THE TAILOR & THE SEAMSTRESS
XII. From Ashes
The morning of the competition dawned bright and sunny, with barely a cloud to mar the cornflower blue sky.
Anna stood at the bedroom window and absently tried to clasp one of the recalcitrant fasteners on the evening dress she had worn the night before. It was too beautiful a day to feel intimidated by what the future might bring – and from this particular vantage point, she could just about make out the sparkling waters of the Hudson, peeking out from between the buildings.
"What a beautiful view you have, Remy!" she declared almost enviously, as she heard him enter the room behind her.
"Well, you are welcome to come back and enjoy it anytime you desire, Anna," he said. "But I hope it is not the only thing you desire when you are here in this room."
She tutted in response; but he sensed a smile on her lips. Seeing her still battling with the fastenings of her dress, he came up behind her and took over.
"Here," he said. "Let me."
He quickly linked up the remaining hooks and eyes, and when he was done, he wrapped his arms round her and kissed the side of her head. For a few heavenly moments, they stood there together, taking in the view. They had made love until well into the early hours of morning, and while tired, Anna did not think she had felt any more blissfully or undeniably happy than she did right now.
"Do you want me to drive you back to your apartment?" he asked her quietly. "You don't have to wear this again. We can fetch you something fresh."
"It's nothing," she replied, almost dreamily. "When I get to the hotel, I shall be changing anyway."
"You have clothing there already?"
"Yes, Remy."
"All right."
He kissed the side of her head again and let her go.
"I hope you are not worried," he spoke, as he went over to the dresser to pick out a necktie.
"Worried?" she asked.
"About losing today."
She frowned and turned away from the window.
"Oh. That." She thought about it. "I suppose I am, a little."
"Only a little?"
She shrugged.
"Well. I should like that money very much. Especially now that Burford is unhappy with me…"
"You are Burford's meal ticket. He won't be rid of you any time soon."
He was right, of course. But she would rather not have been stuck labouring under the yoke of Burford's wrath, even if her position was secure. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about. Wordlessly, she joined him at the dresser, looking at herself in the mirror to fix up her hair.
When she saw that he was having some trouble picking out a suitable tie, she felt bold enough to do so for him.
"Pick that one," she suggested pointing to a bright scarlet one. He pulled it out, recognising immediately that it was the one she had given him only a few weeks before.
"Mandarin ducks," he echoed pensively, running his thumbs over the embroidered silk. "'Once mated, they remain lifelong partners'." He caught her eye in the mirror and passed her a roguish smile.
"Why, Remy LeBeau!" she half-joked, feigning shock. "Are you proposing marriage to me?"
He laughed gleefully.
"Well, we have mated. Several times already at that." He laughed again, enough to raise a smile to her lips. "And besides," he added, "I seem to recall that it was you who gave this to me, the morning after the very first night we 'sinned' together. So maybe it is you who is proposing marriage."
His playfulness was becoming too joyous to bear. She could no longer pretend to be outraged by his words.
"Oh shush!" she harried him, snatching the necktie from his hands; but even as she did so, a wide smile broke out on her face. She lifted his collar and industriously arranged the tie for him, as she had done before. "You are not yet ready for marriage! And neither am I! For now, I am content for us to live in sin. If that is what your heart desires," she added shyly.
"Ah!" he said in a quieter voice, though no less cheerily. "Now the lady speaks bravely."
"You make me feel brave, as I have said, my love."
"And now she calls me her love. Such magic a night of pleasure can weave!"
It was just as well she had finished with his necktie, for his words had made her so flustered that she could barely coordinate her fingers! She snapped his collar back down and said on a breath:
"Remy! Why do you tease me so? After everything we spoke of last night, it is too much!"
He chuckled again softly, resting his forehead gently against hers.
"My apologies, mon amour. I am stupidly happy at this moment. Can you forgive me?"
She could, but only because she was stupidly happy herself. She tilted her face and kissed him chastely on the lips to let him know that it was so, before turning to finish pinning her hair.
"You needn't worry," he spoke, moving to the closet to find a suitable waistcoat and jacket, reverting to their former subject of conversation. "About the competition, I mean. Either you will win, or I will win. And if I win, I am quite happy to give all my prize money to you."
"Remy, I have told you," she remonstrated with him. "I will not take your money. My politician gifted me money all the time. To pay for my expenses, to pay for clothing, and jewels, and everything my heart desired. He did it out of love; but I could not bear to live on anyone else's account again. The idea is intolerable to me!"
He looked over his shoulder at her, seeing how very riled she was by the idea.
"I would never pay to keep you, Anna," he replied honestly.
"Let's not speak of it," she insisted wearily.
"All right." He picked out what he wanted and took it down. "Will you tell me though? About the dress?"
"What dress?"
"The Peacock Dress. It means a great deal to you."
Anna slid the final pin into her hair and sighed. It was another tale she wasn't sure how to tell.
"When I was touring with my politician," she spoke in a low voice, "one of the first places he took me to was New Orleans. I had never seen so many peafowl aimlessly wandering the streets."
"Ah, yes," Remy smiled absently to himself, slipping on his waistcoat. "They can be quite the nuisance sometimes."
The wry observation brought a bit of levity to the conversation. She crossed the room towards him, and, without having to ask, she helped him button up, and he was only happy to let her do so.
"I had always loved peacocks," she continued. "But I never realised they were so aggressive, or made the most hideous noise! Nevertheless, I sat in the park and made some sketches of them. I think it was the first time he ever realised that I drew. He asked me if I painted. I said I designed dresses. And my politician, he said, 'Anna, you should design a peacock dress. The colours would be most fetching on you, and as birds renowned for their great beauty, they would be a fitting motif on a beauty such as yourself'."
She finished, blushing slightly. Though she had delivered her lover's words with a jovial, almost mocking tone, Remy sensed that they still saddened her. He also couldn't help but notice that she refused to refer to said lover by name, which could only lead him to assume that this man was either still in office, or well-known.
He turned aside and picked up his jacket from the bed.
"Well," he remarked. "I can't say he was wrong."
She blew a little lock of white hair out of her eyes and helped him into the jacket. He only let her because he enjoyed the fact that she felt familiar enough to dress him.
"Perhaps." She was silent a moment, concentrating on buttoning him up. "Of course, I never made the dress, because after I'd left Biloxi to be with him, I had given up on dressmaking. He bought me a peacock dress after that, from a large, expensive atelier. I liked it well enough, but there was always this idea in the back of my mind. When I arrived here in New York, it came back to me very strongly. For a few years, it never seemed to be the right time to make what I saw. The silhouette was never right. But now, what I see in my mind, and what is fashionable, have both miraculously aligned."
She smiled slightly, and having finished her task, smoothed out his jacket and tie with what he could only describe as a fastidious affection.
"Who needs a valet, chere," he quipped, "when one has you?"
"Where is your valet?" she asked him curiously.
"I sent him home for a few days, under pain of death. I didn't want him interfering if you arrived."
She laughed.
"You play at seduction like spycraft."
"Anna, do I have any need to seduce you? I believe we fell head over heels in-love with one another the moment we met!"
He was in such a quixotic mood it made her roll her eyes theatrically and suppress another laugh.
"You are terrible," she announced, stepping back to appraise him. "Very dashing, as always," she concluded admiringly. "Although I must make a matching handkerchief to go with that necktie! The one you have matches well enough, but it will bother my eye all day now!"
"Spoken like a true dressmaker!" he grinned, leaning forward and kissing her quickly. "We should leave, chere. 'Fashionably late' can only take one so far."
It was only when they were in foyer that he turned to her and asked:
"Anna, do you wish for us to arrive together? If you would prefer not to be seen with me, I can drop you off down the road a little way. Tongues don't have to wag."
She looked at him, and put her arm through his.
"A handsome couple such as us? Not wishing to be seen together?" She grinned brightly. "I think that would be a great blow to society, don't you?"
He grinned back at her.
"Indeed, I do. I am glad we are of the same mind." He paused. "We seem to be that match made in heaven, chere. Our minds and hearts and bodies are as one. Do you believe it now?"
Her smile softened. At that very moment, there was nothing in the world that could make her believe otherwise.
"I do, sir," she answered with playful formality. "Most wholeheartedly."
-oOo-
They arrived back at the Waldorf-Astoria in good time for the competition's public unveiling, and for the final judging.
Remy drove up to the grand entrance and helped his companion out of the car, entrusting the keys to the waiting valet.
The press and public had already begun to gather outside, and there was, of course, a bit of flap to see someone arriving in their own motorcar. Anna was quite astonished to see the forming crowds, but she did not rush inside to hide, as perhaps she once might have done. Love had made her brave once more, for now – perhaps for the first time ever – she knew what it was she wanted.
She stood with Remy on the front steps for a moment or two, face to face. They had promised, on the car journey down, that they would not hold whatever happened today against the other, rivals or otherwise.
"Well," Remy spoke at last. "May the best man win."
He held out his hand, and she clasped it.
"May the best woman win."
He smiled; and so did she.
They held one another's hands for longer than was strictly necessary, at least to those who did not know how they relished in the touch of the other.
"Good luck, Mr. LeBeau," she said.
And, "Good luck, Miss. Raven," he replied.
They relinquished one another's grasp, and together they walked inside.
-oOo-
The ballroom was bustling, gilded chairs laid out before the stage, where a special runway had been constructed for the dresses to be displayed on live models.
Anna had already disappeared in the lobby, he supposed to go and get changed into something more suitable than an evening dress. He loitered a little among the growing crowds, before Maillot found him. Anna, however, did not return.
Seeing that it was nearly time for show to begin, chairs began to be filled; and Remy, of course, was eager to sit in the front row. He was just about to take his seat, when he heard a feminine voice calling him.
"Remy!"
He turned and saw Belladonna fast approaching him in an enchanting summer dress of pale blue lawn.
"Belle!" he exclaimed. "You came!"
"But of course!" she laughed gaily, as they exchanged kisses on each cheek. "You thought I would not? Mon cher, I would not miss this for all the world!"
She drew back a little, casting him an appreciative glance. "What a lovely necktie that is! The Oriental is becoming very a la mode these days, or so I hear!"
"That it is," he smiled. "I'm glad you like it. My seamstress gave it to me."
She stared at him.
"Remy! You do not mean to tell me you are still in the business of seducing that poor young girl!"
He chuckled.
"Belle, I am in the business of being very much in-love with her, and her with me."
He didn't think her eyes could grow any wider.
"Dieu! But you are being serious! Whatever has come over you, Remy?"
He couldn't stop smiling.
"I'm not sure. I feel quite unlike myself these days. It is really rather exhilarating."
Belle had gone quiet, regarding him with a quite uncharacteristic solemnity.
"Mon cher," she said, "I believe I know exactly what has come over you."
No more was said; for at that moment their host, the mayor of the city – a thin, dour, white-bearded man with a gloomy voice – had mounted the stage to quieten the guests and begin the unveiling. Remy took his seat, and, seeing Anna was still nowhere in sight, he patted the chair next to him, which Belle obligingly took.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the mayor was attempting to quell the crowd's excitement – a not easy task for a man so apparently unassuming. "If we could all take our seats, please, we will begin."
Well, of course everybody wanted to begin! Voices were hushed and chairs scuffed the ground as people readily took to them. In no time at all, the room's denizens had become as rapt and attentive as children at Sunday school.
The mayor cleared his throat, evidently not expecting his command to have been observed so quickly.
"Well," he began, a little awkwardly. "Since all is now in order, I shall not delay this event any further. Ladies and gentleman, it is my very great pleasure today to welcome to the great city of New York Mr. Harry Gordon Selfridge, of very recent Selfridge's department store fame."
So saying, he stood aside, and let the guest of honour take the stage, amidst the excited applause of the audience. Selfridge, small though he was, was evidently possessed of that certain je ne sais quoi that could so easily command a crowd's attention. With a sparkle in his eye, and an avuncular smile on his face, he took to the podium and cast his eyes about the room most cheerfully.
"Thank you, Mr. Mayor. It is my greatest pleasure to adjudicate at these proceedings. As some of you may know, I have taken it upon myself to host similar events in the great fashion capitals of the world – Paris, and London, where I am now based – and while these great States are not yet counted among the foremost centres of fashion, my intention is that my homeland shall some day very soon be elevated to that status. Therefore, I have the great honour of being here for the first leg of my American tour, here, in the fine city of New York."
Who could resist having one's city praised? A spontaneous round of enthusiastic applause followed.
"Now," Selfridge continued, quieting the room again effortlessly. "I will not, as your mayor has said, delay these happy proceedings any longer. But before I stand aside, I should like to express how very deeply I was impressed by the talent your city has to offer. I have seen a plethora of wonderful garments the past twenty-four hours – all of quite astounding quality, ingenuity, and – of course – beauty. To judge such offerings was no small feat! I do not mind confessing that, as I came to my decision last night, it was not easy to pick a winner. Be that as it may, I enjoin you all to enjoy – and take pride in – the magnificent work which has so painstakingly been realised by the most talented designers and dressmakers of this city. And so – let the show begin!"
Again, there was enthusiastic applause, which only began to die down as curtains were drawn and more appropriate lighting lit. When the first model stepped out, a little pulse of excitement took the room. Fashion houses often held their own small, private shows for wealthy visitors and clientele – but such intimate stagings were rarely seen by the press or the public. These were dresses for the rich, famous and glamourous – clothing that most women could never aspire to. To see them like this was for regular ladies to imagine themselves wearing them; and, when Remy saw Belle begin scribbling into a little notebook beside him, he knew she was picking out the garments she felt best suited her in her mind's eye.
For his part, Remy watched the parade of dresses go by, each one worn by a pretty and elegant model, each ensemble punctuated by their honeyed smiles. Where static outfits on dress forms and mannequins could certainly stun, a dress never achieved full realisation until it was worn – and on a pretty model, gowns would always be presented to best effect. Colours and textures swam before him in a familiar procession he knew every beat and rhythm of. Nothing he saw struck him; everything marched past him in various shades of things he had seen or made before.
And then, to his astonishment and wonder, onto the stage stepped Anna, wearing the Peacock Dress.
He immediately snapped to attention; and it seemed the entire room gave a collective gasp at the sight of her.
He had known, of course, that this gown was in a class of its own – a thing of splendour in both an abstract and physical sense. But worn on a living, breathing body – on her – gave it a dynamism all its own. As she walked the silk shifted and the sequins shimmered; the bodice glittered like topaz and sapphire at her breast, and the peacock-feathered train rippled in her wake. She walked as she danced – with an effortless grace that seemed innate, never mind the years of observation and instruction that must have gone into making her just this – a lady. She walked proudly. She walked with her head held high.
Here was the woman she had imagined herself being for her former lover. Here was the ghost from the past that still haunted her. Here was the woman she had remained for the sake of a love that had ceased to be.
His heart tightened at the sight of her. He had known, yet had never consciously acknowledged to himself, that she had always intended to wear this dress. She, with the resources of the House of Burford, had made it for herself. She had made it in memoriam of her affair with the politician. And now, in wearing it so publicly, she was exorcising a demon.
"That is my dress!" Belle whispered excitedly to him. "Is it not fabulous!"
Until that moment, he had not realised he had barely been breathing.
"It is," he murmured.
She walked past, as if in some other dimension where the veil between their two worlds could be seen through yet not penetrated. She did not look at him; but he looked at her. It was impossible for him not to.
What seemed like forever lasted less than a minute. Before he'd even had the chance to grasp her presence, she had gone.
He barely heard it when the room stirred for a second time, as the Phoenix dress quickly followed. His senses had still been stolen by the Peacock, so much so that he could hardly pay attention to his own creation. The fiery gown flickered and burned its trail on the stage, worn by a model who could not have done it even a fraction of the justice Anna could have. And yet still, it was magnificent. If proud Hera had commanded the stage before, here was Hestia, goddess of the eternal flame, setting fire to the place, just as he had intended it to.
He had fashioned a monster from the kindling of his love for her and set everything ablaze.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
Belle was staring at him with her mouth almost agape. This was the first time, of course, that she had seen the dress.
"Remy!" she whispered. "But I did not know that you made such a magnificent dress!"
He could say nothing back, only give a modest though absent smile.
Once more the curtains were opened, and the lights brightened. The trail of flames his dress had lit flickered out.
He took in a shallow breath, as Selfridge stepped up to the podium once more, stilling the murmurings of the audience with a single raised hand.
"First," he spoke, "I would like to offer my sincere admiration and thanks to all the many artists who have come together to make the beautiful art we have witnessed today. All entrants, and their ateliers, are to be praised and congratulated for their industriousness and their skill. It is due in no small part to your talent and dedication that I can say that the future of fashion in the city of New York is indeed very bright."
He paused for effect, taking in the audience before continuing.
"As I intimated earlier, it was very hard for me to pick a winner. Having seen the collection, I think you can understand why. There are two very exceptional gowns that immediately stood out to me – as I am confident they stood out to you all. That is why, for the first time, I have found myself in the curious position of having to give out two prizes."
Remy suddenly found himself gripping Belle's hand – a surprising circumstance to her, for she could not comprehend what he instinctively knew to be true in that moment.
"And since I will not keep you in suspense any longer," Selfridge was continuing, "it is my great honour to award the first ever American Selfridge prize to two very remarkable dresses – the Peacock Dress of the House of Burford; and the Phoenix Dress of Maison Maillot."
Unprompted applause erupted, and Remy got to his feet. His hand was still in Belle's; and he only came to himself when she squeezed it. Selfridge had been speaking, yet he hadn't heard a word of it.
"Go!" Belle ordered him, her expression caught at some intersection between delight and exasperation. "You are being called up!"
Burford was already mounting the stage; and so he let go of Belle's hand and followed. Selfridge shook his hand warmly. It was impossible for Remy to register a single thing going on about him. There was joy, of course, and pride – but these were both tempered by the very obvious absence of the person who should have been standing up there beside him, sharing in his win, in their win – Anna. Instead, he had to endure the presence of Burford, who was so relishing his stolen glory that it was almost intolerable. If he had thought it advisable to tell the entire room the truth of the matter, he most certainly would have done so there and then!
"It is just as well," Selfridge remarked with a wink, a trophy in each hand, "that I came prepared for the eventuality that I may need more than one of these."
So saying, he handed one to each winner.
Applause washed over him.
He caught Maillot's face, Belle's face, in the crowd.
But the face that should have been there with him was not.
He walked off the stage in a daze, ignoring the throng of people, friends and strangers, waiting to congratulate him.
There was, of course, only one destination he had in mind.
The gallery had been turned into a temporary dressing room; and he ducked and weaved through the throng of feminine forms in various states of undress, not caring a jot about any of them. There was only one person he was looking for – and when he saw her, she was still dressed as the Peacock, standing at a dresser, and carefully taking her makeup off.
"Anna!" he called to her breathlessly.
She looked up and saw him, a smile of genuine pleasure breaking out on her face.
"Remy! However did you get back here!"
He didn't want to tell her that nothing could have stopped him. He only had enough words for one thing. He caught her by her arms and said:
"You won, Anna!"
She stared up at him, utterly uncomprehending; and the smile grew on his face as he added:
"We both did."
"Both!" she breathed.
He grinned; he nodded.
He didn't care what anyone thought, and he didn't care who was watching.
He cupped her face between both hands and bestowed her with a passionate kiss.
And she, of course – once she had got over her surprise – threw her arms around him, and kissed him back.
-oOo-
Selfridge's suite, as the lodgings of a guest of honour, was in the State Apartments.
Burford was clearly quite agitated to be finally receiving his prize; so preoccupied was he, indeed, that he said nothing to Remy on the way there. For Remy's part, he was rather more curious than uneasy. When they knocked at the door, a valet opened it for them – and there was Mr. Selfridge, sitting at his desk just off the foyer.
The valet ushered them in, and Selfridge, aware that he had visitors, stood.
"Gentlemen," he greeted them. "Once again – congratulations. I do not think the prize could go to any others more deserving! I must confess that when I became acquainted with both your gowns, I knew it would be impossible for me to choose between the two. Your gown, LeBeau, is quite the force of nature, and strikes like divine lightning – from the very first, it could only be a winning entry. But yours, Burford, touches the soul. Unlike the phoenix, the peacock is not immortal – despite its beauty, it knows the sorrow of death, and loss. To capture such a thing is a gift. I could not let it go unrewarded."
Hands were shaken; and Selfridge moved back to his desk. There were two blank cheques on it.
"Well, I suppose I should give you what you have both come here for." He leaned over the desk and dipped his pen into the inkwell. "Well, Burford? How should I make it out to you?"
Burford gave his full name; he watched on with beady eyes as it was signed to the cheque; and he received it with many profusions of gratitude, which Remy had to stomach with as much begrudging patience as he could muster.
"And you, sir?" Selfridge addressed him, leaning back over the desk. "What name shall I make this out to?"
"Miss. Anna Raven," Remy responded, without a jot of hesitation.
Selfridge, whose hand had been poised to write, looked at him and blinked.
"I am not sure I understand," he said.
"The House of Burford has a designer in far more need of your generosity than I," Remy replied; to which Burford himself, fearful of his deception being revealed, interjected loudly:
"Now see here, LeBeau—"
"Burford has a designer with whom he shares creative duties," Remy cut in, ignoring the man's squawk of protest. "A lady who, for feminine reasons, has chosen to remain anonymous. I know that Burford has agreed to keep the lady's identity secret, and has been generous enough to offer to split the prize money equally with her. But I do not see why both should not receive the full amount for their efforts."
Burford was suddenly quite silent. Selfridge, upon hearing this, had risen once more to his full height.
"But what of you, Mr. LeBeau?" he spoke, puzzled. "The prize is as much yours as theirs. You won as fair and square as they did. It would hardly be reasonable to deprive you of what you, from your own efforts, have succeeded in attaining."
Remy gave a small smile. He had decided, and quite some time ago, that he was not going to be gainsaid in this.
"Sir, if I may – I am not in need of money. It is the least of my concerns; and two thousand dollars is of very little consequence to me, if I may be vulgar about it. I have won the prestige of your prize; and I have won it for La Maison Maillot. That is the only matter that is of concern to me. Your money would find far better reward in the hands of a lady who has great talent, but few resources. Therefore, I am willing to give it up to her. Let Burford have his full due; and let the lady have hers. I am content with nothing more than the enhancement of my reputation."
Selfridge had listened to all of this carefully – and was astute enough to read between the perfectly crafted words of the man before him. He drew in a deep breath and said:
"You are quite sure this is the path you wish to take, LeBeau?"
"Naturally. Or I would not have spoken of it."
Selfridge nodded.
"As you wish." He glanced at Burford. "If you would fetch the lady, I would be most grateful."
Burford had already got what he had wanted – more than that. He was quite happy, on the reception of his two thousand dollars, to do as Selfridge suggested. When he had left, Selfridge turned back to Remy.
"You say this woman shares lead design duties with Burford. Yet she has few resources."
Remy nodded.
"As I said, sir."
Selfridge's smile was wry. He could comprehend the truth of the matter perfectly, and Remy was intelligent enough to perceive that he did.
"It seems to me," he spoke, "that you are rather taken with this woman, Mr. LeBeau."
Remy smiled.
"As you can see, sir, the lady has a rare talent. It should be celebrated. But she is too proud to accept monetary assistance from one who loves her, which, I suppose, is also to be commended. A woman's love ought not to be bought – but I wish to assist her, nevertheless. She has skill, and she has diligence. All she lacks is capital."
It could not be clearer to Selfridge, upon hearing this, that LeBeau was more than just taken with the lady in question – but he said nothing on it.
"And I suppose this transaction between us is to be kept secret?"
"I would be much obliged if you would keep it so, sir," Remy replied.
Again, Selfridge smiled.
"All right, then – so it shall be!" He held out his hand. "I wish you luck, Mr. LeBeau."
Remy took his hand and shook it.
"My thanks, sir," he said. "And good day."
-oOo-
Anna, having now changed into a more comfortable gabardine skirt and simple cotton blouse, ornamented only by a modest necktie of crimson silk, knocked quietly at the door of Selfridge's suite, wondering what on earth he could want her for. Burford had seemed rather excited when he had called her, but he had not explained himself, and she, not wanting to keep the venerable guest waiting, had not pressed for an explanation.
Now here she was, a little curious and a little anxious; and when she heard Selfridge's "come in", she entered quietly, shutting the door softly behind her.
He was sitting at a desk; and when he saw her, he stood, and gave her a smile.
"Miss. Raven. Please, do not stand in the foyer. Come."
Curiouser and curiouser!
She moved from the foyer and into the lounge, taking in the opulence of the suite around her. As she drew closer, Selfridge held out his hand to her, and it took a moment for her to realise that he wished to shake her hand.
Quite astonished now, she did so.
"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss. Raven," he said. "I am given to understand, from your associate Mr. Burford, that you are his secret weapon! That you and he share creative duties equally, and that the House of Burford's win today is as much your success as it is his."
If she had been astonished before, now she was quite flabbergasted!
"Come now, Miss," he spoke with a twinkle, when he saw how tongue-tied she was. "I have been told that you preferred your identity to be kept a secret; but you, at least, no longer need to pretend to me. You have quite the gift. I am glad to reward it."
Anna tried very hard to get over her shock. She didn't know what had possessed Burford to acknowledge her work to this man, but she found she was glad of it – even touched by it.
"Thank you, sir," she finally managed to say. "I am… flattered."
"And I am glad to hear it," he said with a smile. He turned to his desk and picked up a slip of paper there. "I should like you to have this."
She took the paper and looked at it. It was a cheque, made out to her, for the sum of two thousand dollars.
She gaped.
"Sir! This is the full amount!"
"Do not be alarmed," he said soothingly. "I have given the same amount to Burford, and also to LeBeau. Burford was quite adamant that you be compensated accordingly. I believe he felt some guilt, that you were labouring away in the shadows, without any recognition to show for it. And so he asked; and I was only happy to deliver."
She stared up at him. She rarely flailed with words, but she did so then.
"Sir, I am… I don't quite know what to say!"
He grinned.
"A thank you will suffice, I think," was his humorous response. It somehow put her at ease. She let out a pent-up breath and allowed herself to smile.
"Then I will thank you, sir," she replied graciously. "From the bottom of my heart. This means a great deal to me."
"You are very welcome, Miss," he smiled. "And if I may say so – you have a rare talent. Nurture it."
He held out his hand, and this time she readily shook it.
"Good luck, Miss. Raven," he said.
-oOo-
She found Burford down in the gallery, firing irascible orders at the maids and porters, who were attempting to stow away the now-famous Peacock Dress.
"Gerald," she greeted him, with a smile on her face.
"What?" Interrupted in the middle of scolding a maid, he looked over his shoulder and saw her standing there. "Oh. Anna. These incompetents simply do not know how to properly store and package a dress! I should have had one of our girls come down to assist!"
She could only give a look of expressive, though humorous, exasperation.
"Here," she said to the maid. "Let me help."
Together, and with her guidance, they managed to pack the dress away without any further ado, and Burford was now satisfied.
"Well now, my dear," he said, once the porters had carried the trunk away. "I see you are looking very pleased with yourself! How magnanimous of Mr. Selfridge, to compensate you too!"
"Yes," she beamed. "And I know I have you to thank for it. I am so very grateful, Gerald. It means a great deal to me."
Burford was, however, quite astonished.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"There is no need to pretend," she replied cheerily. "Mr. Selfridge explained it all to me! It is most kind of you to recognise my work after all this time. The reward is more than worth the wait!"
Myriad emotions cartwheeled across Burford's features – confusion, realisation, alarm… before settling on false modesty.
"Yes! Quite!" he blustered. "You deserve to be compensated, Anna! It was my pleasure to, ah… facilitate your, um… reward!"
Anna blinked, the smile dropping from her face.
Burford was a great salesman… but he was a terrible actor. She had thought guilt, at Remy's accusations – and moreover, the truth of them – had caused him to regret how he had treated her, and give her some small recompense for her work. It was quite clear to her now that he had not.
"I am much obliged," she spoke quietly. But Burford had already moved on to harass some other porter who was apparently manhandling his luggage.
Anna stood and looked down at the cheque in her hands.
A truth was slowly dawning on her.
"Come along, Anna!" Burford was shouting at her over his shoulder. "We must make sure that this dress is safely brought back to the studio!"
-oOo-
Nine in the evening saw Remy back at his drawing desk.
That day he had won a competition, and a prize, and a trophy for his employer… and, most important of all, a cheque for Miss. Anna Raven. But when inspiration struck, he was not one to rest on his laurels. Now was no different.
He was interrupted by a sharp knock on his front door, and, setting aside his pencil, he got up to see who it was.
He was a little surprised to see Anna, having obviously arrived straight from work. Her expression was completely unsmiling.
"Anna," he greeted her, glad, despite the soberness of her countenance, to see her. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Can I come in, Remy?" she asked.
Her tone was dour. It seemed she was not here for pleasure, and so he obligingly held the door open for her.
"Of course."
She stepped inside, but he noticed she did not take off her hat and coat. He was puzzled by her demeanour, but, not wanting to be impolite, he led her into the lounge and offered her a seat.
"I'd rather stand," she said. He stared at her. She wasn't angry. But she was… something else he couldn't quite read.
"Have I offended you, Anna?" he asked.
She looked at him a moment, silent. Then she slipped a hand into her purse and brought out a white rectangle of paper. When she showed it to him, he saw immediately that it was a cheque, made out to her.
A smile brightened his face, to know that Selfridge had been as good as his word.
"Ah. Selfridge gave you the prize money you deserve! I am glad of it!"
"Remy," she said quietly. "This is your doing. Isn't it."
The smile slipped from his face. He could tell, from her tone and her expression, that she knew it to be the case. He did not know how she could know – he trusted that Selfridge had kept his involvement secret – but he knew that she did.
"How did you find out?" he asked her.
It was almost like she was relieved to hear him acknowledge it. A little of the edge went out of her face.
"Selfridge told me that Burford had asked for me to be given the full amount of the prize money, that he had wanted me to be paid my due. But when I thanked Gerald for his kindness, he blustered and bluffed his way through accepting my thanks, enough to make it quite clear that he had done nothing of the sort."
Remy could only give a helpless look.
"Ah," he said.
"And so," she spoke, "this can only be your doing. You asked Selfridge to give me your share of the prize money, didn't you."
He said nothing. He still wasn't sure whether she was angry with him or not.
"Remy," she spoke at last, a kind of helpless vexation on her face. "I've told you. I cannot accept your money."
"It is not my money," he retorted. "It is Selfridge's money."
"Only by a technicality!"
"And," he continued his thought, ignoring her statement, "when he heard that it was you who had made the Peacock Dress, he was happy to gift his own money to you, rather than to me. Now you have the capital you desire. Use it as you see fit."
She stared at him, almost disbelieving.
"I cannot use this money," she said stubbornly.
"Whyever not, Anna? It is money you won fairly. You would have allowed that pig Burford to steal half of what was yours! In telling Selfridge the truth of the matter – well, most of it anyway – I merely ensured that you were paid what you were due. Accept your reward – you earned every penny of it."
Frustration was edging into his voice. He didn't understand why she would deny herself this. She seemed to sense his growing agitation.
"Remy," she began again in a calmer tone. "I cannot accept the reward at your expense."
He sighed agitatedly.
"Anna. It is not at my expense. I do not need the money, and I do not want it. Selfridge never so much as wrote a cheque out to me. And do not speak to me of technicalities! If you must think of that money has having been won at my expense, then think of it as an investment in whatever business venture you decide to pursue."
Her eyes went wide. After a moment, she sank onto the nearby couch and gazed at him dazedly.
"You would… invest in my work?"
"Of course I would!" he almost blasted. "Why would I not?"
She dropped her gaze into her lap.
"I… I am not sure."
Her sudden uncertainty appeased his anger. He crossed the room and sat down on the couch beside her.
"Anna," he said seriously, "It is true that I love you, and that there are many things I would give to you out of that love. But I am also a rational man, and I can quite objectively see the skill and talent that you have. If they are things your ambition demands you take further, I will stake a great many things on having you succeed – my time and my money for one, if you will not accept any other form of support. You spoke to me of your dream – I happen to think it is not a dream. I think it is something achievable, practical, and likely to be very successful. If it troubles you that I would give you capital out of affection, then I will allow you to assign to me whatever mercenary reasons you must. For I believe that, were I to invest in your little atelier, I would see a fortune soon enough."
She raised her eyes to his. It was clear that he was entirely in earnest. And it was enough, at least, for a small smile to begin to break out on her lips.
"Remy," she spoke, "I do believe I have a better idea."
He was surprised to see how playful she suddenly looked, after he had battled against her stubbornness so valiantly.
"Oh? And what is that?"
She shifted a little towards him, covering one of his hands in both of hers.
"I have a very original idea. What if… Well. What if we were… both to invest in one another's work?" She paused, flicked her gaze up to his; and when he said nothing, she continued: "What if we were to go into business… together?"
He held her gaze, clearly stunned by the notion.
"Now that is a rare idea!" he murmured.
"Isn't it? I have my dream; and you, my love, merely require an employer who would give you a great deal of latitude in order to achieve your best work."
He laughed.
"Ma chere, are you implying that you would be my employer?"
She couldn't help but chuckle – for the idea had crossed her mind, if only in sport.
"No! I am implying that you and I work for ourselves. Together. As equals."
The idea held promise to him. She could tell, by the smile on his face and the sparkle in his eyes.
"Well," he spoke lackadaisically, "oneself is always best able to grant oneself latitude… I shall refuse to be as taciturn or demanding on myself as Maillot is, that is for certain!"
She squeezed his hand.
"Remy! I am being quite serious. And I am being thoroughly in earnest when I say that we each of us won Selfridge's competition for the other."
"Now you jest, chere," he laughed – but she shook her head.
"I do not. I could not have finished my dress without you; and you could not have finished your dress without me. Your talent raises mine, you once said to me. And I said yours raised mine. It was not a lie. If the world could see the true Phoenix Dress, the one in the room next door, they would know the true brilliance of what we could achieve together."
His eyes softened. With his free hand he reached up to run his fingers along her jawline.
"Oh, the world will see the true Phoenix Dress, ma chere. The next ball I am invited to, you shall come with me, and you shall wear it and dazzle the world as intended."
"Hm." She considered it. "It would be quite the unveiling, for our new atelier! Alas, people would say we had stolen it from Maison Maillot!"
"Then we shall have to come up with some other magnificent gown to tempt our potential customers, no?"
"You are teasing, Remy. I am being serious."
"As am I," he rejoined; and, leaning in towards one another, they kissed. Anna was still not quite sure whether it was to seal the deal, or merely an opportunity to reconcile over what appeared to have been their first real argument; but she was happy to kiss him for whatever reason, so she did not complain.
When it was over, he smiled and stood, holding out his hand to her.
"Speaking of magnificent gowns… Would you like to see what I've been working on?"
She took the hand he offered and got to her feet.
"The first gown of our first collection?"
"Well – you haven't seen it yet. But if it pleases you, then absolutely – yes. And," he added, with a wink over his shoulder as he led her from the room, "if it pleases you better, perhaps you will even stay the night."
-oOo-