Page 30 of Bookshop Cinderella

“Yes,” he agreed, sobering, his expression becoming thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“A woman in my neighborhood might go to a tea shop in the afternoon or stop in at a milk bar for a penny sandwich, but that’s all. Eating a full luncheon or dinner in a restaurant? And without a husband or father along?” She shook her head. “It’s so...daring. Not to mention outrageously extravagant.”

“Welcome to the Savoy. Daring and extravagant might sum up the entire experience. And while it’s true that you don’t need a male escort to dine here, you can’t go alone. At least one other woman must accompany you. And remember in the evening, they require formal dress. And for God’s sake, don’t wear a hat in the restaurant, whatever you do.”

“What?” That sounded so absurd, she laughed. “Why not?”

“It’s not allowed. César Ritz discovered that certain women of—ahem—doubtful virtue were dining there, and forbidding hats is how he put a stop to it. I hope I haven’t shocked you?”

She supposed she ought to be shocked, having had a staunchly respectable, middle-class upbringing, but she wasn’t. She was, however, a little confused and terribly curious.

“Courtesans always wear hats?” she asked, earning herself a shout of laughter from him.

He quickly smothered it, pressing a fist to his mouth as he cast a quick glance at the empty corridor behind him.

“The lower-class ones do, evidently,” he answered after a moment, lowering his hand to his side. “Extravagant hats and vast quantities of cosmetics. Ritz doesn’t mind a few glamorous, beautiful courtesans sprinkled about the place, but these women were not in that class, and in consequence, they were hurting the hotel’s reputation. So, he forbid ladies to wear hats in the restaurant, thereby solving the problem.”

Evie shook her head. “Your set is very odd,” she commented. “You divide everyone into classes, even the courtesans.”

“Of course. How else can we keep ourselves convinced of our innate superiority? Now, one more thing before I go. I’ve looked over the notes you gave me for that dinner party, and though I haven’t presented your ideas to Escoffier yet, I can already see that what you’ve given me isn’t going to be enough.”

“I know. I told you it was incomplete. Sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize. You’ve had your own troubles. But once I’ve discussed what you’ve given me with Escoffier, you and I will need to meet. The problem is that there is nowhere in the hotel we can do so without raising eyebrows, so perhaps your shop will do?”

She nodded. “Tomorrow? Eleven o’clock? I shall be there anyway, supervising the packing of the books. I don’t trust the workmen to do it properly.”

“Very wise of you.” He started to turn away, then stopped and reached into his trouser pocket. “I almost forgot. Here.” He pulled out a sixpence and handed it to her. “To tip the bellboy when he brings your luggage,” he added when she looked at him in bewilderment. With a wink, he turned and walked away.

***

Vivienne’s establishmentproved to be a fantastical, wholly feminine enclave of black, white, pale pink, and gold, where ladies lounged on satin sofas, sipping iced lemonade as sylphlike living mannequins paraded before them in the modiste’s latest creations.

Archways on either side of the main showroom led into high-ceilinged rooms that displayed bolts of fabric, rolls of trim, and shelves of notions, while above, a mezzanine ringed the main showroom where she stood. Reached by a curving staircase of wrought iron and warm brass, the mezzanine seemed to be where the fitting rooms were located, if the vast quantity of doors along each side were any indication.

Macarons in all the colors of the rainbow reposed in crystal trays on glass-topped tables for any patrons needing refreshment. In a far corner, a string trio of female musicians played a soft, pretty melody. A marble sculpture by the front entrance was, Evie realized upon closer inspection, a whimsical depiction of a pile of shoes, impossibly shaped shoes stacked to a dizzying height.

It was unlike any dressmaking establishment Evie had ever seen.

“May I help you, madam?”

Evie tore her gaze from the shoe sculpture to face an efficient-looking shop attendant in a dark blue dress and bibbed cambric apron. “Yes, my name is Evangeline Harlow. I have an appointment for half past two.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Harlow, Vivienne is expecting you, and she will be with you momentarily. You may wait here,” she added, gesturing to a nearby settee. “Or you may wish to look over some of our most recently acquired fabrics and trims. The fabric room is to your right, trims and notions to your left.”

Evie chose to explore the fabric room, but she had wandered amid the bolts of velvet, cashmere, and silk for less than a minute before she wished she had chosen the trimmings room instead.

“Evie? Evie Harlow?”

She looked up from the exquisite China silks she had been admiring, expecting to meet the famous Vivienne for the first time. But instead of London’s most fashionable modiste, she found herself facing someone she already knew, someone she’d hoped to never see again.

“Goodness, it is you!” Arlena Henderson came closer, her big brown eyes wide with shock, one gloved hand pressed to the side of her face, a face that even after eleven years was still stunningly beautiful. Her hair was still that enviable shade of honey-blonde, and her figure was still an hourglass of perfect proportions. Naturally.

“Evie Harlow, as I live!”

Before she could recover enough to reply, Arlena turned away, but if Evie thought this awful encounter would be over as quickly as that, she found her hopes dashed at once.

“Lenore?” Arlena called, beckoning to a petite brunette standing nearby. “Come look who I found skulking amid the silks!”

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