The Runaway Daughter Read online

  Perhaps he had disapproved of her closeness to Nancy. Or perhaps he was the kind of person who wouldn’t allow her to have friends and would want to guard her jealously? In which case he most definitely wasn’t for her.

  As if it were a choice. She caught herself slipping into fantasy land again.

  Edith was right. Archie Fenwick was way out of her league. And, as she’d said, probably after one thing. But Archie wasn’t like that. Was he?

  She knew she was indulging the old, romantic part of herself, but she couldn’t help it. Why had he become so scared? Why had he left her?

  ‘Stop it,’ Percy said, looking at Vita over the top his glasses.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That man you danced with. I can tell you’re still thinking about him.’

  She turned away from the window to face him. He was sitting at the small table, his legs tucked under the sewing machine. Percy looked at her, then put a pin in his mouth, before squinting down at the treadle. It was a relief to be able to talk to Percy about Archie. She could never tell Nancy how she’d been feeling, but Percy seemed to understand.

  ‘It’s just . . . he can’t have been looking for me amongst all the dancing girls in London. He was only saying that to flatter me. Like he probably flatters dozens of women.’

  Percy grunted in agreement, before the hum of the sewing machine started up for a minute and then stopped.

  ‘So I should forget him. I know. I know you’re right. But, Percy, he was so handsome.’

  ‘Looks aren’t everything,’ he said, with a wry smile.

  ‘I know, but . . . I’ve never felt like that. Like I felt when we danced together.’

  ‘If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be,’ Percy said.

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Of course I do. I’m a firm believer in fate.’

  Vita sighed. ‘I want to believe in fate. I really do. But the fact is – he left.’

  ‘He’ll be back.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he be? You’re gorgeous.’

  Vita was immeasurably cheered by how sure he sounded. ‘I think Nancy put him off.’

  ‘Nancy would put any man off. She’s terrifying. And she guards you like a fierce terrier.’

  It was odd hearing Percy talking about Nancy like this. Like he disapproved of her. Vita almost confessed how, sometimes, she felt that Nancy wanted more of her than she was prepared to give.

  ‘She wants me to go to Paris with her.’

  ‘Oh?’ Percy didn’t sound convinced by the idea.

  ‘Well, obviously I’m not going,’ she said, putting him straight. ‘I’m not leaving here. Not now. Not ever.’

  ‘Good,’ Percy said. He concentrated on the sewing for a moment. ‘The Folies Bergère had better watch out, if Nancy is on the loose.’ Even Vita had heard of the famous club in Paris. ‘You mark my words, she’ll head straight for trouble.’

  ‘You don’t sound like you really approve?’

  Percy sighed. ‘Nancy is one of those people who likes to detonate things and then leave a mess.’ He made a gesture like a bomb going off. ‘Like this, for example. She bamboozled us into making brassieres for her dressmaker and, even if we pull it off and get another order, it’ll still mean that everything will change.’

  ‘Change how?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but that’s what I’m worried about. I find it stressful enough doing my job, as it is,’ he admitted.

  ‘Don’t you want to be part of Top Drawer?’ Vita couldn’t keep the panic from her voice. She’d thought they were partners. Equals. She’d forgotten how busy Percy was already.

  ‘Vita, I will do whatever it takes to help you, but really, this is your baby, not mine. Is it what you want?’

  ‘Yes, Percy. Yes, it is. I need this.’

  ‘Well then, we’d better get to work.’

  Vita went over and examined the stitching on the camiknickers he was sewing. She had insisted that the new brassieres were better off being shown as a set, and was determined to go the extra mile to impress Lulu, even if it meant more work.

  He flicked up the lever at the back of the sewing machine and held up the camiknickers.

  ‘Oh, Percy. You are so clever. Look at those perfect seams.’

  ‘Making nurses’ uniforms in the war had its advantages after all.’

  She grinned at him and held her hands out. ‘Pass them over. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to try them on with the brassiere.’

  Vita felt a new-found confidence come over her – a strength in her unity with Percy. Because she was talented, wasn’t she? Albeit with Percy’s help.

  If Mrs Clifford-Meade was impressed with this batch of brassieres, as Vita was pretty confident she would be, looking at Percy’s workmanship now, then she might order some more. And, more importantly, pay her. And then she would truly be on her way. To where, she wasn’t sure. But it suddenly felt as if Nancy might be right and she had a future laden with possibility.

  63

  The Girl

  Clement hated the capital city. Well, he hated parts of it – like this busy street, with the cabs and cars and noise. A light drizzle was falling and the street lamps were flickering.

  How had his sister survived here for this long?

  She must have found a job, he supposed. But as far as he was aware, Anna had no skills to speak of. Or maybe she’d already learnt the hard way: that the only way to make money was to sell herself.

  Still, no matter if she’d garnered a little experience. Arkwright wasn’t to know. He just wanted young flesh. And young flesh with a little life in it was always the best kind.

  Clement took the notebook out of his pocket and looked up the address again, scanning the row of tall buildings. Rawlings had met him at the station and had assured him that he’d seen Anna here, only an hour ago, and that she hadn’t left the building. He’d even told Clement that her room was right at the top.

  He knocked on the door, but just as it opened two young women were leaving.

  ‘Can I help you?’ one of them asked. She had blonde hair and a pretty face.

  ‘I’m looking for Anna,’ he said, as charmingly as he could.

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘She’s my sister.’

  ‘Oh, well, in that case, go on up. The top landing. But if you see the landlady, don’t say we let you in.’

  ‘I won’t. Good day,’ Clement said, smiling. He watched the two women trot down the front steps. The one with the curly hair looked back in his direction and he tipped his hat.

  And then he was inside. Somewhere in the house, judging by the smell, someone was cooking suet and he could hear music through the walls. He walked forward, leaning heavily on his cane, hope blooming in his chest when he saw his mother’s coat hanging on the peg in the hallway. He touched it, seeing Anna’s red beret in the pocket. He took it out and sniffed it, noticing one long, dark hair tangled in the brooch. Then he looked up at the steep stairs.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered, fingering the small iron bar in his coat pocket.

  64

  Delivering the Goods

  As it turned out, Mrs Clifford-Meade was with a customer when Vita arrived to deliver the brassieres and camiknickers, and she had to wait for a while in the shop. Nancy was walking Mr Wild around the block.

  Vita didn’t mind the wait and she was glad that she was on her own and not with Nancy. She felt a mixture of pride and nerves as she sat with her carpet bag on her knee. Would Lulu be as impressed as she hoped she would be?

  In the back room, Vita laid out the brassieres one by one and Lulu checked each one over, peering at them intently through her pince-nez. ‘You’ve done a very good job, I must say.’

  Vita knew the praise really belonged to Percy. ‘I’m glad you think so. I took the liberty of making matching camiknickers.’

  ‘Matching?’ Lulu sounded surprised, as Vita pulled them from the bag.

  ‘Why not? I
think they’re pretty, don’t you? I think there’s something nice about having a set. If it was me, I’d want matching knickers.’

  Lulu nodded, impressed. ‘I will see what my customers think, but you know, I have a feeling there will be great demand for these.’

  ‘I can make you some more. Any time.’

  ‘You are quite an ambitious young woman, aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t always intend to be a dancing girl,’ Vita said. ‘I want to make something of this. Something of myself. Designing these . . . well, I think I’ve found a passion. I know that sounds silly.’

  ‘It doesn’t at all. Passion and hard work – that’s what it takes. And to be bold. You know, one of your sets is going to Amelia Grey. Do you know who she is?’

  Vita shook her head.

  ‘She’s a suffragette. And a bold one. She always says that one has to kick down the doors to get what one wants.’

  Vita took in this information. It felt wonderful to know that something she’d invented was going to someone like Miss Grey.

  ‘Now then, let me pay you. Have you decided on a price?’

  ‘Well, I know you could make them yourself,’ Vita began nervously. ‘And I know other people are already stocking brassieres—’

  ‘The price, Verity,’ Lulu said. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I’m sold. If you’re going to be a businesswoman, then be one.’

  Vita laughed, embarrassed. ‘Well, in that case . . .’

  She named the price she and Nancy had discussed, crossing her fingers, and Lulu nodded. ‘It’s good doing business with you,’ she said, as she handed over the bank notes from the small metal box she kept in her desk. ‘And here’s an advance,’ she said, adding more to the pile of notes. ‘I want more. As many as you can make.’

  As she left Mrs Clifford-Meade’s to go and meet Nancy near W&T, Vita felt the same as she had that first morning she’d woken up on the train: as if life was there for the taking. She just had to hold on and keep holding on. For as long as she could. For as long as she had.

  And what if she had more time? What if her reinvention had worked? And was real? Couldn’t Verity Casey be not simply a dancing girl, but much, much more?

  She’d been so hung up on thinking about Anna Darton and the status that she’d thrown away – how it meant she could never be with someone like Archie Fenwick.

  But this, she thought, looking at her reflection in a shop window as she waited for Nancy, and feeling the bulge in her purse, well, it changed everything. Because she could be successful in her own right. As a businesswoman. And yes, it would be hard, but that didn’t matter. She would make it successful. And then she’d be able to travel. To Paris . . . New York. Those dreams – they could be real. Couldn’t they?

  She saw Nancy rounding the corner, pulling Mr Wild by his lead. ‘Well?’ she called, and Vita grinned.

  65

  Miss Proust

  ‘Miss, I’m afraid we don’t allow dogs,’ the door attendant said as Nancy and Vita pushed through the revolving door into W&T.

  ‘We have an appointment with Lance Kenton,’ Nancy said, as if the man were insane. ‘We shan’t be long.’ She paused and looked back again. ‘What’s his secretary called again. Miss . . .? Oh, Vita, what is her name? She’s on the fifth floor, isn’t she?’ she said to the doorman.

  ‘You mean Miss Proust?’ he replied. ‘Room six. On the seventh.’

  ‘Thank you, my good man,’ Nancy said, exaggerating her American accent, putting her hand on his lapel and pushing a note into his top pocket. He blushed.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Vita asked, as Nancy strode confidently towards the lift, past the shoppers. A smart-looking sales assistant was selling a felt hat to a gentleman, and he tipped it to her and Nancy as they went past.

  ‘Suits you,’ Nancy called out brazenly. She was doing her usual trick, Vita thought – of pretending that she owned the place. She knew she ought to be embarrassed, or at the very least tell her to stop, but Nancy’s confidence was rather magnificent.

  Even so, she wished she hadn’t told her what Mrs Clifford-Meade had said about Miss Grey and kicking down doors. Nancy seemed to be taking it literally. But she’d insisted on striking while the momentum was with them.

  Inside W&T, Vita was distracted by the wooden counters displaying some gorgeous china brooches, and by a whole section with an array of wonderful hats. On the counter was a jar of coloured feathers. Percy would love it here.

  ‘Come on, follow me,’ Nancy instructed, heading towards the lift, past some stylish women who were trying on hats.

  ‘But we can’t just go in there and demand a meeting,’ Vita whispered.

  ‘Why not? Are you, or are you not, the girl who spoke to the Prince of Wales,’ Nancy asked, clearly enjoying herself, ‘and told him that you design underwear?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘And the girl who has just had a repeat order from one of the most discerning dressmakers in town?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then,’ Nancy said, as she strode out of the lift, looked at the board and scanned down it for the number of Mr Kenton’s office, before hurrying along the corridor, checking out the numbered offices. When she reached number six, she didn’t knock, but flung open the glass door.

  The secretary sat behind a large wooden desk. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her fingers hovering over the keyboard of her shiny black Remington.

  If Nancy was nervous, she didn’t show it one bit. Instead she puffed up her chest and shifted Mr Wild under her arm.

  ‘Ah, Miss Proust, I was just passing here with my latest protégée,’ she said haughtily. ‘I’m not sure if you’ve heard yet of the Top Drawer range, but, knowing Lance, it’s entirely the kind of thing he’d want to know about first.’

  The secretary looked wrong-footed, and Vita could tell she was scrabbling around in her memory to place Nancy.

  ‘Is he here? Lance?’ Nancy demanded, craning her neck to look through the frosted glass of the office behind her.

  ‘Is he expecting you?’ Miss Proust asked, clearly intimidated.

  ‘No. It’s an impromptu call.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, but I’m not sure Mr Kenton has any appointments available.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Nancy said, breathing out, as if thoroughly disappointed. ‘Now that we’re here. We will be back again, though. Um, Verity darling, what day is it that we’re seeing Selfridges?’

  Her eyes bored into Vita’s, forcing her to roll with the deception that Nancy was creating. ‘Wasn’t it on . . . Wednesday?’ she ventured.

  ‘Oh yes! Wednesday week. That’s right,’ Nancy bluffed.

  Miss Proust sized them up and then flipped through the pages of a large diary.

  ‘Why don’t you and your . . . associate—’

  ‘Verity. Verity Casey,’ Vita said, offering her hand. The secretary shook it limply.

  ‘Yes . . . well, why don’t you come back after that. Let’s see . . .’ She turned the diary around slightly so that Vita could see the pages. They were filled with appointments and she flipped over several pages. ‘We’re into May before there’s anything. How about then? On Thursday the thirteenth, at twelve? Would that suit?’

  ‘The thirteenth. Isn’t that unlucky?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘Only for some,’ Vita said, before smiling at Miss Proust. That gave her a month. It wasn’t long, but it was doable. ‘Book us in,’ she said.

  66

  Roses

  Having agreed to the meeting, Vita spent the next few days in a whirlwind, veering between panic and excitement. Percy was delighted that Mrs Clifford-Meade had been so pleased with her consignment, but rather alarmed that Vita had secured a meeting with W&T to present Top Drawer.

  ‘But we’ll have to look like a proper business,’ he protested.

  ‘I know. But we can do it.’

  ‘Can we?’

  ‘If we don’t sleep. Oh, goodness, look at the time.
If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for the show.’

  Vita hurried to the Zip Club, her mind whirring with plans. She almost bumped straight into Nancy, who was getting out of a taxi. As they reached the stage door, Jane, Betsy and Jemima were waiting for Vita. Betsy clapped her hands excitedly.

  ‘Oh, she’s here,’ Jane said, shushing the others and pushing the girls aside, so that Vita could pass.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘Just wait and see!’ Jane grabbed Vita’s arm and pushed her through into the dressing room.

  Three colossal bunches of fragrant pink and white roses filled all the space on the dressing table. They were so overwhelming, it was as if the small room had been transformed into a garden, and they filled the stuffy air with scent.

  ‘Who on earth are they from?’ Jane asked.

  Vita fingered the impossibly beautiful, downy petals.

  ‘There’s no name,’ Nancy said, examining the blank cream envelope as she waggled it provocatively in front of the girls.

  ‘Well, open it, for goodness’ sake,’ Betsy said.

  Vita felt something tingling in her stomach. Could they possibly be for her? Might they be from Mrs Clifford-Meade?

  Wisey bustled into the room. ‘Haven’t seen flowers like those since the opening night of Tosca at Drury Lane,’ she said, approvingly.

  Nancy shrugged and peeled back the flap, then took out the card inside. A large cat-like grin spread across her face.

  ‘Dearest Verity,’ she read out and Jane and Betsy gasped, Jane reaching for Vita’s arm and squeezing it tightly. ‘Tonight, eleven p.m. I’ll tell you the secret.’ She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘Vita. They’re for you!’ she said, a tease in her voice. ‘From the dark stranger!’

  ‘You watch yourself, my girl. The flashy ones are always hiding something,’ Wisey said.