The Pink Suit: A Novel by Nicole Kelby

Author:Nicole Kelby [Kelby, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Biographical, Cultural Heritage, Historical, Urban
ISBN: 9780316235662
Google: -eziAAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 2014-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“If you adore her, you must adorn her. There lies the essence of a happy marriage.”

—Anne Fogarty, The Art of Being a Well-Dressed Wife

On Monday morning, Mr. Charles was waiting for Kate in the workroom, wearing his best suit, the black pinstripe with the dove-gray vest, and the soft Italian loafers he only wore for important clients. The silver of his hair looked newly minted. There’d been a change in plans. He now had a backer for his shop. He was going to make the announcement that day. Mr. Charles needed an answer. Kate needed to work.

“Just hear me out,” he said, and sat down in Kate’s chair in what Maeve called his “Rat Pack pose,” with a cigarette in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, talking at her, not to her. Kate leaned across the large layout table and began to carefully pin the delicate navy lining to the pink bouclé so that she could quilt the two pieces together. She was tired of steaming the fabric, tired of trying to block it. Clearly, it did not intend to stop shedding. So she decided that she would just quilt and try to tame the bouclé that way. Kate was trying to concentrate, while Mr. Charles was trying to make a point.

“You have to say yes, Kitty,” he said. “Not just for me, but yourself. You were born to it. Like Vreeland was born to it.”

Kate understood. A desire for perfection had led Mrs. Vreeland to open her own lingerie shop in Mayfair, and that began her career all those years ago, and that desire was just like Kate’s. Mr. Charles did have a point.

“She had her nightgowns fitted at least three times. Did I tell you this?”

He had. Twice. Mr. Charles was getting as bad as the Ladies.

“Her kippers were cloistered nuns,” he said. “Their finishing work was so beautiful, customers would weep.”

Kate had to wonder what the nuns embroidered on negligees that would made grown women cry, or why the sisters even agreed to do that sort of work. Handkerchiefs were usually the only accessories within their purview. There had to be some sort of commandment that forbade nuns from embellishing knickers, although Kate couldn’t think of one. God leaves too many loopholes, she thought, and made a note to speak with Father John about that at a later date.

By now, the other girls had arrived for the day and were working around them. The mice of Ready-to-Wear were laughing, gossiping, and zipping through seams at their usual breakneck pace. Maeve was basting the marks she’d made on a white Dior gown that had to be let out because some nameless debutante had had too much French pastry, pâté, and cheese on a recent sojourn. “Kate, are you listening to me?” Mr. Charles said.

“Shouldn’t you keep your voice down?”

“No one cares,” he said, but he began to whisper anyway. “The point I am trying to make is that when Wallis Simpson bought three nightgowns prior to her weekend with the Duke of Windsor, it was quite clear that Mrs.

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