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Alexandra gave a nod to the letter Izzie still held, sending her tight blond curls dancing merrily around her face. “Is it very bad?”
Izzie looked down at the letter and sighed. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… it’s from my sister.”
“You have a sister?” Alexandra brightened. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”
“I’d be happy to give you mine,” Izzie muttered under her breath.
Alexandra laughed. “Is she a nightmare?”
“Yes,” she said bluntly.
“What has she done?” asked Alexandra, dropping into the chair opposite Izzie, clearly settling in for a story.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Why don’t you begin with that letter?” suggested Alexandra before taking a sip of her tea.
“I own a dressmaker’s shop. Or technically, we do. My mother died and left it to both of us, but I’m trying to buy Sylvia’s half from her,” she said.
“A difficult inheritance. It’s a tale as old as time,” said Alexandra with a serious nod.
Despite her initial shock at Alexandra’s attention, Izzie couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know if I would call it that; it’s just that Sylvia hasn’t really been interested in the shop at all since she left at eighteen.”
“Did she run away to join the circus?” Alexandra asked, clearly hoping Izzie would say yes.
This time Izzie laughed. “Does that ever happen outside of books and films?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. It would be frightfully exciting,” said Alexandra.
“Well, Sylvia didn’t do anything nearly that daring. She married a man I can’t stand.”
“The plot thickens. Is he an utter beast?” asked Alexandra.
“I call him ‘Horrible Hugo,’ ” she admitted.
“The villain. Tell me, why do we detest him?” asked Alexandra.
Izzie leaned in. “He’s a snob. He always looked down on Mum and me.”
Her companion made a sound of disgust. “Why did he marry your sister if he’s such a snob?”
“She’s always been the beautiful one,” Izzie started. “She still is.”
“So are you,” said Alexandra.
“I have mousy hair that refuses to hold a set most days, a nose that’s too big for my face, and thin lips. I am not beautiful,” said Izzie, shaking her head to emphasize the point.
“No, you look like Joan Fontaine in Rebecca. I can very easily imagine you transforming from cardigans to that chic black dress that beast Maxim tells her to change out of because he doesn’t understand the first thing about glamour,” said Alexandra before adding, “But I can tell that no amount of arguing will convince you, so why don’t we return to the matter at hand: the letter?”
Izzie sighed. “When I had to register, I realized that there would be no one to mind the shop if I was called up. I couldn’t see any alternative but to ask Sylvia. She’s old enough that she didn’t have to join up, you see. Only I think it might have been a terrible mistake.”
“Why is that?” asked Alexandra.
Izzie made a face. “I thought I could help her run the shop by writing back and forth, but she’s never going to be able to do it. There are so many little things to know, like how Mrs. Beecham likes a good ten minutes of chat before you go about the business of her fitting, and if you hurry her she will be insulted. Or what about Mrs. Lang? Her bills are paid by a Mr. Talworth and not her husband, so it is vital that we send the delivery to the Lang household but never with the bill. Oh, and if Miss Birch ‘pops in’ one afternoon and orders an entire new wardrobe while smelling of gin, it’s worth double-checking any order by telephone the next morning to confirm that she does, in fact, want the clothes.”
“That does sound like a great number of things, but why can’t you simply answer her questions when she writes to ask them?” asked Alexandra.
“Sylvia thinks she knows everything, and she’s far too proud to ask when she needs help. Instead, she’s insisting that I write about my news from Innsworth.”
