Page 10 of The Dressmaker's Gift
‘You look nice.’ Mireille watched from her bedroom doorway as Claire smoothed her hair, looking in the mirror in the hallway before pulling a coat over her dark blue dress. ‘Are you going somewhere special?’
It was New Year’s Eve and Paris was in a party mood, in spite of the war. Claire shrugged and reached for her key to the apartment.
‘Wait!’ Mireille laid a hand on the sleeve of Claire’s coat, where the woollen twill was worn and fraying slightly at the cuff. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot to give you your present at Christmas. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. But I have something for you now. Here, take it.’ She thrust a small package into Claire’s hand. ‘It will look good against your dress.’
‘It’s alright, Mireille, you don’t have to give me anything,’ Claire replied.
Her friend smiled at her. ‘I know I don’thaveto give you anything, Claire, but Iwantto give you this. I love the necklet that you made for me – see, I’m wearing it tonight.’ Mireille stroked the narrow velvet ribbon around her neck which had a scattering of jet beads sewn on to it with invisible stitches and which fastened at the front with a silver filigree button.
Claire unwrapped the paper from Mireille’s gift and stared in disbelief at the silver locket that lay in her hand.
‘Don’t you like it?’ asked Mireille.
‘It’s not that.’ Claire shook her head. ‘But I can’t take it. Not your locket, Mireille. It’s too precious.’
She tried to hand it back, but Mireille closed her fingers around Claire’s. ‘It’s yours. A present for a good friend. I want you to have it. And I’m sorry that I haven’t been better company of late. Here, let me fasten it for you.’
Reluctantly, Claire lifted the hair from the back of her neck to allow Mireille to settle the locket in place and secure the clasp. Then, relenting, she hugged Mireille and said, ‘Well, thank you. It’s the most beautiful present I’ve ever had. And let us settle it that we will share it. As a token of our friendship. It can belong to us both.’
‘Alright then, if that means you will accept at least a half share in it.’ Mireille smiled broadly and, for a moment, she almost looked like her old, vivacious self again.
Impulsively, Claire seized her hand. ‘Come with me! Let’s go out dancing together. I know somewhere where the music and the company are good. There’s even a rumour that there’ll be champagne tonight, since it’s New Year’s Eve. Put on your red dress and come along. It’ll be fun!’
Mireille withdrew her hand and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Claire, I can’t. There’s someone I have to meet.’
‘Alright then, have it your own way.’ She shrugged. ‘Although I bet the people I’ll be meeting are a lot better company than whoever it is you’re hooking up with. Thanks for the locket. See you tomorrow.’
Mireille watched sadly as her friend swept out of the apartment and off down the stairs. And then, after a few minutes, she pulled on her own coat and slipped out, silent as a shadow, to be swallowed up by the crowds in the busy streets below.
At the entrance to the nightclub, Claire left her coat at the hat-check desk even though it meant she would have to put a fewsousin the plate on the counter for the sour-faced woman who had given the threadbare garment a disdainful shake as she’d taken it away to hang it on the rail.
My coat may be shabby, mademoiselle, Claire thought as she turned towards the powder room,but at least I’m not stuck behind the counter on New Year’s Eve with a scowl on my face.She took a cheap gilt compact from her evening bag and leaned towards the mirror as she blotted the shine from her nose and cheeks. The women alongside her glanced enviously at the drape of the midnight blue dress, which Claire had painstakingly made from remnants of crêpe de Chine left over from one of Monsieur Delavigne’s designs. It had taken her ages to piece the lengths together and she’d spent long evenings trying to get the seams to lie absolutely flat where she’d had to sew the offcuts side by side, so that the joins would be virtually invisible. She’d stitched a scattering of silver beads along the neckline to distract the eye from the patchwork nature of the gown, and draped the fabric on the bias so that it flowed over her slim hips. Her evening bag was made from the lining of an old skirt, and she’d borrowed a pair of shoes from one of her flatmates for the evening.
In the mirror, she adjusted the locket on its fine silver chain so that it lay flat against the beaded neckline, just below the delicate wings of her collarbones.
She rested a hand on her stomach for a moment, trying to calm the butterflies that seemed to flutter there. Would he be here? Would he have remembered the promise they’d made on Christmas Eve to meet up here again on 31 December? Had he really meant it?
That evening, in the bar on the Rue de Rivoli, he’d sent drinks to their table, the waiter setting the glasses in front of her and her two friends and then pointing out the blonde German officer at the bar who had ordered them. The other girls had giggled and nodded, and the man had taken this as invitation enough to weave his way through the crowds of Christmas Eve revellers and pull up a chair. He had introduced two of his fellow officers and then turned to pay particular attention to Claire, fixing her with his ice blue eyes and complimenting her on her dress. He was fluent in French, although every now and then, as an aside, he would joke with his friends in German which she couldn’t understand. He was the senior officer in the group and seemed to be popular and convivial, ordering more drinks and insisting on paying for them all. At the end of the evening as he’d helped her on with her coat, he’d asked her to meet him here, tonight, to celebrate the end of the old year.
‘Have you ever tasted champagne?’ he’d asked. ‘No? A French sophisticate like yourself? I’m amazed. Well, we shall have to see if we can remedy that.’
She had felt flattered that, of the three seamstresses, he had singled her out, and the other girls had teased her about it as they hurried back to the apartment before the curfew fell. She’d whispered his parting words to herself before she fell asleep on Christmas Eve: a French sophisticate. He was handsome and rich but the most seductive thing of all was the way he saw her and reflected that image back to herself as someone new, as someone grown-up and sophisticated, as the woman she longed to be.
Nervously adjusting the locket at her throat one more time, she smoothed the gown over her hips. Then she pushed her way through the throng of revellers clustered at the top of the staircase, laughing and exclaiming as they met up with friends, and began to make her way down into the ballroom. She scanned the crowd, and then her face lit up with a shy smile as she caught sight of him, waving at her from beside the bar. She continued down the stairs, the skirt of her dress gathered in one hand, oblivious to the admiring glances that a number of men shot her way.
‘You came!’ he exclaimed, pulling her to him. ‘And may I say how proud I am to be keeping company tonight with the most beautiful girl in the room?’
‘Thank you, Ernst.’ Claire blushed, unused to receiving compliments. ‘You look very nice yourself. It took me a moment to recognise you without your uniform on.’ She ran her fingertips down the sleeve of his dinner jacket.
He gave a little bow from the waist, bending over to kiss her hand in a mock-formal manner, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Yes, a rare night off duty. It’s good to get the glad-rags out for once.’
He turned to the barman with a wink and a nod and the man summoned a passing waiter, saying, ‘Take good care of this gentleman. Champagne. And a table near the band.’
‘Oui, m’sieur.Please, follow me.’
Ernst and Claire picked their way between the crowded tables that skirted the dance floor, and the waiter pulled out chairs for them at one which sat in a section that had been cordoned off with a red velvet rope. They sat, and few moments later the waiter returned, smoothing the linen cloth as he set down an ice bucket and glasses. With a flourish of a white damask napkin, he opened the bottle of Krug and poured, pausing expertly to allow the foam to settle before topping the glasses up and then settling the bottle into its silver bucket and draping the damask cloth around its neck.
Light as a bubble in a golden glass, Claire floated through that evening on a wave of euphoria. At last! This was the life she’d always dreamed of, and for a few hours she could forget the chill of the draughtyatelier, the headaches and the hunger, as she danced beneath a gilded ceiling, held in the arms of a handsome young man, breathing air which was heady with the smell of perfume and cigarette smoke. They drank more champagne and ordered oysters and Ernst talked and joked with the other Germans who joined them at the nearby tables behind the red velvet rope while she sat and smiled and watched the other women watching her with envy.
