The Memory Dress

Chapter Four

FOUR

Meredith

1988

“Well, you must be doing something right.” There is an edge to Peter’s tone this morning that suggests a degree of trouble is on the horizon. “William doesn’t normally bother to get to know anyone new until they’ve really proven themselves.” Peter is standing over Meredith’s desk, again , distracting her from a deadline she must hit by lunchtime today. She lets the pale blue silk slacken in her hands, knowing that unless she indulges this conversation, Peter will linger and waste more of her precious time. “And what are you? Six weeks in, barely into your trial period and already he’s requested you for one of his special commissions .”

Now Peter has Meredith’s genuine attention.

“What do you mean?” Meredith looks toward William’s workstation, but he isn’t there. He was called to Catherine’s office about an hour ago and is yet to reappear.

“A dress for her . A very special one this time. She wants something a little different apparently. More dramatic. Naturally William will be working on it, but the strange thing is he wants you on it too. I’m sure he’ll fill you in when he’s back. Ah, here he is.”

William comes back through the door of the workroom, registers the devious look on Peter’s face, ignores the pair of them, and returns to his desk. Realizing William has no intention of being drawn on the subject now, Peter retreats to his own table, leaving Meredith wondering whether any of what she was just told is accurate or not.

William waits until everyone has left the workroom that night before, finally, he asks to speak to Meredith.

“Do you have a moment?” He waits alongside her table.

“Of course. How can I help?” Meredith stands.

“I’m sure Peter has already filled you in on whatever half details he has managed to scrape together by hanging around unwanted in various corridors…”

Meredith can’t help but laugh. It’s exactly the sort of juvenile thing she has already witnessed Peter doing.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” William cracks a small smile. “He may have told you that I suggested you work on this next piece, and if he has, I’m afraid he’s wrong.”

“Oh.” Meredith can’t hide the disappointment in her face.

“I would have asked for you, but I didn’t need to,” William quickly corrects himself. “Catherine beat me to it. She specifically wants you on this one and, well, I couldn’t agree more.”

Meredith is shocked that such an endorsement of her work has come so soon.

“Wow. I mean, obviously, I would be honored, but do you really think…” She trails off, all of a sudden realizing she shouldn’t undermine his obvious confidence in her.

“I’ve seen your dedication. You’ve been the first one into the workroom every morning since you started. I like that you care as much as you do, and so does Catherine. It hasn’t gone unnoticed. And…” Now it’s William’s turn to hesitate. He breaks eye contact. “It will give me the chance to get to know you a little better too.” By the time he finishes the sentence, he’s already walking away from her, not waiting to see how his comments land, trying to play them down, even as he’s saying them.

Meredith isn’t sure why William credits this decision solely to Catherine. She may have sanctioned it—Meredith’s sure she would need to approve it—but the idea can surely have come only from William, the person who sees the quality of her work, day in and day out, in the workroom.

“Thank you, William. That means a lot, really it does. Can I see it?”

“See it?” He turns to face her again.

“I mean, is there an early sketch that you can show me? Perhaps just to give me a hint of what’s to come?” She looks toward his table, knowing it will be there somewhere.

“It’s already on my wall.” The two of them step toward his workstation and Meredith’s eyes follow the line of dress silhouettes hanging in chronological order on the wall behind his desk. “It’s the last one.”

Meredith leans in for a closer look. “I’m going to be working on this ? With you?” She swallows down the weight of expectation already building within her. In less than two months she has graduated from the newest recruit to working on what will undoubtedly be one of the most talked-about dresses of the year.

“You will.” William allows himself a deep smile now. “It’s going to be covered in thousands of simulated pearls, not a dress that will be forgotten in a hurry, and a chance for you to add your name to the history books.” He looks directly at her, knowing he is delivering the best possible news, enjoying the fact.

Meredith glances around the tiny hidden workroom in the center of London where this will happen, with paint peeling from its walls, not even a potted plant to break up the unexceptional blandness or add even a hint of personality or color to its foundations.

No one could possibly guess what goes on in here. The thousands of footsteps that pass by every day on the street outside, people with no reason to question what could be happening in that unassuming room.

Meredith’s eyes find the noticeboard on the wall to the left of her table, filled with the kind of images she hopes one day will bear her name, despite the anonymity there must always be. That unforgettable black dress worn in Rome, that had William’s expertise written all over it. Finely corded lace over a black silk bodice, long sleeves, an Elizabethan collar, cut at midcalf length and scalloped at the hem, the only accessory a mantilla. An image that was published around the world, and now here is William giving her the chance to claim a little of the private glory on the next dress.

Meredith understands the spotlight is not hers to seek. Far from courting the press, Catherine has sought to evade them, avoiding the theater of the fashion runway unlike so many of her contemporaries, letting only a very small handful of trusted press into her studio. Even then, in the minutes before their arrival, she turns any photographs of her with her most famous client to the wall. There are strict instructions never to throw anything relating to this client away. Some of the less principled press will go through the bins if their news desks demand it. Catherine must trust Meredith, which can only mean William trusts her too. Funny, it’s the second thought that makes a swell of pride fill her chest.

They are interrupted by a loud knock at the front door, and when William returns from answering it, he’s clutching a discreet posy of flowers. “They’re from her, for Catherine. A thank-you for the last dress, I expect.”

“How do you know who they are from?” Meredith can see the card is still wedged unopened among the blooms and there isn’t even any obvious branding to indicate a favored florist.

“It’s forget-me-nots. She always sends forget-me-nots. They’re her favorites.”