I let go of the bag, watching it dangle as it caught the light again, almost as if it were winking at me. A door opened and shut at the end of the hall, followed by the jangle of dog tags announcing the approach of Laura and the two dogs. I left the room, feeling the need to close the door behind me, as if to guard all the stories lingering like moths within the old fabrics and inside a green velvet purse.
CHAPTER 5
LONDON
FEBRUARY 1939
Eva sat on a padded bench amid the chaos of silk stockings, shoes, and underpinnings that covered the floor. The exhaustion of a full day of showings and being jabbed mercilessly during fittings for the spring show had caught up with her, and she could barely keep her eyes open as she waited for Precious so they could take the bus home together. Two of the models, Odette and Freya, sat on the floor in their dressing gowns with their bare feet straight out in front of them, wriggling their toes.
“Ês-tu fatigué?” Eva asked Odette.
Odette smiled brightly. “Oui. Très bien, Eva! Your accent is almost as good as mine.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Eva said, pleased. Because she had a good ear for accents, she’d decided to see if her talents might extend to learning another language. She’d chosen French not just because of her access to a native speaker, but because French was the sort of thing well-brought-up girls were taught in school. It was all part of the background she was constructing for the newly created Eva, a history that had to be more than just a name. She wasn’t going to be a model forever, but while she was, she was determined to learn everything she could about deportment and poise. It would take her as far away from Yorkshire as she could get.
Alice pranced in, wearing a sunflower yellow frock that was all ruffles and lace, followed by Precious already in her street clothes. Alice was the youngest model and looked so waiflike that Eva was always surprised she managed to get to work on windy days. She had a way of speaking that made her seem either extremely bored or half-asleep—something Eva had noticed in many of the well-bred young ladies who shopped at Lushtak’s. She enjoyed imitating it, which usually resulted in Precious and the other models—except for Alice—being reduced to peals of laughter.
“Mrs. Ratcliffe is on her way,” Alice announced in her usual desultory tone. “And she doesn’t appear to be very happy. Lucille left before she’d been fitted for a late showing, and Mrs. St. John and her daughter are already on their way, expecting to be shown an entire wardrobe. I daresay pins are going to fly.”
Odette and Freya had both pulled themselves up by the time the dressing room door flew open to reveal their supervisor, Mrs. Ratcliffe, her jowls and bosom quivering in unison. She grasped the doorframe with one hand; the other arm cradled a patterned crepe evening gown. Mrs. Ratcliffe’s officious voice was another one that Eva enjoyed mimicking, when she was sure she wouldn’t be overheard.
Mrs. Ratcliffe lifted the glasses that dangled on a chain on her voluminous chest like an anchor thrown over the prow of a ship, and placed them on the end of her nose.
As she drew in two deep breaths, her gaze scanned the room, pausing on Precious for a moment and then on Eva before moving on to the other models, all in various stages of disrobing. “I need a model to fill in for Lucille, someone tall and slim so no new alterations will be needed.” Her gaze fell back to Eva. “You, then. You’ll do. Put this on and come down to the fitting room as quickly as possible. You need to see Mr. Danek. He’ll make you presentable before you head out into the showroom. The client is very particular, and we can’t be having you look tired and deathly pale.”
Eva stood, making sure her spine was straight, her shoulders back. “I’d be happy to.” She slid her dressing gown off of her shoulders, glad she’d been too tired to remove her stockings, step-in, and backless brassiere.
Mrs. Ratcliffe tightened her lips as she eyed Eva again. “Very well. You have five minutes. Not a minute more. We are already far behind, and we simply cannot be delayed further.”
“No, Mrs. Ratcliffe,” Eva said, reaching for the gown.
As soon as Mrs. Ratcliffe left, Precious rushed to Eva and took the dress from her. “Freya, Odette—could you please help Eva into the dress? I’ll get her shoes.”
“Close your eyes and raise your arms,” Odette instructed, and Eva did as she was told. The two models slipped the dress over her head, being careful not to scratch her skin with the pins.
Precious placed Eva’s good shoes—the strappy high heels she’d bought with her first paycheck—on the floor in front of her and guided one foot, then the other, into them as Odette and Freya adjusted the dress on Eva’s body.
Quickly, Precious brushed Eva’s hair and pinned it up into a loose chignon. “Pretty as a peach,” she said. “Now, hurry—just don’t trip. I’ll stay and help you change.”
“You don’t have to. Besides, aren’t you supposed to see a film tonight with that young solicitor you met last week?”
“He can wait. I hear Mrs. St. John is a bit of a bear, so you’ll need a friendly face and helping hands each time you return from the showroom.”
Eva smiled, more relieved than she cared to admit. “Thank you. I owe you.”
“I’ll remember that. Now, go. I’ll meet you in the fitting room.”
Eva nodded once, then ran through the door. “Just don’t pull out any of the pins,” Precious called after her, but she didn’t slow down until she reached the fitting room. She was glad to see it was empty except for the makeup man.
“Mr. Danek!” she said eagerly as she approached his cosmetics-strewn table, happy to see her friend.
“Ah, the beautiful Ethel,” he said, returning her smile.
“It’s Eva now, remember? I’m still working on a surname that fits better than Maltby.”
“Of course. I will try harder. I have a few lipsticks for you that I think you will like.”
A small, wiry man of around sixty with a vague European air and salt-and-pepper hair, Mr. Danek was generally assumed to be mute: He never spoke when getting the girls ready for a show. Eva suspected it was because no one ever spoke to him. Her suspicions had been confirmed when she’d spotted Mr. Danek struggling up the back steps of Lushtak’s prior to a rehearsal, overburdened with cases and bags. She’d offered her assistance. He’d gratefully accepted and even smiled, showing surprisingly even white teeth.
A friendship had been formed, then cemented with regular visits to Horvath’s Café near Lushtak’s, run by either friends or family of Mr. Danek. At least Eva assumed this, since they greeted him by name in a foreign language. She wasn’t sure which one, and she hadn’t wanted to appear foolish or uneducated by admitting her ignorance. It had taken a week before she’d found the courage to ask and discovered that Mr. Danek was from Czechoslovakia, a small town called Lidice outside of Prague. It sounded very foreign to Eva, and the names on his tongue made it much more glamorous in her mind than Yorkshire.