The Dressmakers of London

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Izzie’s hand shook as she finished addressing the envelope and put her pen down on the wooden shelf behind her with a firm click.

For the past two and a half weeks, Sylvia had written to her, trying to apologize and failing miserably with every new letter. However, this last one had been the limit. Not only had her sister invoked their mother, but Sylvia had tried to act as though she knew the first thing about what Mum was like.

“I’m going to post this,” Izzie said, sliding off her bunk and landing neatly next to her work boots. “Does anyone have any letters they need taken?”

Amelia and Grace looked up from their card game and murmured a “No, but thank you.”

Lottie, who had been playing around with a new way to dress her hair, asked no one in particular, “Do you think my curls will stay if I wear my hair like this for the dance on Friday?”

“No,” Nancy muttered as she turned a page.

“You didn’t even look up from your book!” Lottie cried.

“I didn’t have to,” said Nancy tartly.

Alexandra, who had been propped up on her elbow reading on the bunk underneath Izzie’s, closed her book and said, “I’ll go with you, Izzie. It saves me from listening to Nancy and Lottie bicker again.”

“We do not bicker,” said Nancy with a sniff.

“You do,” said Alexandra.

“Izzie,” Nancy appealed to her.

“You do,” echoed Izzie.

Nancy opened her book with such force she nearly snapped the spine.

As Izzie and Alexandra stepped out of their barracks and into the early-spring sun, Alexandra said, “I love Nancy, I really do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to throttle her half of the time.”

Izzie laughed. “She does go after Lottie more than she should.”

“I think she secretly wishes she was as good with men as Lottie is,” said Alexandra.

“You’re probably right.”

“Gosh, it’s good to be outside,” said Alexandra, throwing back her head as the wind ruffled both of their hair.

It was beginning to feel as though the English summer might actually be on its way. All around them, the air base buzzed with activity like a hive. They had been at RAF Horsham St Faith for just over a fortnight, but already she’d become used to the constant sound of planes and the smell of oil and fuel.

“Did you finally decide to write your sister?” asked Alexandra after they rounded an administrative building.

Izzie held up her letter. “Yes.”

“Are you going to accept her apologies?” asked Alexandra.

“No.”

Alexandra nodded, and Izzie appreciated that her friend didn’t try to push the matter any further.

In the hours after her fight with Sylvia, Izzie had worried what Alexandra must think of her. Her cheeks had flamed hot red when her friend had walked her to Mayfair and the largest house Izzie had ever laid eyes on. Lady Menby, Alexandra’s mother, had come out of a drawing room in a neat suit of aubergine wool and greeted Izzie as though she were a long-lost relative. Then came Lord Menby and one of the famous brothers, George, everyone speaking all at once as they kissed Alexandra and shook hands with Izzie and demanded stories of the WAAF. When finally Izzie, slightly overwhelmed by the reception and by what had just happened at the shop, managed to catch her friend’s eye, Alexandra announced she wanted to see Izzie settled and led her up to a guest room.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” said Alexandra, opening the door to one of the most beautiful spaces Izzie had ever been in. It had white wallpaper trimmed in gold, and a plush pale blue carpet underfoot. The moment she stepped inside, shame washed over her. How could she have lost her temper with her sister and argued so crudely in front of Lady Alexandra.

Her expression must have changed because Alexandra immediately said, “We’ll have none of that. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

Izzie sank down on the edge of the bed. “What you must think of us Sheltons…”

“I think that family can be complicated,” said Alexandra, as though it was the most natural thing in the world that Izzie should have lost her temper with her sister like she had. “No one’s family is perfect, and I certainly don’t expect yours to be.”

Her friend’s quick understanding that afternoon in that huge house in Mayfair had been a comfort, and she’d spent the rest of her short leave wrapped up in the warmth of Alexandra’s family. However, as soon as they had arrived at RAF Horsham St Faith, Sylvia’s letters had started arriving, and Izzie knew that she could only put her sister off for so long.

“You know,” said Alexandra as they walked, “I’ve been thinking about something your sister said.”

“What’s that?” Izzie asked.

Alexandra seemed to hesitate before saying, “It isn’t my place really, but what if your mother was wrong?”

“Wrong? About what?”

The questions must have sounded harsher than she’d meant them to, because Alexandra quickly said, “It’s only a thought.”

The instinct to defend her mother roared up in her, but Izzie shoved it down. Alexandra was a friend and was only trying to help.

“Please tell me more,” she forced herself to say.

“Well,” Alexandra started, “it sounds like Sylvia is trying to help the business. You said yourself that she sorted out the shop’s accounts, and it sounds like her advertisements have brought in some new customers.”

Izzie started to protest, but Alexandra shook her head.

“Let me finish, Izzie. I think your sister is doing her best in a difficult situation with rationing and the war, but at least she’s trying.”

“She took my sketches without permission,” Izzie said stubbornly.

“Yes, she should have asked, but I saw your sketches, Izzie. They’re beautiful. Why wouldn’t you want them to be sold?” Alexandra asked.

The emotion that had been threatening to choke her for weeks welled up in her throat again. “That’s kind of you, but this is all just because Sylvia feels guilty.”

“What does your sister have to feel guilty about?” asked Alexandra.

“Sylvia and Mum never saw eye to eye. When Dad died, he left Mum with virtually nothing. He was a barrister, so I’ve never understood why, but Mum never spoke about it. I do know that she went to his family for help. Apparently they never approved of the marriage, so we barely saw them when Dad was alive, but my grandfather gave her enough money to buy the shop to provide us with a living.

“Sylvia hated the shop. She’s four years older than I am, so she remembers our old house and what it was like to have a maid to do all of the chores. Mum always said Dad treated Sylvia like a princess, showering her with pretty dresses, books, and singing lessons.

“Apparently Sylvia told Mum that moving into a flat above a dressmaker’s shop and being forced to help out whenever she wasn’t in school was embarrassing. I think that’s why, when she met Horrible Hugo, she didn’t want anything to do with Mum any longer. It was as though she washed her hands of us.”

Fourteen-year-old Izzie had checked the post every day for months after Sylvia came back from her honeymoon, but the invitation to come stay at the newly married couple’s flat had never appeared. Instead, there were only increasingly short responses to Izzie’s letters about the shop until, finally, those dried up all together.

Crushed, she’d gone to Mum in tears, but instead of comfort her mother had given her a stern talking-to.

“Your sister’s life is different now, Izzie. You need to understand that, or she’ll break your heart over and over again,” said Mum.

“But I’m her sister,” Izzie sobbed.

Mum’s lips pinched. “Sylvia is Hugo Pearsall’s wife now. She doesn’t have time for us any longer. One day you’ll understand.”

And one day Izzie did. Sylvia had vaulted up the social ladder and entered into the ranks of women the Sheltons aspired to dress but could never be.

“What are you going to do now?” Alexandra asked, breaking into Izzie’s thoughts as they reached the post office.

She sighed as she slipped her stamped envelope into the post box on the outside of the squat building. “Use every bit of leave I have to go to London. I just hope the trains aren’t too horrible.”

As they rounded the corner of the post office building, Izzie collided with a wall of khaki.

“Whoa!” came a man’s accented voice, a hand on either of her arms steadying her as a thud sounded near her feet. “Are you okay, miss?”

She looked up and found herself staring up at a man. A tall, blond, tanned man wearing the widest smile she’d ever seen.

“I’m very sorry, sir. I should have been paying more attention,” she said, stepping back.

“It’s all my fault. I was trying to read and walk at the same time,” he said, as he stooped down and scooped up a pad of paper scribbled all over with notes.

“You’re American,” she said dumbly.

“That I am,” he said with a laugh before sticking out his hand. “Staff Sergeant Jack Perry, Iowa born and raised.”

“Izzie. I mean, Aircraft Woman Second Class Isabelle Shelton. From London.”

There was a small cough to her right, and when she turned, she realized that Alexandra was watching on with open amusement.

“Oh. This is my friend Aircraft Woman Second Class Alexandra Sumner,” she said.

“How do you do, staff sergeant?” asked Alexandra, taking his hand.

“You ladies are WAAFs?” asked Jack.

“We are,” said Alexandra.

“We’re in a barrage balloon unit.” Why could she not string together more than a sentence when speaking to this man?

Alexandra shot her a pitying look.

“What’s an American doing on an RAF base?” Izzie asked hesitantly, trying again.

“I’ve been asking myself that same question, but my commanding officer reassures me that we’re taking in more than just the view.” He leaned in and gave them both a conspiratorial smile. “You didn’t hear this from me, but we’re having a look around to see if the United States Army Air Forces might like to move in or at least become your neighbors.”

“Goodness, does that mean there are more than just you here?” asked Alexandra.

He laughed. “I’d say you’re likely to see a few more air force men in the future. Consider me a member of the advance team,” he said.

“Just wait until Lottie hears about this,” said Alexandra.

“Who’s Lottie?” he asked.

“Oh, you’ll find out,” said Alexandra.

He tugged on the brim of his cap. “Well, Aircraft Woman Second Class Sumner and Izzie from London. I hope the boys and I will be seeing both of you around.”

“There’s a dance this Friday at a placed called the Assembly Hall,” Izzie blurted out. “There’ll be a band and everything. All of the girls from our unit are planning on going.”

“Will you be there too?” he asked, his eyes fixed on hers.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He nodded. “Good. I’ll see you then. Goodbye, ladies.”

“Goodbye,” said Alexandra cheerfully.

“Goodbye,” Izzie echoed quietly as he walked off.

“Well, it looks as though the American invasion has well and truly started.”

“Yes,” Izzie murmured.

Alexandra spun around, clearly delighted. “Isabelle Shelton, I have never seen you at a loss for words before.”

“I wasn’t at a loss for words,” she protested weakly.

Her friend snorted. “At least you managed to tell him about the dance.”

“He’s probably far too busy to come,” she said, hoping very much that he would prove her wrong.

“Oh, I think he’ll make a point of coming after meeting you,” said Alexandra.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Izzie,” said Alexandra, slipping an arm through hers, “I think you’ll find that, on this one rare occasion, I am not the ridiculous one.”