‘Sure. It’s not mine though,’ said Darcie. ‘I got it at the auction the other day. The left-luggage one.’
‘These are beautiful,’ said Hannah. ‘Oh, wow. Gorgeous. I wish I was this good. Who is the designer? Do you know?’
‘Possibly someone called Nathalie Leroux, but I can’t find anything about her. I think she might be French by the spelling of her name with an “h” in it. Typically, that’s the French spelling. I think she had some connection with the Ritz during the war.’
‘The Ritz?’ Hannah looked at Darcie. ‘You know who was there during the war, don’t you?’
‘In terms of someone famous, well, yes, it was where Coco Chanel lived.’
‘Perhaps Nathalie Leroux knew her? Or maybe look up Coco Chanel and see if there’s any connection,’ said Hannah, putting the book down and admiring the dress again.
‘It’s a possibility, I suppose, but Chanel closed down all their couture house boutiques during the war,’ said Darcie. ‘They only kept one open, the one opposite the Ritz as it happens– 21 rue Cambon. It sold perfume and accessories to the Germans. None of the Parisians could afford such luxuries.’
‘I guess it’s a long shot,’ said Hannah.
‘I’m sure it would be documented if she had another fashion designer working with her at the Ritz during the war,’ said Darcie, closing the sketchbook. ‘So, are you going to let me have a look at your stuff now?’ She nodded towards Hannah’s folder, and Hannah lifted it onto the workbench and unzipped it.
‘These are the sketches I’ve done today,’ said Hannah, pulling out several sheets of paper.
Darcie looked at the drawings and, not for the first time, admired Hannah’s vision and sense of style. It was nothing like her own, but she could see the talent in the work. ‘These are great,’ she said.
By now, Hannah was busy tapping on her phone. No doubt Instagramming or Snapchatting or whatever it was the kids did these days. Darcie continued to look through Hannah’s work. She remembered doing her own Alevels, and it wasn’t without a pang of sadness that she remembered how she had often fantasised about going to art college. It was then that Lena’s health had taken a turn for the worse and Darcie had realised it was an impossible dream. Still, she loved the thought that Hannah was going to go. She could live vicariously through her friend’s experience, if nothing else.
Hannah looked up abruptly from her phone. ‘Oh. My. God.’ She looked at Darcie with an open mouth. ‘This is unreal.’
‘What?’ asked Darcie.
‘This! Where’s that sketchbook? No. Not mine. That one you got at auction.’
Darcie passed it over. ‘What is it?’
‘Wait. Let me check first.’ Hannah flicked through the pages to the blue evening gown with the oversized bow at the shoulder and a fishtail skirt. She looked back at her phone and then gave the dress hanging up another long look before finally speaking. ‘This is fucking unreal.’
Darcie let the swear word slide. She was too intrigued by whatever it was Hannah had found. ‘Can you please tell me what is so … unreal?’
Hannah clasped her phone to her chest as she grinned madly at Darcie. ‘You might want to sit down.’
‘You might want to just tell me!’
‘OK. Look at this.’ Slowly, Hannah turned the phone around so Darcie could see the screen.
‘Oh. My. God,’ said Darcie, inadvertently repeating what Hannah had just said. ‘It’s the bloody dress!’
‘It’s not just the dress,’ Hannah said excitedly. ‘Look who’s wearing it. Coco Chanel, no less.’
Chapter 6
Darcie
For what must be the one hundredth time, Darcie looked at the photograph Hannah had found of Chanel. She was still having trouble believing it was the same dress. To be fair, the photograph was black and white and a little grainy, so it was difficult to see the detail, but it looked exactly the same as the one in the suitcase.
‘You don’t think it’s a replica?’ asked Chloe that evening after Darcie had relayed the story to her.
‘I know it could be, and my sensible head is telling me that’s exactly what it is. That perhaps whoever Nathalie Leroux was, she was an art student, and she’d copied Chanel’s designs for her studies.’
‘I guess if it was during the war, then this Nathalie might not have been able to continue at art school or whatever is the equivalent over there and maybe just began copying other people’s designs for fun. Can’t you get an expert opinion?’
Darcie raised her eyebrows. ‘Excuse me?’ she said, not without humour. ‘I am an expert.’
