Sequins, Secrets, and Silver Linings by Sophia Bennett Page A

to the Ritz and gets Crow to invite Florence and Yvette Mansard, too. For someone who spends a large proportion of her life complaining about the absolute lack of family funds after they were “frittered away” by her parents and children, she always seems to have a surprising amount of cash stashed away for five-star meals, the latest shoes, and glamorous jewelry (or, as she would say, “the basic essentials”).
    Yvette, it turns out, has been living quietly for years in London after moving here to live with a girlfriend when she retired. Yvette is totally cool. If anything, she is more amazing than Crow suggested. She and Grannyreminisce for hours about the clients, the fittings, the suits, the dresses, and little places in Paris they used to know. Crow laps up every word and hardly eats. Then Yvette says that Crow is one of the most talented seamstresses she’s ever encountered, as well as being able to produce original designs, and Granny couldn’t be nicer to her if she were a visiting maharaja.
    There’s a pause during the meal when the older members of the group take to sighing and looking nostalgic.
    “What happened to all those clothes?” Yvette murmurs sadly.
    “Oh, I’ve still got them,” Granny says. “Mine and my mother’s. They’re heirlooms. I wasn’t giving those away.”
    Mum and I look startled. Mum’s probably thinking of the millions of occasions she could have done with borrowing something couture-ish before her modeling career enabled her to buy some of her own. I’m thinking of all those wasted childhood holidays when I could have been checking out the clothes for ideas. Crow and Yvette look reverent, as if she’s mentioned a bunch of sacred relics.
    “Can I see them?” Crow whispers so quietly the words hardly make it out.
    “Come and stay,” Granny says imperiously. “Bring Nonie for company. I haven’t looked at those things foryears, although goodness knows my banker tells me to sell them often enough. I’ve got a couple of evening gowns you might find interesting. Some jackets. Some Ungaro and a bit of Chanel. Saint Laurent, of course. Unlike Mother, I wasn’t always faithful to Dior. You like studying techniques, don’t you, darling child? I’m sure you’ll have some fun.”
    Crow says nothing else for the rest of the meal. I can tell she’s busy trying to imagine Granny’s cache of couture. I don’t think Florence says a word throughout. Mum and I are quiet, too, because spending time with Granny is always a bit exhausting for us. But Granny and Yvette quickly bond like old school friends and get busy making plans to see each other again and go to a bistro Yvette knows where they make a proper café crème .
    “What about Rebecca?” I whisper to Crow in the taxi on the way back from the Ritz. “Aren’t you due to deliver another batch of dresses? You know she just sold out of the last lot.”
    Crow shrugs nonchalantly and looks out the window. I’m shocked. She can be quite ruthless when she knows what she wants. Rebecca’s clients will have to wait.
    If I were Crow, I’d be worried sick about letting people down, but everything seems to be remarkably simple in her world. It occurs to me that she probably won’teven bother to mention that she’s going away. Dogsbody over here had better do it.
    I spend the rest of the journey working out the best way of breaking the bad news. Crow puts her head against the taxi window and within two minutes is asleep, clearly dreaming of Dior and smiling quietly to herself in anticipation.

Chapter 15
    B efore we go to Granny’s, Crow and Jenny come up with a design for a dress to wear at the National Movie Awards that, for once, won’t make her look like some sort of hunchback mutant. Yvette comes over and, with Granny in attendance, shows Crow how to pad out her tailor’s dummy to Jenny’s precise measurements and start fitting the pieces of calico that will form the pattern of the dress.
    It’s not going to be