The Memory Dress

Chapter Six

SIX

Meredith

1989

What a commission! It’s everything she hoped for when she took the position. The chance to see her work sit across the front pages of every national newspaper around the world.

Now she would work around the clock with no complaints if she needed to. Day after day. Night after night. She knows she owes William a great deal for giving her this opportunity.

Twelve days is her assessment. The time needed to transform the precisely cut silk crepe fabric into something worthy of the woman and the occasion. But William takes longer than anticipated. Cutting and recutting, mapping and remapping, on and off the stand, solving one problem, then creating another, not entirely satisfied with the dummy calico. Now he has remade sections of the jacket in a softer crepe, allowing him to get as close to the real look and feel as possible before the point of no return, when the fabric will be cut and there will be no way to reverse the slice of the scissors.

No one can approach his bench. His head is bowed and all anyone will hear from him in the course of a day are muttered frustrations that they know better than to try to understand or interrupt. Whatever it is, it can wait. The clock is ticking over him. The immovable date is approaching. The world is waiting. And his tension is absorbed by everyone else in the room.

When his pattern is eventually ready, there is no celebration in the workroom. It is passed to Peter, who studies it before the fabric is rolled out along a huge smooth-surfaced table. The assembly of the jigsaw puzzle can begin. Meredith watches with fascination. How to get the greatest number of pieces from the most economical stretch of fabric? The only acceptable interruption comes from Catherine. Another commission, very last-minute, can it be done in time? she needs to know. Then back to the table to cut. The fabric yielding easily under the fall of steel blades.

The following morning, they are ready for Meredith. She looks at the pieces; she studies William’s notes on the paper margins; she looks at the calendar. Ten days until the dress and jacket are due to be delivered, well in advance of the date they will be worn, as requested. She looks again, sensing there is a mistake. That the pieces of the right sleeve will not fit together as Catherine intended them to. This is the very first dress and jacket she will work on for this special client, her first chance to impress everyone. There cannot be mistakes. It’s unthinkable.

William’s mood has lifted. He is lighter, more bearable to be around now that the task has left his table. She feels comfortable questioning him.

“William, can I speak to you about the jacket?” she ventures.

“Of course, what about it?” He’s almost dismissive, not expecting any issues.

“Something isn’t quite right with the sleeves. I think there is an error. One is coming up short.”

She feels the atmosphere crackle around her. A hush falls and she isn’t sure what people are more worried about: that she is right and what that will mean, or William’s reaction to being publicly questioned by her. She suddenly feels she has betrayed him.

“It’s correct.” He lines the paper pattern pieces up on the table in front of her. “They are perfect.”

With every stitch Meredith makes, she feels more confident in her assessment, more concerned that every moment she continues to work is time wasted. Time she cannot get back.

In the end, she is right. But it will be weeks before their professional relationship recovers from that fact.

It’s nearly two weeks since William has spoken to Meredith, beyond what is absolutely essential for them both to perform their roles. She remains professional. Arriving early. Responding urgently to every request made of her. She smiles. She’s pleasant. She is not going to allow the bruised ego of one man to ruin this opportunity for her. She also knows he can’t feel slighted forever. Surely no one has the energy for that.

But why has he been so silent? Nothing about the way William conducts himself in the workroom—brief in his exchanges with others but always polite, never condescending to younger members of the team, always considerate of how the speed he works at impacts everyone else—would suggest there is an insecurity under his calm exterior. And yet, Meredith’s comments have clearly knocked off-balance what had the potential to be a solid working relationship. Is he too used to keeping his vulnerabilities to himself and her comments shone too bright a spotlight on them? Maybe she could have been more subtle in her approach?

She’s been watching William. There is an underlying distraction to his work since she pointed out the mistake. Occasions when he appears deep in thought, concentrating on something beyond the paper in his hands. He will walk over to Peter’s table when he’s not at it, determined apparently to work something out. Maybe she is simply reading too much into it and this is him—although Peter’s tactless comment one morning that “You’re no longer head girl then” would suggest not.

Then, almost as quickly as he froze her out, William softens. Meredith is making an early-morning cup of tea in the staff room and there he is beside her. At first, he says nothing, goes about making his own hot drink, but she can sense from his body language, angled toward her, closer than he needs to be, that he wants to talk.

“Do you feel settled in now?” he finally asks, just as she is lifting her mug to leave the room.

She is unsure how to respond. This is the first vaguely personal approach he has made, and it feels premature without an apology for how deliberately and unhelpfully distant he has been. But she can also see a nervousness in his eyes, like seeking her out today has taken some courage. Has he been waiting for her to leave the workroom so the two of them can speak?

“I think settling in could have been made a little easier for me.” Meredith doesn’t allow her tone to sound cross or bitter, just matter-of-fact. He can hardly disagree, and she’s not going to pretend everything has been fine between them when clearly it hasn’t been.

William nods, appears at a loss about what to say next, so she puts her mug down, a clear signal that she is happy to wait and hear whatever it is—presumably an apology is lurking somewhere beyond his immediate reach. But then he changes tack entirely.

“Are you married, Meredith?”

“Oh, um, no I’m not.” She smiles, slightly bemused at how they’ve gone from zero personal contact to such a direct inquiry into her private life.

“Sorry, that’s a bit blunt, isn’t it?” William smiles too. “I suppose I was just wondering how you might be juggling the hours here with family life.”

“It’s not an issue for me right now. How about you?” She wants to be friendly, but she also feels a little bruised by the way he has treated her for pointing out a fault that needed to be corrected. It was unfair of him.

“No, me neither. Not the marrying kind, I suppose.”

Meredith considers his age. Late forties to her late thirties perhaps. Old enough to have come to that conclusion, but the words don’t sit comfortably on his lips, he doesn’t say them with total ease—or conviction.

“Really?” She offers him the chance to be a little more honest.

William doesn’t respond immediately but opens one of the white wall cupboards and pulls out a small tin. “Custard cream?”

“Yes, thank you.” Meredith takes one, then leans her back against the work surface, hoping no one will interrupt now that the two of them are finally talking. She waits for his answer.

“I think it may be more to do with a lack of nerve, if I’m being really honest.” He places the tin back and takes up the spot next to her, the best position to avoid direct eye contact.

“What are you so nervous about? Women aren’t that terrifying, are we?” She feels confident that she isn’t at least.

“Honestly, Meredith, I could never understand why a long-term relationship or marriage is the place where people believe they’ll feel safest. The stakes are so much higher, aren’t they? There is so much more to lose.”

Meredith contemplates this for a moment. “Yes, I can see what you mean. But that is also assuming there will be a sad ending. It’s quite a negative view, isn’t it?” Or maybe one that has been shaped by a previous hurt. “You never wanted children?” Since he’s being so direct, there seems no reason for her not to be.

“No.” This time there is no ambiguity to his response. “It’s not that it was never an ambition, just that that ship has sailed and I’m okay with that.” He shrugs his shoulders, it’s something he feels is beyond his control. “Anyway, I better get back to it, but I just wanted to say thank you for saving the jacket. Someone had got it wrong. I knew it wasn’t me and I was confident it wasn’t you either. But someone was happy for it to look like your mistake. That’s what I needed to be sure about.”

“Okay.” She’s surprised he has devoted so much thought to it.

“It was a mistake to underestimate you, Meredith. I won’t ever do it again—and I won’t let anyone else either. You deserved my support—and now you’ve got it.”

It isn’t an apology, but it feels like so much more. It’s clear recognition of her talent by someone who has a great deal of it himself. It’s a promise that he is now on her side and will stay that way. That her days here will be happier, protected. And despite Peter’s prediction, perhaps this is just the beginning, not the end.