The Dressmaker of Dachau. Mary Chamberlain

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СКАЧАТЬ upper-class women, women like the debutantes she clothed and flattered and who kept Mrs B. in business. Ahead of her the park gates rose in ornate spears. Below, the river curled through lush green woods to where the distant, dusty downs of Berkshire merged into slabs of pearl and silver against the sky. The sun was already high, its warm rays embracing her as if she was the only person in the world, the only one who mattered.

      They entered the park. London was spread before them, St Paul’s and the City cast in hazy silhouette. The ground was dry, the paths cracked and uneven. Ancient oaks with blasted trunks and chestnuts with drooping catkins rose like forts from the tufted grassland and fresh, spiky bracken. The air was filled with a sweet, cloying scent. Ada crinkled her nose.

      ‘That’s the smell of trees making love,’ Stanislaus said.

      Ada put her hand to her mouth. Making love. No one she knew talked about that sort of thing. Maybe her mother was right. He’d brought her here for a purpose. He was fast. He laughed.

      ‘You didn’t know that, did you? Chestnuts have male and female flowers. I guess it’s the female that gives off the smell. What do you think?’

      Ada shrugged. Best ignore it.

      ‘I like chestnuts,’ he went on. ‘Hot chestnuts on a cold winter’s day. Nothing like it.’

      ‘Yes.’ She was on safe ground. ‘I like them too. Conkers, and all.’

      And all. Common.

      ‘Different sort of chestnut,’ he said.

      How was Ada to know? There was so much to learn. Had he noticed how ignorant she was? He didn’t show it. A gentleman.

      ‘We’ll stop here, by the pond.’ He put down the hamper and pulled out a cloth, flicking it so it filled with air like a flying swan, before falling to the earth. If she’d known she was going to have to sit on the ground, she’d have worn her sundress with the full skirt, enough to tuck round so she didn’t show anything. She lowered herself, pulled her knees together, bent them to the side and tugged her dress down as best she could.

      ‘Very ladylike,’ Stanislaus said. ‘But that’s what you are, Ada, a real lady.’ He poured two beakers of ginger beer, passed one to her and sat down. ‘A lovely lady.’

      No one had ever called her lovely before. But then, she’d never had a boy before. Boy. Stanislaus was a man. Mature, experienced. At least thirty, she guessed. Maybe older. He reached forward and handed Ada a plate and a serviette. There was a proper word for serviette, but Ada had forgotten it. They never had much use for things like that in Theed Street. He pulled out some chicken, what a luxury, and some fresh tomatoes, and a tiny salt and pepper set.

      ‘Bon appétit,’ he said, smiling.

      Ada wasn’t sure how she could eat the chicken without smearing grease over her face. This was all new to her. Picnics. She picked at it, pulling off shards of flesh, placing them in her mouth.

      ‘You look a picture,’ Stanislaus said. ‘Demure. Like one of those models in Vogue.’

      Ada began to blush again. She rubbed her hand over her neck, hoping to steady the colour, hoping Stanislaus had not noticed. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

      ‘No,’ Stanislaus went on, ‘I mean it. The first time I saw you I knew you had class. Everything about you. Your looks, the way you held yourself, the way you dressed. Chic. Original. Then when you told me you made the clothes. Well! You’ll go far, Ada, believe me.’

      He leant on one elbow, stretched out his legs, plucked a blade of grass and began to flutter it on her bare leg. ‘You know where you belong?’ he said.

      She shook her head. The grass tickled. She longed for him to touch her again, run his finger against her skin, feel the breeze of a kiss.

      ‘You belong in Paris. I can see you there, sashaying down the boulevards, turning heads.’

      Paris. How had Stanislaus guessed? House of Vaughan. Mrs B. said maison was French for house. Maison Vaughan.

      ‘I’d like to go to Paris,’ Ada said. ‘Be a real modiste. A couturier.’

      ‘Well, Ada,’ he said, ‘I like a dreamer. We’ll have to see what we can do.’

      Ada bit her lip, held back a yelp of excitement.

      He pushed himself upright and sat with his elbows on his knees. He lifted one arm and pointed to the deep bracken on the right. ‘Look.’ His voice was hushed. ‘A stag. A big one.’

      Ada followed his gaze. It took her a while, but she spotted it, head proud above the bracken, the fresh buds of antlers on its crown.

      ‘They grow them in the spring,’ he said. ‘A spur for every year. That one will have a dozen by the end of the summer.’

      ‘I never knew that,’ Ada said.

      ‘Bit of a loner, this time of year,’ Stanislaus continued. ‘But come the autumn, he’ll build a harem. Fight off the competition. Have all the women to himself.’

      ‘That doesn’t sound very proper,’ Ada said. ‘I wouldn’t want to share my husband.’

      Stanislaus eyed her from the side. She knew then it was a silly thing to say. Stanislaus, man of the world, with his much-married aunt.

      ‘It’s not about the women,’ he said. ‘It’s about the men. Survival of the fittest, that’s what it’s about.’

      Ada wasn’t sure what he meant.

      ‘Wisdom teeth,’ Ada said.

      Mrs B. raised a painted eyebrow. ‘Wisdom teeth?’ she said. ‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes.’

      ‘I’m not.’

      ‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ Mrs B. said. ‘You weren’t the only one skiving off. Nice summer’s day. I’ve given Avril her marching orders.’

      Ada swallowed. She should never have let Stanislaus persuade her. Mrs B. was going to sack her. She’d have no work. How would she tell her mother? She’d have to get another position, before the day was out. Guess what, Mum? I’ve changed my job. She’d lie, of course. Mrs B. didn’t have enough work for me.

      ‘You knew there were big orders coming in. How did you think I was supposed to cope?’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Ada said. She cupped her hand around her cheek, as Stanislaus had done, remembered the cool tenderness of his touch. Stick with the excuse. ‘It was swollen. It hurt too much.’

      Mrs B. harrumphed. ‘If it had been any one of the other girls, you’d be out on your ear by now. It’s only because you’re good and I need you that I’ll let you stay.’

      Ada dropped her hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Her body relaxed into relief. ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to let you down. It won’t happen again.’

      ‘If it does,’ Mrs B. said, ‘there’ll be no second chance. Now, get back to work.’

      Ada СКАЧАТЬ