’t ready to share it until today. I mean, it’s going to take some serious sleuthing to figure out what it all means, but?—’
‘Before you go any further, are you quite certain that you want to put yourself, and your family, out there like this? Once you start writing, you’re going to have to be brutally honest and share absolutely everything that you discover, in order for this to be authentic.’ Deborah paused. ‘It’s not lost on me that you’re normally very private when it comes to your family.’
Blake nodded. Deborah was right; she was usually intensely private. And it was precisely the reason she’d hesitated before pitching it that morning.
‘I know what’s at stake here, and what’s expected of me, and I’ve decided that it’s worth it. The reader will have to be there with me, every step of the way.’
‘I like it. And I’m proud of you! I feel as if it’s taken until now, with so much in the balance, for you to pitch me something bold instead of playing it safe.’
‘Go big or go home, right?’ Blake joked.
‘Go big or go home,’ Deb repeated with a sigh. ‘I feel like that’s the motto of my working life these days.’ Deborah paused their conversation only to order wine, before turning back to Blake. ‘Shall we order our food now, too? Then we won’t have any more interruptions.’
Blake quickly scanned the menu. ‘Anything you’d recommend?’
‘Shall we both have the pork chop and order some sides? Perhaps the crispy potatoes and the roasted beetroot? They never disappoint.’
‘Sounds great.’
Their waiter left them and Deborah leaned in, her arms folded on the table. ‘I think it’s time you started from the very beginning, Blake. I need to know exactly how all of this came about, and how we’re going to position these stories, if we proceed. What’s the format, and how will each story unfold? And most importantly, when can you deliver the first instalment?’
Blake took a breath, grateful for the speed at which their wine arrived so she was able to have a large gulp before answering. It suddenly felt very much as if the entire success of the magazine was riding on her shoulders, and her ability to deliver a bingeworthy series of stories. She also had to hope that people would even want to read about her family mystery.
She reached into her bag and took out the little wooden box that she’d gone home to retrieve between their meeting this morning and now, running her fingers over the smooth edges. Initially she’d sat down to work on a written pitch at her desk, but then she’d realised that what she needed was to show Deborah the clues and decided to use her time to retrieve it. There was something powerful about seeing an object from the past, especially one that had been so thoughtfully put together.
‘This is the box,’ Blake said, sliding it across the table. She’d retied the string that had been around it when she’d first received it, as well as replacing the little note with her grandmother’s name on there, so that Deb could experience what it had been like for her to open it for the very first time. She wanted her to see it in the way it had been left by her great-grandmother all those years ago.
‘May I?’ Deborah asked, her finger paused on the string.
Blake nodded. ‘I received a letter from a lawyer’s office last year. Well, I should say that my mother received it, but I have power of attorney and as such everything is sent to me.’ Deborah knew enough about her family to understand why Blake had control over her mother’s affairs, and she was grateful that she didn’t ask her any questions. Her sister or brother she could talk about for hours, but discussing her mother was always uncomfortable.
‘And this letter,’ Deb said, as she set the string aside, glancing up at Blake. ‘It told you about the box?’
‘No, it just requested my presence at a meeting, which of course seemed highly unusual at the time.’ Blake watched the look on Deborah’s face as she discovered the contents of the box, taking out first the sketch of a dress on a folded piece of paper, and then a piece of fabric, her fingers lingering over the silk. Blake remembered the first time she’d touched it, too, and how incredibly soft and luxurious it had felt against her skin. ‘I researched the law firm before replying and decided to go with an open mind once I’d confirmed their legitimacy, and when I arrived, I discovered the meeting wasn’t just for me, but for a handful of other women who’d received an identical letter in the mail. We were all summoned together to the same appointment.’
That day was one she would never forget, looking at all the other women as they’d learnt the shared secrets of their families’ pasts. Blake still remembered how she’d stared in disbelief at the box bearing her grandmother’s name.
She remembered how her fingers had closed over the small wooden box as it was passed to her, and the immediate connection she felt to her grandmother that still overwhelmed her. She’d had to look away, leaving the lawyer’s office without even saying thank you to Mia, the pain at discovering such a treasure without her grandma beside her almost too much to bear.
Deb held up the design, shaking her head and pulling Blake from her thoughts. ‘This is extraordinary. How old do you think it is?’
