SUSIE LED RACHEL TO A FIRST-FLOOR GUEST bedroom in the west wing of her house. There was a four-poster bed opposite the door, and bay windows on two walls since the room was situated in a corner of the building. The carpet was worn and there were brown patches on the ceiling and flaking paint on the walls, but Rachel thought it would be lovely when redecorated.
‘I have absolutely no idea what’s in here,’ Susie said, lifting the lid of a mahogany chest carved with a Chinese dragon. ‘My parents seldom used this room. As a kid, I found the west wing rather spooky.’
The smell that arose was a mixture of faded mothballs, old wood, mustiness and a hint of ancient fabric impregnated with perfume. Rachel leant over and took a deep breath, filling her lungs.
‘My favourite smell,’ she said. ‘The smell of history.’
The garments inside had been folded with layers of tissue paper between them. Susie removed the top layer, and pulled out a ladies’ mustard mohair swagger coat, passing it to Rachel with a grimace. Rachel checked the lining and saw it was in good condition. The label read Forstmann, an American company.
‘It’s 1950s. Not my taste but I could try it in the shop,’ she said, laying it on the bed.
Next there was a hideous 1960s polyester mini dress with lime green and pink swirls.
‘That’s definitely one for the charity shop,’ Susie giggled, catching Rachel’s mock shudder. They put it in a separate pile.
There was a Jackie-Kennedy-style navy-blue suit with cream piping, a belted beige suede jacket, several skirts and pairs of trousers, most from the sixties or seventies, and then Rachel’s eye was caught by an exotic floral print on a cornflower-blue background. She pulled out the item: a short-sleeved slim-fitting tunic and, underneath, a matching long, slender skirt. They were exquisite. Inside, the label read Mainbocher Inc. in blue capitals.
‘Main Bocher was an American designer who was popular in Paris in the 1930s,’ she told Susie. ‘Wallis Simpson was a fan. When she married the Duke of Windsor, Mainbocher made her wedding dress in a shade that he called “Wallis blue”. This outfit is gorgeous. Sure you don’t want to keep it?’
Susie snorted, holding the skirt in front of her. ‘I could hardly get one leg into this, never mind two.’
‘Do you mind if I try it on?’ Rachel asked, and Susie waved an arm.
‘Be my guest.’
She turned away discreetly as Rachel pulled off the aubergine sheath dress and matching bolero jacket she was wearing and stepped into the Mainbocher. There were covered buttons up the back of the skirt, but although she wrestled with them, frustratingly they would not close over her hips. She was a UK size 8 but this must be at least a size smaller. Nevertheless, she pulled the light-as-air tunic over her head and walked to a full-length mirror to check the effect. It was beautifully cut, skimming the hips, the skirt hem floating around her ankles. What a shame those buttons wouldn’t close.
‘It looks wonderful on you,’ Susie said. ‘Maybe you could have it let out.’
As Rachel smoothed her hands over the silky fabric, trying to feel if there was any excess material in the side seams, she realised there was a hidden pocket with something inside. She pulled out a card with old-fashioned cottage-garden roses twisted round an oval frame in which the name Constance Spry, Florist was printed. It was a thick, good-quality card, and some words were scribbled in faded blue ink underneath.
‘Look at this,’ she said, holding it up. She walked over to a lamp and managed to decipher the faded legend: ‘“Now do you trust us?”’ she read. ‘Must be some joke from long ago. The owner probably forgot it was there.’
Susie took the card to have a look. ‘How strange to come across a note whose significance is long forgotten. Does that often happen?’
‘Quite a lot,’ Rachel agreed. ‘I find old cinema tickets, embroidered handkerchiefs . . . I once found a romantic note addressed to a woman called Julia and signed “from a secret admirer”. I was able to return it to her great-niece.’
She slipped off the Mainbocher and got dressed again, then they finished unpacking the trunk and a couple of large cupboards as well. There were plenty of garments Rachel knew she could sell, among them a pale gold duchesse satin ball gown, several floral tea dresses, which were her best-selling items, and a black velvet opera cape. The iron band around her chest loosened a little.
Susie had laid out a rustic loaf, three types of cheese and a green salad for their supper, and she poured them both a glass of red wine.
‘Just the one,’ Rachel said. She had to drive back later. ‘I’m very excited about your Mainbocher dress.’ She helped herself to some salad. ‘I’m going to look it up when I get back. He made some fabulous outfits for Wallis Simpson and I love the way she dressed.’
‘She was a controversial character, though,’ Susie said. ‘I heard she behaved abominably during the war. She and Edward were sent to the Bahamas for the duration, and seemingly Wallis paid for a New York hairdresser to fly down when she needed her hair done, and she was forever popping up for Fifth Avenue shopping trips. Back in England everyone was on rations and suffering nightly bombardment, so it didn’t go down well.’
‘Ooh, I imagine not,’ Rachel agreed, making a face. She paused. ‘Do you think Diana ever met her?’
Susie’s expression was wary. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I read that she went to Wallis’s funeral and I know there was some kind of rapprochement between Wallis and the royal family after Edward died, when she was a harmless old widow in poor health. I just wondered . . .’
Susie hesitated before answering. ‘Yes, Diana knew her. Charles introduced them in 1981, during a trip to Paris while they were engaged. By then Wallis had dementia and could barely speak. She lived in a kind of twilight world, behind closed shutters, with nurses coming and going.’ She cut a chunk of Brie and placed it on a slice of bread. ‘Diana felt terribly sorry for her so she used to drop in if she was visiting Paris. That’s what she was like: if anyone was down on their luck, Duch was there for them.’
‘Oh my gosh!’ Rachel was astonished. ‘They kept that well hidden from the press. I’m sure I would remember if it had been reported.’
‘You’re right. The papers would have had a field day if they knew of a friendship between these two women who both challenged the Windsor dynasty. Can you imagine?’ Susie looked gleeful at the thought.
‘That’s fascinating. I was saying to Alex recently that the two of them would have had a lot to talk about.’ Rachel decided to venture the question that appeared to have upset Susie during the interview, watching carefully for a reaction. ‘We both thought it odd that Diana chose to visit Villa Windsor the day she died. Do you think it’s true that she was considering living there with Dodi?’
‘No, never,’ Susie replied vehemently. ‘She found it a sad place. “It’s full of old ghosts,” she told me.’
‘Perhaps Dodi was trying to persuade her to change her mind?’
‘You didn’t know her,’ Susie said, pushing her plate away without finishing. ‘Diana was full of fun, positively bursting with energy – and she had a great line in naughty humour.’ She gave a half-smile, clearly remembering some anecdote she wasn’t going to share. ‘She would never have wanted to live in a museum.’
‘What do you think she would have done had she lived?’ Rachel asked. ‘She was just beginning to be taken seriously for her landmines work. Perhaps she could have gone on to be a UN ambassador or something similar.’
‘She would have changed the world,’ Susie said firmly. ‘I have absolutely no doubt of that.’