Page 45 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
Any thought of sleep was forgotten. The photographs were a jumble of sizes, some spotted or creased with age. Some were black-and-white snaps mostly taken around Paris — the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe in the background left no doubt of that. Groups of young women, all of them beautiful, chic, laughing at the camera.
And among them, unmistakeably, a young Aunt Molly.
Oh, wow — she had been stunning! Tall and slender, with a dancer’s grace. Dark glossy hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders or twisted into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were dark and lustrous, her soft lips painted scarlet, her cheekbones carved from creamy ivory.
Some of the photos were clearly professional shots — on the backs were the stamps of the studio.Studio Lenoire. The dates were from 1948 to 1955, many of the same young women, but in sumptuous costumes of beads and satin and feathers — just like the ones they had found in the trunks upstairs.
The setting was just as sumptuous — a brightly lit stage draped with richly coloured satin curtains. And above theproscenium arch, spelled out in scarlet lights, the wordsMoulin Rouge.
Her heart leaped with excitement. So Aunt Molly reallyhaddanced at the Moulin Rouge! How incredible was that?
And the clippings... fashion plates, Molly, modelling lingerie like the pieces they had found in the drawers, and fabulous dresses — gold brocade, black velvet, elegant columns and corselet bodices and sweeping skirts.
Most of the images were labelledElyna Chastain Couture, Paris. There were a few others, names she recognised — Schiaparelli, Balenciaga. She shook her head, bemused. What else was she going to find out?
At the bottom of the box was a dark blue velvet bag, embroidered with gold thread. She loosened the draw-cord and tipped the contents out onto the bed.
Jewellery.
Gold and silver, diamonds and emeralds and garnets and pearls, earrings and bracelets and rings. A watch in a marcasite surround; a choker necklace of rich red garnets with matching earrings and bracelet; a brooch in the shape of a dragonfly, its wings set with diamonds.
And a gorgeous ring — two intertwined hearts set with pavé diamonds, and, in the centre of each heart, a clear, vivid emerald, which sparked fire as they caught the light from the lamp on the bedside table.
She slipped it onto her finger — it fitted perfectly.
She stared at the pile as it lay shimmering on the bedspread. She had no idea of the value, but with luck she could sell them and put the money towards the cost of the renovations to the cottage. Maybe even with a little bit left over.
“Oh, Aunt Molly — where did you get all these? Were they gifts from your poet?”
There was something left at the bottom of the bag — an old copper coin, a penny... or... no, it seemed to be a medal — there was a bar at the top where a ribbon would be threaded.
On one side was a cross with an extra cross-bar — she recognised it as the Cross of Lorraine. Around the edge was a set of Roman numerals. On the other was a raised inscription in Latin:PATRIA NON IMMEMOR. She held it in the palm of her hand, frowning.
The numerals looked like a date — 18 June. She couldn’t work out the year — she’d have to look up what the letters meant. And the inscription — something about the unforgotten country, perhaps?
But for now... where to put this stuff, to keep it safe? It made her edgy to have such valuables lying around. Tomorrow she’d drive into town and see about selling it. But tonight... scooping the jewellery back into the bag, she tucked it under her pillow, and hurried off to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
Chapter Nine
She had been a little too optimistic about the weather. Vicky woke to the sound of rain pelting against the window. After a glorious week, normal British summer had returned.
Memory came back to her quickly of the small fortune tucked under her pillow. She pulled out the bag and opened it again, just to check that she hadn’t been imagining it.
No — there they were, a fistful of bright jewels, still sparkling in the cool morning light. “Thank you, Aunt Molly.” She tipped the treasures back into the bag. “I had no idea that you had stuff like this, but... thank you.”
She tumbled out of bed and had a shower at top speed, dressed quickly and scoffed down a bowl of cereal. Then she went out to load the car with the two suitcases of clothes for the charity shop, and a couple of coats — she might as well kill two birds with one stone.
The jewellery. She laid it out on the bed and stood gazing at it for a moment. It was a bit bulky, but it didn’t feel safe to put it in her bag.
There was a silk scarf in one of the drawers, and she wrapped the garnet set in that and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans. The rest, in the velvet pouch, went into the other pocket.
It was still raining as she drove down the lane and turned right onto Church Road. She had to drive carefully — the potholes were now puddles, and she wasn’t sure how deep they were. She didn’t want to risk damaging the car again.
Tom’s cows were in the top field, quietly cropping the grass — apparently that thing about cows lying down when it rained was just a myth.
But she wasn’t letting herself think about Tom. Well, she’d indulge herself for just a few moments at a time — it was a struggle to cut him out completely from her mind, especiallywhen he lived next door and she could see his cows every time she looked out of her window.
Rounding a bend in the road she saw someone waiting at the bus stop, huddled into a parka as rain dripped from the hood, a hefty-looking backpack weighing down their drooping shoulders.
