‘Are you going to put the book and dress on the website?’ asked Lena. ‘Or even take them back to auction? I’m sure someone would be very keen to have those.’
The idea had already crossed Darcie’s mind, but something was stopping her. ‘I’m going to keep them for now,’ she said. ‘I want a little more time to research them.’ She wasn’t ready to surrender them just yet.
‘Well, I suppose you know best,’ said Lena in a way that clearly implied she didn’t think Darcie was making the best decision.
‘I just don’t want to rush into a decision and regret it,’ explained Darcie. ‘I don’t know what it is about the sketchbook and dress, but they feel important. Special.’ She rubbed her eyes. She’d been looking at a screen of one sort or another for far too long the past couple of days.
‘You look tired,’ said Lena. ‘I wish you’d take a break. I mean a proper break, like a holiday. You could do something fun for a change. I’ll be able to manage, and I’ll have Chloe on hand if I need her. You can afford to close the shop for a week.’
Darcie turned to look at her mum. ‘A holiday? It’s a lovely idea but Ican’tafford to close the shop for an entire week; besides, where would I go and who would I go with?’
‘You could go on one of those singles holidays,’ said Lena. ‘You might even meet someone.’ Lena emphasised the last word for effect.
‘Honestly, Mum, I’ve no interest in meeting anyone right now,’ said Darcie. ‘After the last blind date Chloe set me up on, I’m giving men a wide berth for the time being.’
‘But that was a year ago,’ protested Lena. ‘Look, darling, I don’t want you to miss out on any more of life than you already have. Stuck here caring for me when you should be out having fun.’
‘What’s brought all this on?’ asked Darcie.
Lena put her cup down. ‘I know you’ve given up a lot for me over the years and I am truly grateful, but I do worry that it’s at the expense of your happiness.’
‘I’m happy as I am,’ said Darcie. It might not have been strictly true, right at this moment in her life, but generally speaking, she was happy, if a little lonely, but she was used to that. It came with being the oddball at school who was a history geek and never being able either to afford to join in with the outings of her peers or not having the time because she was caring for her mum. She gave Lena what she hoped was a reassuring smile and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Stop worrying.’
‘Mother’s prerogative,’ replied Lena, but she let the matter drop, for which Darcie was grateful.
It was another quiet day in the shop and after making Lena her lunch and then settling her in her chair, where she would likely sleep for a few hours, Darcie went back to the shop and resumed her internet search for the source of the dress and sketchbook. Once again, it was a fruitless endeavour.
Frustrated at the lack of forward motion in her search, Darcie decided to do something constructive. She could begin with cleaning the dress. She felt a strong sense of connection to the original dressmaker and believed, for some reason, that the suitcase had been destined to fall into her hands.
In her work area, she placed the suitcase on the cutting table and took out the dress, placing it on a coat hanger. It was then she noticed the suitcase had an inside pocket with an elasticated top. In their excitement the other day, none of them had noticed or, if they did, hadn’t thought to check in the pocket. Darcie pulled the elastic top open and was surprised to see there was, indeed, something in there. A piece of paper, maybe? She pulled it out and was amazed to see it was a train ticket and a small brown envelope folded in half.
The ticket was a muted blue, and she could make out the writing on it.
London to Pulborough
20 September 1942
1 Adult
She unfolded the envelope. The name Nathalie Leroux with a date September 1942 was written in faded blue ink. The envelope reminded Darcie of the type used for weekly or monthly pay, when people were paid in cash, which, of course, would tie in with the date.
Darcie turned the envelope over and on the seal was a black stamp mark, almost like a coat of arms with a tree in the centre, a crown above it and a banner underneath. She let out a gasp as she read the cursive styled words on the banner:Ritz Paris.
Darcie looked at the ticket and envelope, trying to work out where the connection was. How was a train station in Pulborough connected to a Nathalie Leroux and the Ritz in Paris?
Darcie grabbed the sketchbook and looked at the signature. At a stretch, she supposed the figure of eight could represent the letter ‘N’ and the other mark could be a fancy ‘L’. Was this a type of shorthand signature?
Darcie typed the name Nathalie Leroux into her laptop and was met with several results, which she was sure weren’t the Nathalie she was looking for. In all fairness, Nathalie Leroux was probably no longer alive. Even if she’d been twenty in 1942, that would make her one hundred years old now. What a shame Darcie wouldn’t be able to reunite the drawings with who she assumed was the rightful owner. But how exactly did they end up in West Sussex? She’d probably never know.
She looked up as the door opened and in came Hannah, with her art folder in her hand. She and Darcie had struck up a friendship over their love for fashion when Hannah had come into the shop while researching for her GSCE Textiles course. Hannah was now in her last year of Alevels, studying Fashion and Textiles, and Darcie had become something of a mentor to her.
‘Hi, Darcie. You said to call in when I got a moment. Sorry I didn’t come yesterday.’
‘That’s OK, don’t worry. It’s just lovely to see you. And you’ve brought your folder.’
Hannah’s red-streaked hair was tied back in some sort of messy ponytail arrangement that Darcie suspected took rather longer to arrange than the appearance would have you believe. Hannah was wearing a tie-dye purple skirt with an oversized sweatshirt and hand-decorated canvas ankle boots. The blue glass nose stud matched her sky-blue eyes. Darcie loved the eclectic, hippy look Hannah went for.
‘Oh, what have you got there?’ Hannah asked, coming over to the workbench and looking at the dress hanging up. ‘It’s amazing. Oh, and this? Wow! Did you draw that?’ Hannah was looking at the sketchbook now. ‘Can I see?’
