The Dressmakers of London

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Izzie pressed hard on the bridge of her nose, willing the numbers in front of her to change. It had been a week since Mum’s funeral and four days since she’d learned that the shop she’d poured herself into for years was not hers, and now she was facing the reality that it might never be.

“There has to be a way,” she muttered, staring at her post office savings book, order and appointment books, and the scraps of paper she and Willie had spread in front of them. For the past few hours, they’d pored over everything and come to one conclusion: it didn’t amount to much.

“I’m sorry, Izzie,” said Willie, sighing as he leaned back in one of the wooden chairs they’d pulled up to a corner of the cutting table. “Short of asking Sylvia to create some sort of loan agreement between the two of you—”

“No,” she said sharply.

“Then you either need ready money or something you can sell that would equate half of the value of the business.”

It was simple arithmetic. She did not have anywhere near enough in her personal savings to buy Sylvia out. The money would have to come from somewhere else.

“Do you know the value of Mrs. Shelton’s?” asked Willie. “Maybe there is enough money in the accounts that you could use half to buy Sylvia out.”

“I don’t know how much money is in the shop’s accounts,” she muttered.

“It shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out. If you’ll show me the account books, I could take a look for you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked down at her hands. “I don’t know where Mum kept them.”

“How have you been conducting business since you reopened?” asked Willie.

Izzie looked up at the ceiling, too mortified to meet her friend’s eye. “There is a box with a small amount of money in it under the counter. Mum would clear it out each week and put it in an envelope to take to the bank.” At least that’s what Izzie assumed Mum had done.

“Do you know which bank she used?” asked Willie.

Izzie shook her head miserably. “Sylvia made the arrangements years ago.”

Willie let out a long breath. “Well, the account books must be around here somewhere. Didn’t Mrs. Shelton do all of her business in the office?”

“She did, it’s just…”

It had taken her three days to work up the courage to open Mum’s office door, and the moment she did, she’d pulled the door shut again, overwhelmed by the disarray.

Mum had never tolerated anything but pin-straight perfection in the front rooms of Mrs. Shelton’s, and the workshop was a study in controlled chaos, with different orders in different states of production neatly set out for Mum, Miss Reid, or Izzie to work on. For as long as Izzie could remember, the employees of Mrs. Shelton’s had always been responsible for the upkeep of those rooms. However, since Sylvia left home, the office had reverted to being solely Mum’s domain.

Izzie wasn’t entirely certain how long it had been since Mum had done a proper clear-out of the office—certainly since before the war—and it showed. Outside of a small square of cracked leather blotter, it was impossible to see the surface of the modest wooden desk that sat close to the one blank wall of the office. Bookshelves lined two other walls, and those were packed with sample books, files, loose papers, catalogues, and folio-style notebooks. A small table and two chairs were piled with shoe boxes and cardboard boxes of the same artifacts, and yet another pile prevented the door from fully opening.

And somewhere in there were the account books Izzie had never been allowed to touch.

“Izzie,” said Willie, “you and Sylvia are equal owners in this business. The value, including any profit, is half yours. Once you find those account books and figure out how much is in the business, you’ll have a better idea of where you stand. And if there is still a difference between the price Sylvia will accept and what you have, you could work out an agreement that would pay her a portion of your half of the profits.”

“I will not take charity from my sister,” she said firmly.

“It isn’t charity,” said Willie.

“It is when I need this business and she doesn’t. Besides, she doesn’t want anything to do with it.”

It galled her that she would have to share Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions with her sister, who had hated the shop from the moment Mum had opened it. Her sister, who was ashamed of Mum’s years of hard work because Sylvia thought working an honest job was somehow beneath her.

“I hope that, as it has for me, the shop will take care of them when they need it most.”

The words from Mum’s will only made her angrier, because why would Sylvia ever need the shop when she had Horrible Hugo?

“I could try to ask a bank for a loan,” she said, grasping for a sliver of hope.

“The chances that they will lend to you as an unmarried woman are slim unless a man will guarantee the loan for you.”

The injustice of it stung even though she knew he was right.

Tears pricked her eyes. Before last week, she had been champing at the bit to prove to Mum that she was more than capable of taking over more of Mrs. Shelton’s, but now that she had, she felt as though she were already underwater.

How on God’s green earth had she ever thought she could do this?

“What about selling the building?” Willie asked. “It’s the most valuable asset you have, especially with the housing crisis that the Blitz landed all of us in. My guess is that if you put it on the market, someone would snatch it up and probably convert the ground floor into flats. You and Sylvia could walk away with a tidy sum each—enough for you to buy her out and take the stock, the customers, and the name to another, cheaper location.”

“No!” The word burst from Izzie’s lips before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry, Willie, but no. Mum worked too hard to buy the building from our landlord. Besides, Mrs. Shelton’s wouldn’t be Mrs. Shelton’s if it wasn’t here in Glengall Road.”

“Then what about considering Sylvia’s offer?”

“That’s what we’re trying to work out, isn’t it?” she asked.

He held her gaze. “I mean her original offer. You told me that she was willing to give you everything.”

Izzie stared at him. “Do you really think I would believe a thing she said?”

“What incentive would she have to lie?”

“If she gave me the shop, she’d hold it over me for years,” she said.

“But what would she have to gain—?”

“Sylvia only does what’s good for Sylvia,” she said fiercely. “You’d be able to see that if you hadn’t spent the last two decades in love with her.”

The words fell like an anvil in the middle of the room, and Izzie watched with growing horror as her friend’s lips twisted as though he didn’t trust himself with the words trapped behind them.

“Willie, I am sorry,” she tried. “You know me and my stupid mouth, always saying the wrong thing and making a hash of it.”

Instead of replying, he rose to his feet and resettled his glasses on his nose once again. “I think I’ll go put the kettle on.”

He walked out of the workroom without a backward glance, leaving Izzie feeling about six inches small. And that was what she deserved, wasn’t it? Willie was one of the constants in her life, a neighborhood boy who had somehow grown up into a friend and confidant. She had precious few of those these days, yet she was pushing him away because she was angry about her sister.

She slipped out into the passageway. Wille, who stood at the tiny galley kitchen, was just putting the kettle on the gas ring to heat.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He pulled down the everyday teapot she and Mrs. Reid used when having a cup of tea in the workroom. Then he lifted the tea towel where she’d left the leaves from her afternoon brew drying and did his best to shake them into the pot.

Uncertain whether he’d heard her or whether he was ignoring her, she angled herself closer to his good ear and said again, “I’m sorry.”

He braced his hands on either side of the counter he stood at, his gaze resolutely on the cabinet door ahead of him.

“I am prepared to pretend that you didn’t just insult me as both a solicitor and your friend by implying that my judgment isn’t sound when it comes to your sister,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, shame staining her already red cheeks a deeper shade.

“You’ll notice it isn’t Sylvia who I am speaking to at half past nine at night when I could be in bed with a book.” He finally spared her a glance. “I know you are grieving. I also understand that, as your friend, I should afford you a certain degree of grace. However, I will not allow you to take your anger out on me.”

“Please forgive me,” she whispered.

He waited an excruciatingly long moment before nodding. “You are forgiven. I understand that things between you and your sister are tense and have been for some time, although I hate to see it. You two used to be thick as thieves.”

No, Izzie’s entire world had revolved around her older sister. The two of them had done everything together, especially after Dad died and Mum had been run off her feet opening the shop. Sylvia had been the one to make sure Izzie was dressed and at school on time, and even after Sylvia left school to work at the shop full-time, Sylvia had always had time to listen to her struggles and help her with her schoolwork. Izzie had adored her sister, and that had made Sylvia’s rejection all the more painful.

“I’m tired, and I need to figure out how to buy the shop,” she said, her voice cracking.

Willie scrunched up his brow, and she thought for a moment that he might argue with her. Instead, he said, “I know that you live and breathe this shop, and I want to see you at the helm of Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions as much as you do. However, you might need to accept that you don’t have the means to buy it outright. Not yet.”

Izzie shook her head. “There has to be a way. Let’s make the tea and go over everything again.”