It had been a busy day at Modes de Laure. Not that dozens of people had come in, but those that had were people who counted. Two elegant ladies, one of whom wrote a fashion column; an older lady, known to be rich; three middle-aged Americans of the low-voiced New England sort. Sophia talked to the Americans for a long time, a married couple and a male friend of theirs who wanted a present for his daughter. Sophia showed them materials and designs, made discreet suggestions. The Americans asked Sophia if she was always there in the shop, and she replied, ‘Always in spirit, not always in the flesh.’
The man on his own asked whether she had ever been to America. No, she said, but she longed to. He smiled again, a nice smile that crinkled up his face, and gave her his card, and said that if she ever visited the States she must let him know. ‘The house is not quite so comfortable since my wife died, but it’s convenient for Boston and New York, I think you’d like it.’ She asked him whether he was staying long in London, he said he had a visiting professorship in Leiden, he would be in Europe for a few months. The couple came forward at this, pressed her – to her great surprise – to visit them in Boston. ‘You can’t stay with him now that he’s on his own, what would the neighbours say?’ said the woman, and they all laughed. He had grey hair, though nice grey hair, he must be almost twice her age, but then. . . How delightful Americans were, she thought.
By six they had all gone. Laura emerged from her office and found Sophia lying on the armchair in the front room.
‘You’ve worked so hard, Sophia, you always work much too hard.’
‘I can’t help it. I sold lots of frocks. Those Americans, in particular. . .’
‘You know, darling one, I never intended you to act as a shop girl. I wanted you to look for new fashions in Paris.’
‘I’m not quite ready to go up and down the fashion houses of Paris looking at clothes and dealing with alarming people. No, I am quite happy here, thank you. Laura, those nice Americans – can you guess where they were going on to?’
‘Paris, was it?’
‘Paris, and the battlefields. The man on his own – his brother was killed in the fighting, he told me – he’s a professor but he’s going to look for his brother’s grave. The system is quite efficient for finding war graves, he is going to write and tell me what one does.’
‘Did you give him your address, you bad girl?’
‘I said he could always reach me here. Mamma would intercept any letters that arrived at home. Oh, does one ever meet anyone who’s not been affected by the war?’
‘I wish you could forget the war, my dearest.’ She stroked Sophia’s forehead.
‘Oh, never. I thought I might go to the battlefields too. I know where David was killed, and Freddy. I can look for Toby, too, if you tell me where he fell.’
‘I don’t think you should do this, darling, really I don’t.’ Laura sat down on one of the little chairs, something she never did, there was no time. ‘I know it’s superficial of me, but I need to forget the war if I’m to make anything of the future. If I thought about all those people I’d go mad.’
‘Perhaps I will go mad.’ Slowly Sophia folded up a piece of material. ‘If I try to shut those memories out of my conscious mind, they attack me in my dreams. It’s best to confront them. Lots of people do search for the graves of their loved ones, you know.’
‘Well, if you must go. . . I know how determined you are. Perhaps you’d let me come with you?’ Laura sighed and the tiniest of tears came into her eyes. ‘I suppose we might find Toby’s grave. I might be glad to do that.’
‘Come with me, do – it won’t be fun, but it might be healing.’