Page 14 of The Last Night in London
“All right,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Then I also need to come up with where I was educated, someplace where a woman named Eva would have lived a sheltered, genteel existence.”
He placed his forearms on the table and said quietly, “If you ever want to rise above your station, you must have a good reason why you model. The circles you wish to move in look down on your profession, you know. Like they do actresses and opera singers. But if you have a respectable background, then moving up is possible, yes?” He turned his head slightly, as if to ensure they were still alone. “You are very good at reinvention, Eva. The best, I think. You will go far with a skill like that.” Leaning back, he laughed. “You remind me of the girl in that Leslie Howard film—Pygmalion.”
“Do you mean Eliza?” She shook her head, feeling a spark of anger. “I’ve never been that low-class.”
“No, you haven’t. And it was a play first. You should know thosethings, Eva. Read more, go to plays and concerts. Remember—reinvention.”
Mrs. Williams, the head seamstress, bustled into the room, a tape measure around her neck and a pincushion attached to her wrist. She took hold of Eva’s hand and helped her onto the fitting platform. “Hurry, hurry—I’ve got to tack up those seams before Madame Lushtak sees you.”
Eva looked back at Mr. Danek, who smiled with approval as Eva straightened her spine and regarded herself in the mirror. Mrs. Williams set to work, her white and flabby arms quivering like netted fish as she made her way around the platform on her knees, measuring and pulling pins from the cushion bracelet on her wrist. When Mr. Danek said his good-byes and left, the room went quiet but for Mrs. Williams’s labored breathing as she moved around Eva, tugging and pinning and occasionally inserting small stitches.
Eva’s cramped toes became numb, and her back began to ache, but she remained still, moving only as directed. A door slammed down the corridor, followed by the sound of two sets of hurrying footsteps. Mrs. Williams paused and turned her head, but Eva stared straight ahead, afraid to move and disrupt the intricate draping knot that cinched in her waist.
“Mrs. Williams, are you almost finished?”
At the sound of Madame Lushtak’s voice, Mrs. Williams stood, loosening her grasp on the fabric, but not letting it go completely. She’d spent the last ten minutes gathering and pinning the drape so that it lay just so. “Not quite, Madame. I’m finishing with this rosette and pleats, and then I’ll be as good as done.”
Eva could see Madame’s pinched face in the mirror, her expression matched by Mrs. Ratcliffe’s behind her. Madame Lushtak’s dark eyes raked over the dress, closely studying every line and angle, her gaze stopping short of Eva’s neck. Eva froze, afraid to move. Madame walked closer, examining the seams, the flutter sleeves, the exquisite folds of the long skirt.
“It will have to do.” She turned to Mrs. Ratcliffe. “I will bewaiting in the showroom.” Then Madame looked up at Eva for the first time. “This is an important customer—do you understand? Mrs. St. John has brought her daughter up from the country. She’s newly engaged and needs new clothes for all the events she will be attending.”
Eva nodded. “Yes, Madame.”
“Good. Remember, modeling isn’t just walking about, wearing beautiful clothes. It is about showing the joy and confidence my clothes will impart. I trust you will not disappoint me.”
The room was silent as they listened to Madame’s footsteps fade down the corridor. Mrs. Ratcliffe regarded Eva and frowned. “Mrs. St. John is hoping to find a few new outfits her daughter will wear when she appears in the society pages. Madame thought this gown would be perfect, and there are several other outfits she has already had pulled from the showroom. You will be expected to show them all, so you can expect a late night.”
It wasn’t a request, not that it had crossed Eva’s mind to refuse. “Yes, of course.”
Mrs. Williams quickly threaded a needle and began sewing Eva into the dress. “Don’t you worry, lamb. Mrs. St. John is a bit of a battle-ax, but her daughter is a kind soul. I’ve fitted her before, and she won’t allow her mother to bully you. Besides, you look lovely.”
Precious, with a compact and a tube of lipstick in her hands, joined Mrs. Ratcliffe as she waited behind Mrs. Williams to finish her last stitch. After Precious quickly refreshed Eva’s powder and lipstick, Mrs. Ratcliffe instructed Precious to put a dab of pancake makeup on the small birthmark on Eva’s neck.
“There,” Precious said, standing back. “Absolute perfection. It’s invisible.”
Eva tilted her head and regarded her reflection. The small mark had become so much a part of her that she didn’t even notice it anymore. “You’re right. Thank you.”
Mrs. Ratcliffe nodded her approval. “Are you ready, then?” She didn’t wait for a response, but turned and led the way down the hall, not checking to see if Eva followed.
All of the lights in the spacious showroom had been turned on, illuminating the racks of ready-to-wear lining the perimeter of the large space, the bright colors of the clothes against the white walls like rouge on pale cheeks. Eva smiled her best Myrna Loy smile, the one she thought inspired confidence while also reflecting beauty and approachability.
With a slow and steady saunter, she walked down the center aisle of the showroom toward the back, where the comfortable sofas and chairs were set along with glass and brass tables filled with glasses of champagne and tea cakes. Two women sat on a small sofa, each holding a glass, their conversation stopping as Eva approached. The elder of the two, presumably Mrs. St. John, was fair and very slender, her long legs elegantly crossed at the ankles. She was encased completely in a houndstooth tweed suit, a fur stole perched on her shoulders as if she didn’t intend to stay long. She was a handsome woman, and in her youth, she might have been considered beautiful. Perhaps if her expression weren’t so dour. She didn’t smile as she took in the gown, nor did she look up at Eva.
“Oh, Mother, it’s lovely, isn’t it? Look at the way it flatters the figure. The drapes are almost Grecian, aren’t they?”
Eva turned her smile toward the other woman, a younger, slightly rounder version of her mother, with darker blond hair in a fashionable cut covered by a smart hat, a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, and hazel eyes fringed with black eyelashes. But it was her smile and elfin chin that animated her face and made Eva wish they could be friends.
Eva took a step backward and swiveled so they could admire the low back. Mrs. St. John took a sip from her glass and said, “I daresay it looks best on someone tall and slender.”
Madame Lushtak appeared from where she’d been standing to the side, nearly hidden by a mannequin wearing one of the previous season’s suits. “It has been designed to flatter the female form, emphasizing the waist or creating one where none exists. And of course, the length can be shortened if necessary. It is the perfect transitional fabric. It wears well in cooler or warmer temperatures.”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. St. John said dubiously. She waved her hand. “Walk some more so we can see how it moves. Those sleeves are quite interesting.”
Eva faced the women again, moving her shoulders to emphasize the fluttering sleeves; then she turned completely to walk away and give them a better view of the dress. That was when she noticed the man sitting in one of the cushioned chairs, his legs crossed nonchalantly. He held a cigarette in one hand and a champagne glass in the other. “I rather like it.” He smiled, and her cheeks flushed at the familiarity. She’d seen that smile only once, but it had been the subject of her daydreams ever since. And she’d even taken to sleeping with his handkerchief under her pillow every night in the hopes that his smile would invade her nighttime dreams as well.
He lifted his glass in her direction. With an even broader grin, he said, “But is it waterproof?”
Eva stumbled but quickly recovered, disguising it as a twirl, the skirts floating prettily around her ankles and earning her an admiring nod from Madame Lushtak.
