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 perhapsnext 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.’
5
PROVINS, FRANCE, 1927
‘No, Maman. I will not marry him or anyone else of your choosing!’
Evelina stood, her hands fisted at her sides, as her mother’s face contorted with anger. She braced herself when her mother’s palm connected with her cheek, but she refused to show how much it hurt. Her father sat at the table, his spoon halfway between his bowl and his mouth, but if he cared that his eldest daughter had been struck, he certainly didn’t show it. Perhaps he would have preferred her to nurse her face and howl in pain, rather than to stand stoically as her mother berated her. Perhaps if she’d played the part of simpering daughter, he might have shown more sympathy towards her.
