Page 77 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘He would never do that. But I can’t leave thebrocante, someone might come looking for something,’ Isabel protested.
Eugénie flared her nostrils in disdain. ‘Of course they won’t, leave a notice, closed due to illness. This is much more important.’
We reached the Sports Bar just before three o’clock, when – as Eugénie had predicted – the lunch time trade was easing off.
Paulette was waiting behind the bar, alerted by Eugénie’s earlier phone call, and her face lit up when she saw us.
‘Je suis vraimant enthousiaste– I’m so excited,’ she said, ‘Come, come with me.’
Louis who had been polishing some wine glasses, rolled his eyes.
‘Je ne comprendrai jamais les femmes,’ he said.
‘No, you don’t understand women, that’s half the problem,’ Eugénie fired back.
We went into the back of the building and up a flight of stairs. Eugénie seemed surprisingly nimble for someone who seemed to have so many unnamed illnesses and weaknesses.
‘Et voilà!’ Paulette said, throwing open a door.
Inside, the room was small but filled with clothes racks. There were shelves with shoe boxes, handbags in linen bags, interesting looking suitcases with battered travel labels stuck on the outside.
‘I kept everything I could when I was modelling,’ Paulette said, ‘sometimes instead of my fee, I would ask for the clothes I wore, or for them to sell them to me at a reduced price, and as some of them were tailored to fit me, they agreed. They wouldn’t do that now, I am sure. But hardly ever the evening gowns, which were thousands. I saw some in a museum only recently, such tailoring, such stitches. And what is two hundred dollars compared with a Chanel original? Not that they would fit me now, but they are still beautiful. But there are some I acquired that might do; things I wore later.’
Eugénie parked herself on a chair and we looked through the racks of clothes in amazement. There were suits, dresses, sweaters, tailored slacks and even a couple of ball gowns done up in calico bags. No wonder Eugénie always looked so elegant if she had this treasure trove to choose from.
‘So you worked for Chanel? I thought it was Dior?’ Isabel said.
‘I worked for everyone,’ Paulette said, with huge laugh, ‘I have not always been sixty. I went all over the world. I was tiny, like a bird in those days. I had glossy black hair down to my waist. And what a tiny waist! I used to dance down the runways, I was calledMartinet. There was even a spread inVogueof me, they called itFrench Dressing. Big shoulder pads, crazy days.’
Eugénie shook her head sadly. ‘What happened, Paulette?’
‘Good things. I fell in love, I got old and happy,’ Paulette said, ‘and I learned to cook.’
‘Joy needs something to wear for dinner,’ Eugénie said, bringing us all back to why we were there in the first place. ‘Notmuch here will fit her, I feel sure, and clothes then were proper sizes, not what they are today.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,Mamie,’ Isabel muttered.
‘You can borrow anything you want to,’ Paulette said, ‘but they must be returned.C’est ma pension. My – what do you call it – my nest egg.’
She pulled a dark green dress off the rail. ‘What about this? I wore that at Ascot, with a big white hat. I was divine. And this?’ Next was a pink satin cocktail dress, lavishly covered in tape lace and sequins.
‘No sleeves,’ Eugénie said, shaking her head, ‘a woman her age needs sleeves. Unless she has been a professional tennis player.’
‘She’s absolutely right,’ I said.
‘Then perhaps this?’ Paulette said. She pulled out a royal blue silk velvet jacket and stroked it as lovingly as though it was a kitten. ‘It will enhance your eyes. It is Chanel. I never wore it. It was too big. They had to take it in at the back with clothes pegs. Now it is too small. I waited for the right day and then that day never came. I just loved the colour.’
I took it and looked in the label in the neckline:
Chanel
I didn’t think I’d ever touched a Chanel garment before, never mind worn one. I tried it on, over my T-shirt and jeans it fitted perfectly, looked sensational, and the silk lining was as soft as a cloud.
‘And these might fit you. I bought them back in the eighties,’ Paulette continued, handing me some slim, dark blue trousers.
I tried them on. They were a bit snug if I was honest. I stood up straighter and pulled in my stomach.
‘You are not as fat as I thought,’ Eugénie sniffed from her chair in the corner.
