THE VAN DER HEYDEN CLOTHES ARRIVED AT LAST and Rachel was beside herself with excitement as she unpacked them. They had been professionally cleaned for the auction so didn’t have that musty antique smell she was addicted to, but she marvelled at the top-quality seamstressing: the hidden darts and secret pockets, the hand-stitching and ingenious details. Best of all was the Molyneux crystal beaded dress, but she tucked that away to be secreted in her wardrobe at home.
In a spark of inspiration she called the local paper and asked if they might be interested in running a feature about the collection. They sent a journalist round, and when he saw the quality of the gowns he immediately agreed to write a piece if Rachel would model some of them while standing on the pavement outside the shop. As free advertising, it couldn’t have been better.
Rachel knew a fair bit about the era and was able to talk knowledgeably to the journalist. ‘American society in the 1920s consisted of families who had made millions in business: the Rockefellers from oil, the du Ponts from gunpowder, the Vanderbilts from shipping and railroads, and the Van der Heydens from diamonds. Their daughters enjoyed unprecedented freedom in what was known as the Jazz Age. While it would have been considered shocking for their grandmothers to show so much as a hint of their ankles, these girls showed knees and a whole lot more when dancing the Charleston in their flapper dresses.’
The journalist held up his hand, asking her to slow down while he scribbled in shorthand. ‘Do you mean sexual freedom?’
Typical journalist, Rachel thought. ‘Absolutely! A decade earlier an unmarried woman couldn’t be in the company of a man who was not a family member without a chaperone present, but in the 1920s they were out riding in men’s cars, drinking bootleg liquor in speakeasies, spending a fortune on racy clothes and dancing up a storm. The Great Gatsby was the autobiography of the era.’ Rachel loved Gatsby; she had read it dozens of times and could recite whole sections by heart.
‘Do you know anything about the Van der Heyden girls in particular? Any scandals?’
Rachel smiled. ‘Mona was said to have had an affair with a black musician who played at the Cotton Club. And Doris’s husband sued her for divorce in 1927 at a time when divorce was still considered scandalous. It seems she was sleeping with his business partner.’
The day the article appeared, Rachel sold the Chanel dancing dress and the Vionnet crêpe gown, as well as several strands of the coloured pearls. Takings were the best they had been for months, and she emailed Richard that evening to thank him.
When he replied, he had other news: The measurements you sent were Wallis Simpson’s and Mainbocher think the dress must be hers, but if you want to get the best price, you’ll need to find out how your supplier came to have it in his or her possession. Is there a story?
Rachel rang Susie and told her the news, asking: ‘Do you have any idea how it came to be in the wooden chest in your west wing?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it and I would rather you just sold it in Forgotten Dreams,’ Susie replied immediately. ‘I don’t want the publicity an auction might entail.’
Rachel was mystified. ‘But we could be talking thousands if it was Wallis’s, and maybe a hundred if I sell it in the shop.’
‘I’ve made up my mind. Sorry.’
It seemed peculiar, since Susie was always saying how short of money she was.
‘I’ve sold a few other items,’ Rachel told her. ‘Do you want me to put a cheque in the post?’
‘I’d prefer cash,’ Susie replied. ‘Let’s keep the bank manager’s grubby paws off it. I’ll come to the shop when I’m next in Brighton.’
By late November, the North Laines were glittering with Christmas decorations, every shop displaying gift ideas in its windows: crystal healing sessions, electric guitars, hand-crafted garden sculptures, a set of essential oils in a hemp basket. Rachel created her own display of period gifts, from fine kid gloves in the palest cream to the art deco flapper-girl lamp and the Van der Heyden pearls. She decorated a miniature Christmas tree with festoons of the pearls and bought some old-fashioned wrapping paper and tissue flowers to offer a gift-wrap service. At last the shop was beginning to look as enticing as it had before the break-in.
There was less than a month to go before the wedding, and although her mum had taken care of most details, Rachel had to collect the marriage licence, buy plain rose-gold wedding bands for the pair of them and choose the accessories to go with her Molyneux dress. She decided on simple crystal-and-pearl earrings, a pair of pearl T-bar shoes with dainty heels, a crystal and ivory-feathered fascinator and a chiffon wrap to throw round her shoulders. When she tried on the whole outfit in front of the bedroom mirror, she felt a thrill of anticipation, but it was almost immediately tempered by the memory of Alex’s lack of enthusiasm.
‘Shall I order white tie for you?’ she had asked him. ‘It’s an evening wedding so that would be best.’
‘Whatever you think,’ he’d replied.
‘Just over three weeks to go,’ she’d said, hoping for some romantic comment, just a scrap of reassurance.
‘Scary,’ he said, then there was a pause in which he clearly realised she was expecting more. ‘Scary but good, of course.’
She had decided not to confront him about his distant behaviour. Creating a drama when he was so stressed about his TV programme would only drive him further away, but all the same it was hard.
During week nights when he was in Paris, she looked through the slides Wendy had lent her and decided there were too many good shots to select just one. Instead she had sixty printed up and bought a leather-bound album for them. She spent many hours arranging the pictures in roughly chronological order, juxtaposing funny and touching ones to make a narrative of his childhood up to the age of twelve, when the photos stopped abruptly, presumably after his mother’s death.
Seeing him as a child, with his cheeky grin and outgoing nature clearly already in place, made her feel a pang of love. If they ever had a child, she hoped he or she would turn out just like that little boy – but without the hard edges of the man.