The Restoration Garden: A Novel - 15

Irene

With no hints other than to wear my best dress, I followed James into the warm summer evening to celebrate the first night of our new life as a married couple. The streets of London buzzed with life—people elegantly dressed, coming and going from restaurants and galleries and nightclubs.

James led me down a narrow street that reeked of rotten fish. I had to tread carefully, avoiding the strange puddles and piles of garbage. The thought of any respectable establishment hidden back here was incongruous, but I didn’t question it. I trusted James implicitly. A metal door marked only by a bronze number loomed at the end of the alley.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you see it.”

As soon as he opened the door, a wave of smoke and music flowed out. A broad-shouldered man in an ill-fitting suit stood inside, but he didn’t say anything in greeting. He simply nodded at James, allowing us through. We descended a short flight of stairs into a huge room filled with round tables and dozens of people dancing and drinking everywhere I looked. At the far end was a stage occupied by a band playing some kind of music that sounded like jazz.

“This is incredible,” I said, having to almost scream the words over the noise. “I can’t believe this is hidden down here.”

My arm was tucked inside his, and he squeezed it tighter. “There are so many wonderful things hidden from plain sight if you’re willing to look.”

The venue was so crowded, I collided with a man stepping back from the bar, knocking over the pint glass in his hand.

“Watch it,” he said, scowling as the beer spread along the front of his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly.

The man’s gaze raked over me like I was little more than a piece of trash in his way.

“If you ask me, you look better that way,” James said.

“I didn’t ask—” The man’s anger seemed to vanish almost instantly, replaced with a hearty laugh. “James? You son of a bitch, what are you doing here? I heard you were rotting in Holloway with all the other traitors and sinners.”

James let go of my hand and embraced the man in a quick hug. “Nothing a little money and influence can’t smooth out. But the RAF discharged me from my duties.”

“Dishonorably, I hope,” the man said with a booming laugh.

“Is there any other kind?” Turning to me, James said, “Roger, this is my wife, Irene Atherton.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, hoping to start afresh.

“A new girl already?” Roger said, barely bothering to look at me. “Quite impressive.”

I looked to James in confusion. He shook his head with an amused grin. “Ignore him. He’s an oaf.”

“And proud of it,” Roger said. “Come on, we’re at our regular spot.”

An oaf, indeed. Despite feeling as welcome as a cockroach, I refused to let this Roger character sour my mood. This was my first night out in London, and the music was infectious. I was going to enjoy every second of it.

We followed Roger to a dark corner, where a dark-haired woman in a slinky black dress with impossibly elegant long limbs and a cigarette dangling from her red lips sat at a table covered in empty glasses. Next to her were two men—one of whom looked to be as old as my father, with salt-and-pepper hair and an impeccably sharp suit, while the other was passed out with his head on the table.

“Irene, meet my cousin, Catherine, and my friend Leslie, and whoever was unlucky enough to think he could keep up with him tonight.”

Catherine jumped to her feet, balancing precariously on her sky-high heels as she threw her skinny arms at me in a hug. “I’m so excited to finally meet you! James has been telling us so much about you,” she practically squealed.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, too,” I said earnestly.

Leslie shoved the younger man off his seat. “Make room for the lady.”

He fell to the ground in a drunken stupor before stumbling away.

“That’s not necessary,” I said in horror. “Really. I’m fine to stand.”

“I was tired of him anyway. I’ll get you a drink. Sidecar?” He disappeared before I could answer.

The bandleader announced they were taking a short break. The din quieted to a more tolerable level as people streamed off the dance floor to refresh their drinks and rest their feet.

“So,” Catherine purred. “James’s letters said you’re an artist.”

I was grateful the darkness of the club concealed my blush. “I am. At least, I’m trying to be.”

“Perhaps you could take her to some of the galleries while I’m working,” James interjected. “She’s never been to London before.”

“Never?” Catherine’s eyes widened. “What a shame. You absolutely must visit the National Gallery, but first let me take you shopping. You haven’t lived until you’ve spent obscene amounts of money at Harrods.”

“You mean your father’s money,” James said teasingly.

Rather than be offended, Catherine shrugged. “You don’t expect me to spend my own, do you?” She winked at me, as though we were sharing a joke.

Leslie returned with a handful of drinks, setting them down on the table. “Finally, we can toast to the bride and groom.”

Everyone clinked their glasses, except Roger. He lifted his tumbler only the barest fraction to avoid being called out for rudeness. It was clear he and James were friends. I couldn’t understand why he seemed to dislike me so instantly. Surely he ought to be happy for his friend’s marriage?

I took a sip of my sidecar. The mix of sour and sweet was unexpected but strangely delicious. I savored the warm burn of the brandy before licking the sugared rim.

“Enjoying that, are you?” James teased.

The alcohol gave me an extra dose of courage. “Almost as much as I enjoy being your wife.”

“Young love is so sweet, my teeth are practically rotting from all of this happiness,” Leslie said, taking another sip of his wine.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Catherine chided playfully.

Leslie sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine, fine. I wish you all the joy in the world. Better?”

“You always were a sentimental one,” James said with a laugh.

“How did you two meet?” Catherine asked.

“James was a friend of my stepcousin Michael,” I said, choking a little on his name. It still hurt to think of him in past tense.

“May he rest in peace,” James said solemnly.

For a reason I couldn’t explain, my gaze shifted to Roger. He was staring back at me with a blank expression, as though he had no emotion at all. But the slightest tic in his jaw suggested otherwise.

“Did you know him, too?” I asked before I could think better of it.

“We were all schoolmates,” James said.

“A long time ago,” Roger said before downing the last of his drink.

I wondered whether he was truly so heartless as to feel nothing in this moment. But people grieved in their own ways, I supposed.

“Why are we talking about depressing things when tonight is supposed to be a celebration?” Catherine asked. She pursed her red lips and glanced at the stage. “I want to dance.”

As if on cue, the band returned to their instruments.

I looked to James excitedly before quickly realizing my mistake. Of course he couldn’t dance on his injured leg. He might never be able to walk properly again, much less perform a foxtrot.

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll be fine over here.”

Catherine grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor just in time for the band to start a new song. We weren’t the only women dancing together. The ratio of women to men, as in every other place in this country, was grievously skewed. A handful of uniformed men lingered next to the bar, with a few others making the most of their time off on the dance floor.

Eventually, Leslie joined us, demonstrating the perfect technique for the rumba. Catherine picked up the steps easily. I was certain I looked like a clomping elephant next to her, but I didn’t care. The more the alcohol flowed, the slipperier my worries became, losing all traction in my mind. I danced until the early hours of the morning, taking short breaks to refill my glass and spend time with my new husband whenever my feet needed a rest.

If it bothered James, he didn’t show it. Every time I glanced his way, he was busy talking to someone new, as if everyone in the night club wanted their turn with him. He was enjoying himself. That was what mattered.

I was alone when I woke the next morning. It was the absence of another heartbeat next to me that alerted me to that fact well before I opened my eyes. I’d become so used to Margaret’s soft whimpers and tiny breath that it was strange to hear only my own. But that wasn’t the only thing that was different. The din of cars and people just beyond the window. The cotton sheets and thin pillow that smelled like a man’s cologne.

Untethered memories of last night flashed in my brain, like scattered pieces of a puzzle I could barely fit together. But then, with a gasp, I did remember. We’d kissed passionately. Recklessly. I’d let James take off my clothes and lay me down on the bed. He’d lain on top of me, with nothing between us but our skin. I sat up, wincing from the light, and felt a jolt of pain between my thighs.

In a panic I called James’s name, but there was no answer. I forced the covers back and rose to my feet, only to be greeted with a new horror. Blood had dripped down my thighs, leaving a dark stain on the sheets.

I tore the sheets from the mattress and scrubbed them in the bathtub until the stain faded to a dull pink. I cleaned my own body next. My legs were so tender, even the graze of soap against my skin caused an unbearable sting. Where had James gone? How could he have left me alone after last night? This was our first morning together as a married couple. He was supposed to be here to hold me and tell me he loved me.

I fought tears as I dressed myself and searched the kitchen for something to eat, hoping that might quell the roiling in my stomach. There was no food at all. Not even a box of crackers or tea.

Of course not. James wasn’t the type of man who cooked for himself. He’d mentioned on our first date that he didn’t believe in suffering through ration-compliant meals when he could afford to dine at the ritziest restaurants.

A knock sounded at the door, disrupting my spiral of worries. Before I had the chance to open it, the knock came again, rather more insistent this time. I opened the door cautiously to find Catherine on the other side.

“There you are! I was beginning to worry you had forgotten about our date today.” She was dressed in a sharp red suit that set off her dark locks and pale skin.

The excited pitch of her voice made my head throb even worse. I winced, trying to remember what promises I had made and cursing myself for doing so.

She sighed. “James has given me strict instructions to take you shopping. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“But I don’t have any money.”

“Darling, you do not need to worry about money. James has arranged for everything. We’ll start with Harrods, then Selfridges. After that we can visit some of the smaller boutiques.”

Relief coursed through me. How silly I’d been not to trust James. He hadn’t abandoned me on my first day in London. He’d taken care of everything, just like he’d promised. “Could we start with lunch instead?”

“Of course!” She linked her arm through mine and urged me out the door.

Despite my wretched state, lunch with Catherine proved to be exactly the distraction I needed. We dined at the Ritz, where they served every type of pastry and fruit under the sun—not that my stomach would allow for anything but plain toast. She gabbed so easily throughout the entire meal, oblivious to my relative silence. I didn’t mind, though. It was exciting hearing about her life, and it allowed me to eat my lunch peacefully. If she judged me unfavorably for my American accent or lack of worldliness, she didn’t show it. If anything, she seemed happy to have an audience for her stories.

Catherine was at least a decade older than me and had grown up wealthy, like James. In her youth, she embarked on a career as a dancer with a prestigious ballet company, traveling the continent to perform. “But the schedule was just too grueling. At one point, we were billeted in a tiny inn that required us to sleep four to a room, with only one bed. I quit that very day and became a model instead. Much less arduous. And what about you? Have you always been an artist?”

“Oh.” I set my fork down, unprepared to speak after listening to Catherine for so long. “It’s all I’ve ever aspired to be.” I didn’t want to explain that I was only eighteen and had spent my life until this point chasing unruly children.

“Well, don’t be surprised if Leslie insists you pose for him at some point. You have rather lovely bone structure.”

“He’s an artist, too?”

“All of James’s friends are. He seems to attract them like flies to honey, despite not having a lick of talent himself.”

“Even Roger?” I couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of his hostility toward me.

“He aspires to be a writer. His work isn’t half bad, to be honest. I convinced him to read some of his poetry for me one morning. I recall it was good, but I admit, it’s difficult to focus when a man is reading poetry to you while sitting naked in a lounge chair.”

“You and Roger . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought of them together was too incongruous to contemplate.

She waved her hand dismissively. “We’re not together. But we’ve enjoyed a dalliance once or twice over the years. Usually after a long evening of drinking and dancing, when we both realized there was nothing better to be found.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re prudish about such things. This is London, darling.”

“Of course not,” I lied. “It’s just hard to imagine Roger with anyone.”

“He’s a very generous lover, but such a boor sometimes. You’ll get used to him eventually.”

“I doubt that. He acted as though he outright reviled me even before he knew my name.”

“That’s just his way. But we shouldn’t talk about him when we have something much more important to discuss.” She set her arms on the table, looking at me expectantly.

I tilted my head with curiosity. “What would that be?”

“Your wardrobe. It’s Leslie’s birthday in a few weeks, and he insists that everyone abide by the dress code. This year the theme is gilded innocence.”

“Gilded innocence? What does that even mean?”

She lifted her champagne flute. “Whatever you want it to.”

I didn’t understand how she could consume alcohol again so soon after last night’s debauchery. My head spun at the thought of another sip, but I didn’t dare mention that to Catherine, lest she think of me as a child. “What will you be wearing?”

“A gold cocktail dress. Unfortunately, there’s nothing innocent about me, so the sweetheart neckline will have to do.”

“That sounds incredibly glamorous.”

“It’s a party, darling. It’s supposed to be glamorous. That’s why we need a proper day to shop. Hurry up and finish your meal.”

Unlike my stepmother, Catherine had no shame in enjoying her wealth and privilege. We were privately assisted by a saleswoman at Harrods who collected items for me with ruthless efficiency. Shoes, stockings, gowns, and even underwear. James, it appeared, had prearranged for this outing, calling ahead to open an account for me and leaving precise instructions that I not leave without an entire wardrobe. After an hour, I had everything I could possibly want and more. Except for a dress for the party.

I had no idea where to start. Catherine and the saleswoman brought an array of options for me while I waited in the fitting room, but none of them felt right. I didn’t want a boring dress that even Lady Montgomery would have approved of. But despite my desire to break free from my past, I didn’t feel comfortable in the risqué gowns Catherine favored.

Finally, I’d had enough of waiting for the dresses to be brought to me. I slipped my shirtdress back on and wandered outside the fitting room, determined to find something on my own. Even walking through the women’s clothing department was a luxurious experience unlike anything I had ever known. I marveled at the ornate ceilings almost as much as I did the vibrant colors and textures of the clothes.

“Irene, there you are!” Catherine said, a pile of gowns draped across her arms. “I was wondering where you went. I found this most perfect gown. I’m certain you’ll love it.”

She held up a frothy concoction of lace and tulle. I bit my lip, not wanting to offend my new friend with yet another rejection. But as I looked around in desperation for an excuse, my gaze fell upon the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. “That one,” I said in a breathy gasp.

It was knee length in an elegant shade of blush pink that reminded me of the peonies that grew every summer at Havenworth. The dress had a tasteful straight neckline with a tulle overlay covered in delicate gold appliqués in the shape of roses.

When I tried it on, even Catherine agreed that it was the perfect dress. “James is going to absolutely love it.”

I beamed at my own reflection. In this dress, I was a woman.

At the sales counter, we added it to the pile of items. As the saleswoman packaged everything in clover-green garment boxes, my eye was drawn to a small yellow hair ribbon on a rack nearby. It immediately made me think of Margaret—always losing her ribbons and having to borrow mine whenever her mother forced her to dress for an occasion. The bright yellow would look spectacular against her dark hair.

“Can we add that, too?” I asked impulsively.

Catherine raised a curious, well-arched brow. “It’s a little juvenile.”

“I know. I’d like to send it to my sister. She’s only seven.”

“How sweet. She’ll love it.”

We weren’t the only ones out shopping in the streets of Knightsbridge that day, but few people had quite as many bags in hand as Catherine and I, which drew more than a fair share of raised eyebrows. Guilt made my parcels suddenly feel terribly heavy. I’d been so entranced by the luxury and opulence of the shops that I hadn’t stopped to consider whether it was appropriate to indulge so extravagantly.

“What’s wrong?” Catherine asked, noticing my changing mood.

“It’s just . . . there’s a shortage of fabric right now. It feels a little wrong to have so much when there are so many people going without.”

She looked at me as though I had grown a second head. “What was so wrong about it? The clothes were there to be sold. Besides, it’s not like you have anything else to wear. You needed a new wardrobe.”

“You’re right,” I said, even though I wasn’t fully convinced. “I was being silly. Besides, my stepmother has probably already donated every shred of clothing I left behind.”

“Exactly,” she said. “It all equals out.”

We were only a few blocks from James’s flat when Catherine waved excitedly at a handsome man approaching us on the street. “Arthur! It’s been ages. How are you?”

“Quite well, thank you. Though much better now that I’ve encountered the two most lovely ladies in London.”

“How sweet of you to say.” Catherine’s demure expression was so put on, I had to stop myself from laughing. “Though you do say it every time we meet.”

“And I mean it every time.”

“Just as you meant it when you promised to take me on a proper date soon?”

Their brazen flirtation left me agog.

Arthur glanced at his wristwatch. “I suppose it is getting to be time for supper. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

Catherine turned to me suddenly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” I replied. In truth, I was surprised she even remembered that I was standing there.

“You’re such a doll. Oh, wait. Can you give this to James?” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, nondescript envelope.

“What is it?”

“Just a letter for James that was delivered to my place by mistake.” She stuffed it into my purse.

She kissed me on the cheek and went off with her new beau, leaving me to navigate the rest of my journey home. I soaked up the warm sun as I walked, the remaining fragments of my headache finally abating. It was almost a shame to go inside, but I needed to set these bags down before my arms grew too weary.

An elderly couple stepped into the lift before I reached it. “Please hold on,” I called out, but the doors closed too quickly. With a sigh, I contemplated waiting for the lift to return, but our flat was only three stories up.

The staircase was narrow, with windowless walls. I’d made it up the first flight when I heard a faint echo of footsteps behind me. I glanced behind, but there was no one there. Perhaps my ears were playing tricks on me.

I continued my climb, and this time I was certain someone was following me. “Hello? Is there someone there?”

No answer came except for the sound of footsteps stomping even more quickly.

I was probably overreacting, as there were plenty of other people in this building who had reason to use the stairwell. But my instincts were screaming otherwise. I sped up until I was practically running. The footsteps behind me got quicker, too. By the time I reached the last flight, the person was right behind me. It was too difficult to open the door exiting the stairwell with all my cumbersome bags. I dropped them to the ground and wrenched the door open.

Whoever was behind me had gotten so close, I could feel their hand brush against my shoulder as I slipped into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind me.

“Is everything all right, dear?”

I turned to see the elderly couple from the lift, standing at the far end of the hall. “Everything’s fine, thank you. Those stairs were a little harder than I expected.”

The woman smiled kindly before disappearing into her flat along with her husband. My hands shook as I fumbled with the keys to our flat. When I finally made my way inside, I leaned against the door and let out a huge sigh.

“Irene? What’s the matter?”

My eyelids flew open at the sound of James’s voice. I cleared my throat and forced a smile. “I didn’t expect you home.”

He rose from the couch and came over to me, setting his hands on my shoulders. The scent of his cologne filled me with comfort. “I felt terrible having to leave while you were still asleep, but there were some important matters to take care of. My uncle has asked me to take on a position in his parliamentary office.”

I dropped my forehead to his chest. “I completely understand. You have responsibilities.”

He ran his hand tenderly along the back of my head. “I wanted to be there for you. Last night was special.”

Heat spread through my chest at the memory of our first night together. The feel of his skin against mine. “It was for me, too.”

“You weren’t too lonely today?”

I didn’t want to burden James with the truth. “Catherine stopped by and took me shopping—” I let out a groan.

He cupped my face, forcing me to stare up at him. “What happened? Please don’t lie to me. I can tell something’s wrong.”

“I took the stairwell up just now. There was someone following me—or at least I thought they were following me.” Embarrassment welled in my chest. It sounded so foolish now that I was saying it aloud. “I dropped all my bags in the stairwell.”

The alarm in his eyes darkened to something more. Something deeper and angrier. “I’ll kill whoever it was.”

He reached for the doorknob. I placed my hand on his forearm. “I just want my parcels. Not murder.”

I held my breath as James made his way to the stairwell while I stayed inside the flat. I knew he was more than capable of defending himself despite his limp, but my nerves still hadn’t settled. He returned within minutes carrying the green bags I’d dropped. “There was no one there.”

“Maybe he ran off,” I said feebly, doubting myself.

James set the parcels down on the coffee table. “Or maybe you were just spooked. Moving here’s been a big change for you, and I left you all alone today. It’s no wonder your nerves were rattled.”

I exhaled slowly, trying to reconcile James’s words with the reality I’d experienced. “I was just being silly.”

He kissed my temple. “Exactly. Now why don’t you find something suitable for an evening at the Café de Paris from all these outfits you’ve purchased.”

“I thought we might stay in tonight,” I said. “We’ve barely spent any time alone since we arrived.”

His exhalation was slow and heavy, and for a moment I thought I had disappointed him. But he rubbed my back reassuringly and said, “Of course. There’s nothing I would love more than to spend a quiet night in with you.”

We spent the rest of the evening curled up on his couch, sharing more about our pasts and talking about all the things we would do when the war was over. He promised to tour me around the continent, while I told him of all the places in America we could visit. That night, he made love to me again until I fell asleep in his arms. It was everything I pictured our life together as a married couple to be.

But in the morning I awoke alone once more. I occupied myself by finally arranging all my new clothing in the closet, reminding myself to be grateful for such luxuries rather than petulant that my husband had to work.

It was only when I finished hanging the last dress that I realized the yellow ribbon was missing.