Nicola Upson - Two for Sorrow

As she carried the gown carefully back into the workroom, a tailor’s dummy in the corner caught her eye, next to a roll of deep-blue silk. She knew it was waiting to be transformed into a cape to match one of the evening gowns for the gala, and that it would be the first job on Hilda Reader’s list in the morning. She never tired of watching as the cutter worked from the designs that the Motley sisters produced, interpreting their sketches into a three-dimensional garment by pinning, draping and cutting the material, apparently without effort. It was a great skill, and Marjorie had been so thrilled when Mrs Reader said she was almost ready to try it herself. She liked Lettice and Ronnie, and was in awe of their talent; obviously she wanted them to think well of her, but it was Hilda Reader—the woman who had first had confidence in her, the mother she wished she’d had—who she really wanted to impress, and what better way than by making the cape herself, now, when everywhere was quiet? It was a risk, but it would be worth it to see the look on the head cutter’s face in the morning, and it would keep Marjorie’s mind off other things.

She took another sip of vodka for courage and measured out a length of material, then arranged the silk on the back of the dummy, leaving enough at the top to complete the collar work later. Carefully, she brought the selvedges round to the front and pinned them to the back cloth at the top of the shoulders, making sure that the material was not too tightly drawn across the chest. She checked the desired length against the sketch one more time, took a deep breath, and picked up the scissors—this was the moment of no return, but there was no point being half-hearted about it. She cut boldly across the bottom, allowing for a two-inch hem, and was relieved to see that the line was straight and the silk fell as she knew it should. Buoyed up by her success, Marjorie carried on patiently, so absorbed in her work that she forgot everything else. As she stepped back to examine the general shape of the material before making the final cuts, she heard the sound of footsteps on the iron stairs outside. Still exhilarated by the miraculous way in which the garment now resembled its paper counterpart, she went out into the corridor, confident that she could handle anything.

When she saw who it was, she opened her mouth to speak but, before she could utter a word, she found herself shoved hard against the back wall of the lobby. The action took her completely by surprise, and there was no chance to recover before something was sprayed in her face. She turned away, blinded for a moment, but the spray came again and whatever she had inhaled disoriented her. She stumbled back into the workroom and tried to shut the door behind her, but she was too slow. By the time she felt the tape measure tighten around her neck, she was too weak to offer any resistance.

News of Josephine’s arrival in town had spread fast. She arrived back at the Cowdray Club to find a note from Ronnie and Lettice with instructions—by no stretch of the imagination could it be called an invitation—to meet them for supper at Rules after the evening performance of Romeo and Juliet . There was ‘much to catch up on’, apparently, and the envelope also included a ticket for the theatre in case she wanted to see the show. The period of coming and going as she pleased was at an end, obviously, but she found she didn’t much mind.

Considerately, the girls had reserved a house seat at the back of the stalls for her so that she could slip into the performance at any point, and she was able to get some more work done before getting ready to go out. She decided to take a cab to the New and expected to have to go to Oxford Street to find one, but, as she left the Club, she noticed a taxi a few doors down, dropping someone off outside the church in Henrietta Place. The driver acknowledged her wave, and she waited on the pavement while he finished with his current fare, still thinking about what she had seen in Finchley and Islington.

‘Josephine?’

The voice was hesitant and came from across the street. She looked over to where a woman was standing by the iron railings, and found it difficult to believe what she was seeing. As she stared, too surprised even to say hello, the woman left the shadows and walked up to her, apparently unsure of her welcome. ‘I’m sorry to turn up like this,’ she said, ‘but I wanted to see you and every scheme I came up with to bump into you seemed so ridiculous that I thought I’d just come clean and say hello.’

‘You don’t have to come up with ways to bump into me, Marta—you could just telephone.’ Josephine held out her arms, genuinely delighted to see her friend’s lover after so long. ‘Lydia didn’t even tell me you were back.’

‘She doesn’t know.’ Marta pulled away from the hug, and Josephine was struck by how much she had changed in the last eighteen months. She was still remarkably beautiful, but the warmth in her eyes which had prevented it from being merely a physical attribute was now hard to find, and the spark of defiance which Josephine had found so attractive had all but disappeared. It was hardly surprising, she thought: she had come so close to death, and the enforced separation from Lydia alone must have taken its toll. God knows what damage Marta’s other demons had done to her in the meantime. ‘I know I should have called Lydia,’ she continued, ‘but I just couldn’t face it at the moment.’ She paused, apparently trying to find a way to explain. ‘You see, I didn’t want her to think …’

‘I know, I know.’ Josephine interrupted, wanting to make it easier for her. ‘After everything that’s happened, things are bound to be strange between you, but she won’t think badly of you, really she won’t.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘Lydia loves you, Marta, and that hasn’t changed—trust me. Do you want me to pave the way for you? Is that why you’re here?’ She looked back down the road to where the taxi was turning round, ready to pick her up. ‘I was just off to meet Lettice and Ronnie, but that can wait if you want me to talk to her now. Getting you two back together is much more important than …’

‘Josephine—please, just listen to me for a minute,’ Marta said impatiently. ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say. I didn’t want Lydia to think we could pick up where we left off. Things have changed—I’ve changed—and I wanted to see you because I wanted to see you . It’s got nothing to do with Lydia.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you?’ Marta turned away for a moment, her frustration getting the better of her. When she looked back, Josephine was shocked to see tears in her eyes, although she spoke more calmly. ‘The last time we met, we didn’t have the chance to get to know each other very well.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I suppose you could say that things got in the way, but I don’t want to talk about the past. This is a fresh start for me. I don’t know if that includes Lydia. I rather hoped it might include you.’

The taxi pulled into the kerb and stopped at a discreet distance from the two women. ‘Are you really saying what I think you’re saying?’ Josephine asked, horrified.

‘God, I knew I’d make a mess of this, no matter how many times I rehearsed it.’

‘Don’t worry, Marta—it must be hard to be word perfect when you’re asking me to betray someone we both care about. Well, someone I care about, at least.’

‘Of course I care about her, but it’s not that simple—you don’t understand.’

A feeling which she could only describe as panic made Josephine react more harshly than she wanted to. ‘Don’t you dare patronise me like that,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent nearly two years watching Lydia try to pick up the pieces after you pulled her life out from under her, so I think I understand all I need to.’