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  ‘Look at this mess!’ When she finally steeled herself to look, she saw no sign of Effie. But the coatstand was on the floor, coats and cloaks and hats everywhere, and Sister Sutton standing in the middle of it, her hands on her wide hips. Sparky, thankfully, had given up on his search and returned to her side. ‘You clumsy girl! You must make sure everything is tidied up before the morning, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ Jess said.

  ‘And see you’re quiet about it, too!’ Summoning Sparky to her heels, Sister Sutton stomped back to her room.

  Jess stared up at the ceiling.

  You owe me a big favour, Effie O’Hara, she thought.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘ARE YOU SURE about this?’ Dora asked.

  Millie lifted her eyes to heaven. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! We’ve been through all this before. Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise, would I?’

  ‘But what about your grandmother? Won’t she mind?’

  ‘My grandmother has chosen everything else for my wedding, so why shouldn’t I be allowed to choose my own bridesmaids?’

  Her friend hadn’t answered her question, Dora realised. She couldn’t imagine what the Dowager Countess of Rettingham would say when she found out her granddaughter had chosen a cockney girl as one of her attendants, and not one of her posh debutante friends.

  Dora looked up at the building in front of her, a beautiful Georgian house overlooking Green Park, with a polished brass plaque beside the front door bearing the words: Madeleine Vachet, Couturier. She had been trying to push her fears about this moment to the back of her mind, but now they were actually here, at their first fitting, they threatened to overwhelm her.

  Millie smiled encouragingly at her. ‘Please don’t worry about my grandmother. In spite of any impression I may have given, she is really very sweet. And I want you and Dawson to be my bridesmaids. We’ve been through so much together over the last three years, I couldn’t think of anyone else I would want with me.’ She looked up the busy street. ‘Speaking of which, where is Dawson? She said she’d meet us here at two, but it’s nearly ten-past now. I hope she hasn’t missed her bus?’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be here,’ Dora said. She didn’t want to say it to Millie, but she wondered if there was another reason why their friend hadn’t come.

  It was less than a year since Helen Dawson had wed Charlie, the love of her life. He had been gravely ill when she married him, and her friends at the hospital had rallied round to give them a wedding to remember. A week later, Charlie died.

  Since then, Helen had done her best to keep up a good front. She had passed her State Final exams and moved into the staff nurses’ home. Dora saw her occasionally when she had to take a patient down to Theatre, or they would meet for a cup of tea when they both had time off. Helen always seemed to be her calm, smiling self, and gave the outward appearance of quietly getting on with her life. But every so often Dora would catch a glimpse of the haunted loneliness in her dark eyes.

  Perhaps this was all too soon for her? She had seemed delighted when Millie first asked her to be a bridesmaid, but maybe the reality had proved too much. Dora wouldn’t have blamed her for backing out.

  Millie looked at her watch. ‘We’d better go in anyway,’ she said, reaching up to pull the bell. ‘We’re late as it is, and Madame hates to be kept waiting.’

  Madame Vachet’s atelier was at the top of several narrow flights of stairs. A maid in a black uniform opened the door to them and ushered them through the waiting room, with its thick carpets, chandeliers and pale yellow brocade sofas, into the fitting room. This room reminded Dora of a painting she had once seen by a famous French artist. The walls were painted a rich cream, with small gilt chairs set out in rows. Heavy swags of black-and-white-striped silk trimmed the two tall windows. In one corner stood a screen, like the ones they used on the wards, except this one was hung with Chinese embroidery. Even the air smelled expensive, richly perfumed with the scent of musk.

  The maid helped them off with their coats, hats and gloves, offered them coffee and informed them Madame Vachet would be with them shortly, then disappeared into the waiting room. Millie picked up one of the magazines and started flicking through it, completely relaxed in these grand surroundings, but Dora perched on the edge of a black velvet-covered couch. From down the passageway she could hear the whirring of sewing machines and the sound of women’s voices. Dora smiled to herself. It was just like her days on the machines at Gold’s Garments, before she’d started training as a nurse.

  Madame Vachet appeared shortly afterwards. She was very slight but utterly terrifying, with almond-shaped eyes, and dark hair drawn back off her face in a bun so tight it pulled the skin of her face taut. She was dressed in a tight black sweater and wide crepe trousers that seemed to swish around her like a skirt when she moved.

  She greeted them briskly, kissing them on both cheeks, which startled Dora no end.

  ‘I have your gown ready for you,’ she told Millie, ordering her assistants with a flick of her tiny hand.

  Millie gave Dora an apprehensive little smile as the assistants whisked her away behind the screens. She had already said that she planned to wear her mother’s wedding gown. Lady Charlotte had died when Millie was a baby so she had never known her mother.

  ‘But if I wear her gown it will be almost as if she’s there, won’t it?’ she’d said. ‘I just hope I don’t let her down and look awful in it!’

  She needn’t have worried. With her wide blue eyes and doll-like features, Millie was so pretty she would have made anything look good. But when she stepped out from behind the screen, Dora’s breath caught in her throat.

  ‘Well?’ Millie bit her lip. ‘Will I do, do you think?’

  ‘I’ll say! You look – beautiful.’

  There was no other word to describe it. The dress was utterly heavenly, a simple shape made up of diaphanous layers of lace and tulle. Scary though she might be, Madame Vachet had done an excellent job of fitting it perfectly to Millie’s figure. She looked like an angel, with her halo of golden curls.

  ‘You don’t think Seb will take one look at me and run away, then?’

  ‘I think Seb will realise what a lucky man he is.’

  The voice made them both look round. Helen stood in the doorway, watching them both. A tear trickled down her cheek.

  ‘Doyle is right. You look beautiful,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘As every bride should look on her wedding day.’

  Millie stared at her, and Dora could see realisation dawning in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, no!’ She put her hands up to her face. ‘Oh, my dear, I’m so, so sorry. How utterly thoughtless of me. I should never have asked you to come here.’

  Millie started to cry. Helen rushed forward and gathered her into her arms.

  ‘Shhh, please don’t. This should be a happy time for you, not a reason to be miserable.’ She sniffed back her own tears. ‘I’m just being a drip, that’s all. Take no notice of me.’

  ‘But I’ve been so insensitive!’ Millie wept. ‘I should have realised that seeing me in a wedding dress would bring back bad memories for you.’

  ‘Bad memories?’ Helen shook her head. ‘Oh, no, not at all. I’m only crying because seeing you has made me remember how wonderful my day was. Everyone was so kind to me, the way you all rallied round to make it so special.’

  It had been a special day, Dora thought. Helen had planned a private service in the hospital chapel, just her and Charlie as he was so ill. But with Matron’s permission the tiny chapel had been filled with well-wishers. Sister Sutton had raided the hospital garden for flowers, Sister Blake had played the piano, and one of the girls had even lent Helen her own wedding dress to wear. All in all, it was one of the best days Dora could remember.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Millie looked up at her uncertainly. ‘Only I’ll understand if you don’t want to be there on the day.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world
.’ Helen smiled back at her. ‘Besides,’ she teased Millie, ‘someone’s got to make sure you get to the church on time and don’t trip over your train on the way up the aisle!’

  ‘That’s true,’ Millie agreed ruefully.

  But Helen’s face told a different story as she and Dora sat together on the couch, watching Madame Vachet fussing over Millie’s alterations on the other side of the room.

  ‘It was brave of you to come,’ Dora whispered.

  ‘I very nearly didn’t,’ Helen admitted with a sigh. ‘I walked around the block three times before I managed to get on the bus. But don’t tell Benedict, will you?’

  Dora shook her head. ‘Cross my heart,’ she promised.

  ‘I meant what I said,’ Helen went on. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world. But I wasn’t sure how I’d cope, seeing all these preparations, all this excitement. I didn’t want to get upset and cast a shadow over everything.’ She gave Dora a watery smile. ‘Looks as if I did that anyway, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve cast a shadow over anything.’ Dora nodded towards Millie, who was standing with her arms outstretched, waiting to be pinned into the dress. The sun caught the floaty layers, making her look even more angelic. ‘You know Benedict can never stay upset about anything for long. Especially not now. She’s so happy and excited about this wedding, even if it wasn’t her idea.’

  ‘So she should be,’ Helen said. ‘I was excited about my wedding day too.’

  Dora gazed at her friend’s profile. Helen was a beautiful girl, there was no doubt of that. But hers was a solemn kind of beauty, nothing like Millie’s frothy prettiness. And she seemed to have grown even more solemn over the past year.

  ‘Do you miss Charlie?’ Dora asked.

  Helen was silent, and Dora wondered if her friend had heard her. Then she took a deep breath and said, ‘Every day. There’s hardly a minute goes by when I don’t think about him and wish he was here.’ As she turned to look at Dora, her dark eyes were wells of sadness. ‘When it first happened the pain was so terrible I didn’t think I could go on. But gradually it lessened. I suppose it has to, or one would simply die of it. It still hurts, and sometimes I’ll hear a song or a voice, or see someone in the crowd who looks like him, and I’ll feel that unbearable pain again. But most of the time I find I can think about him without wanting to cry. Which is good, because it means I can enjoy my memories.’

  ‘It’s so unfair, that Charlie had to be taken from you so soon.’ Dora could feel her own emotion choking her. ‘I don’t know how I’d cope if—’ She stopped talking abruptly. Luckily Helen didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Yes, it is unfair,’ she agreed, her smile wistful. ‘Of course I wish we could have had longer together. But then I realise how lucky I was that I had any time at all with him. I would rather have been with Charlie for a matter of months than never have known him. I suppose that sounds silly, doesn’t it?’ she said ruefully. ‘That I would rather have gone through all this pain with him than have lived a blissful life without him?’

  ‘It doesn’t sound silly to me,’ Dora said quietly.

  ‘Anyway, the important thing is we made the most of the time we had together,’ Helen went on. ‘I don’t remember us wasting a single day with cross words or silly arguments. That means I can look back at every day as a special memory and not regret a thing.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dora agreed, thinking about Nick. ‘It’s a very good thing.’

  ‘You two!’ Millie called over to them. ‘When you’ve finished gossiping, it’s your turn to be fitted for your dresses.’

  For the next half an hour, all sadness was forgotten as they lost themselves in a haze of measurements, patterns and dress fabrics. Dora and Helen stood patiently while Madame’s assistants fussed around them, sticking in pins and making adjustments to the calico dresses they wore.

  ‘I hope this isn’t what we’re wearing!’ Dora joked. ‘It’s worse than our uniforms!’

  ‘It’s called a toile,’ Millie explained. ‘Once Madame has the fit just right, she’ll make them up in the real fabric. Speaking of which, what do you think of this?’ She held up an armful of blush-coloured silk. ‘Or should I have this blue? It’s rather pretty, don’t you think? And it wouldn’t clash with your hair,’ she added.

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, but I think you should have whichever colour you like,’ Dora said. ‘I doubt if anyone will be looking at me anyway. Except your grandmother,’ she groaned.

  ‘Then we should choose something truly shocking to take her mind off you. How about this?’ Millie held up a bolt of scarlet satin.

  After the fitting, Dora and Helen helped Millie choose her trousseau. The three girls perched on gilt chairs while Madame’s models paraded in front of them in the latest fashions. Dora watched Millie taking notes, deciding which to buy, and had to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. Three years ago, she would never have imagined she would ever be in such opulent surroundings, choosing dresses for an earl’s daughter.

  They were still discussing the various merits of different gowns when voices from the waiting room distracted them.

  ‘What do you mean, I can’t have it?’ A woman’s voice, loud and imperious, drifted through the half-open door.

  ‘I’m sorry, Madam, but there is a problem with your credit.’

  ‘A problem? What sort of problem?’

  Dora looked at the others. Millie pulled a face of mock anguish.

  ‘Your last account has not been settled.’

  ‘That’s absurd! Where is Madame Vachet? I insist on speaking to her.’

  ‘Madame is busy with another client at the moment.’

  ‘Then we will wait.’

  ‘Mother, please. Can’t we just leave? We’ll sort out the problem with the account and then come back for the dress.’

  Dora looked up sharply at the sound of the girl’s pleading voice. ‘Is that Lane?’ she hissed.

  Millie laughed. ‘Honestly, Doyle, I know you don’t like her but now you’re hearing her wherever you go. She’ll be haunting your dreams next!’

  But the woman’s next words wiped the grin off her face.

  ‘No, Lucy, I have come all this way to pick up the clothes I ordered, and I will not be dismissed by this – this person. I insist on speaking to Madame Vachet herself. I’m sure she would not want one of her best customers treated in this way.’

  Dora leaned forward. Through the half-open door, she could make out a tall, thin woman in a red silk coat. Beside her, she caught a flash of all too familiar chestnut hair.

  ‘Please, Mother!’ Lucy’s voice took on a pleading note that Dora had never heard in it before. ‘Madame Vachet is busy. Let’s just go, shall we? You can telephone later to discuss the matter.’

  ‘I think that may be best, Madam.’ The assistant’s voice was frosty.

  There was a long pause. Then the woman said, ‘Very well. But be sure I will not forget this.’

  A moment later the door banged shut. Dora stared at Millie and Helen. Astonishment was written all over their faces.

  ‘Well, I never!’ Helen said. ‘What was that all about, I wonder?’

  ‘Sounds to me like the Lanes haven’t been paying their bills,’ Dora said.

  ‘That’s absurd,’ Millie dismissed. ‘Everyone knows Sir Bernard is as rich as Croesus. He could probably buy this place ten times over.’ She turned her attention back to the models. ‘Can we decide on these dresses, please? I don’t know about you, but I’m longing for a cup of tea and a bun!’

  They had arranged to go to Lyons Corner House for tea after the fitting. But when they stepped outside into the sunshine, Dora said, ‘Do you mind if I don’t join you? Only I’ve suddenly remembered there’s someone I have to see.’

  ‘Ooh, that sounds mysterious!’ Millie smiled. ‘Do you have a secret assignation, Doyle?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Dora shifted uncomfortably. ‘There’s j
ust something I have to say to someone, that’s all.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  CLARISSA LANE WAS still raging as they caught a cab back to Eaton Place.

  ‘I have never been so insulted in my life!’ she said. ‘How dare they say there is a problem with my credit?’

  ‘I know, Mother,’ Lucy sighed.

  ‘I have been one of Madame Vachet’s best customers for the last ten years,’ her mother continued. ‘I helped make her name when she first came to this country. If it hadn’t been for me wearing her designs and telling my friends about them, she would still be cutting patterns in a back room in Paris. Honestly, you would think she could be a little more grateful. After all, it’s not as if I don’t pay my bills regularly.’

  Lucy turned her face away to stare at the passers-by from the cab window. ‘I don’t know why you need a new dress anyway, Mother,’ she said quietly. ‘You know we agreed we shouldn’t be spending more money than is necessary at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, do stop worrying, Lucy!’ Her mother was dismissive. ‘I told you, your father will be back soon.’

  How do you know that? Lucy wanted to ask. ‘He’s been gone three weeks now,’ she said. ‘No one has seen or heard from him in all that time.’

  Gordon Bird had been putting out discreet enquiries for weeks now, but there had been no news. Her father’s bank accounts hadn’t been touched, and no one had seen him. It was as if Sir Bernard Lane had simply vanished from the face of the earth.

  Lucy suppressed a shudder. So far the bank hadn’t got word of his disappearance, which was a relief. But she wasn’t sure how long they could go on keeping up the pretence.

  ‘Your father is very good at laying low when he wants to,’ her mother said. ‘You’ll see, he’ll come back.’

  ‘And what happens when he does?’ Lucy said. ‘Even if he comes back, we’re still in debt to the bank, far more than we can pay. We stand to lose everything.’

  Her mother stared at her as if she was simple. ‘He’ll sort it all out, of course,’ she said. ‘And when he does, Madame Vachet needn’t think I’ll be patronising her establishment again!’ she added firmly.