As this visit had to be incorporated into her morning errands, which still had to be done, Jean couldn’t linger once the dress fitting was completed, even though Gretchen invited her to stay and share their lunch of cheese on toast. She had promised her mother that this afternoon they would go through her winter wardrobe and sort out any items that needed spot cleaning or mending, and bag up anything especially threadbare for the church jumble sale.
As they said their goodbyes in the hallway, Gretchen became suddenly serious and confiding.
“You’ve been so thoughtful to Margaret and I know she likes you very much . . .”
“Oh, it was nothing, really,” said Jean, wanting no reminders of the rabbit. “Buying a pet is easy. The hard work of caring for it will be all yours.”
“Well, I’d like to think you would be a friend to Margaret. If anything happened to me. I’d be glad to think you would be someone she could turn to.”
“Why should anything happen to you?” Jean asked, alarmed by the dark tone of this conversation. “You’re not ill, are you?”
“No, no, of course not,” Gretchen laughed. “Look at me!” She flapped her arms and made a little jump on the spot as if that somehow demonstrated rude health.
“Why do you say that, then?” Jean insisted. “Did something come up in the blood tests to make you concerned?”
“No, not at all. I promise. I was just thinking that it’s a shame Margaret doesn’t have any aunts or godmothers and that you seem to understand her so well. That’s all.”
“Of course, I’ve become very fond of Margaret and I’d be very happy to be a . . . special friend to her,” said Jean, flattered but still uneasy.
“I think you’d be a good influence—someone she could look up to and respect. Girls don’t always like to take advice from their mothers. And perhaps mothers don’t always give the best advice.”
Touched by this sudden acceleration in their friendship, Jean found herself tongue-tied. The idea of spending more time with Margaret, becoming perhaps a secular godparent, or unofficial “auntie,” who might be permitted to take her on outings and spoil her, was everything she could have hoped for.
Mistaking her hesitation for reluctance, Gretchen said, “Perhaps I’m asking too much, too soon.”
“Oh, not at all,” Jean stammered. “I was just thinking, perhaps, with your permission, I could take her out now and then, to museums or concerts, if she was interested in that sort of thing.”
She remembered her “aunt” Rosa, the rides in taxis and the alarming food and the sense of being singled out for special treatment.
“That would be lovely.”
“I could even take her to the Echo, to see how a newspaper is made.” She warmed to her theme, dismissing in her enthusiasm the looming obstacle of her mother, which lay like a boulder across her path. “Perhaps not the paper,” she conceded, remembering the lively language of Bill and Larry and the subs. “But if you and Howard ever need a babysitter so that you could go out together sometime, then I could do that, too.”
Gretchen smiled. “All of those things,” she said. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
14
“You seem cheerful lately,” said Roy Drake as Jean swept into the editorial meeting, early for once, and deposited her pile of papers on the desk. “Is anything the matter?”
“Very funny.”
“You have a spring in your step. And a new dress, if I’m not mistaken.”
They were the first to arrive and had the room to themselves; otherwise he would not have commented.
Jean gave a model’s twirl. “Thank you for noticing. It’s couture, you know. Not off the rack.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Mrs. Tilbury made it for me. She’s an expert needlewoman as well as a Virgin Mother.”
“Hmm. Accepting gifts from sources. That’ll have to go before the board.”
She laughed.
“Very smart, anyway.”
“It’s amazing the difference it makes when something actually fits.”
Howard had dropped the dress off, wrapped in tissue paper, while Jean was still at work.
“That man came round with a parcel for you.” Her mother had described the incident with a slight pursing of the lips, but she had relented when she saw the workmanship. It was so beautifully made—not a raw edge to be seen, French binding on every seam—you could have worn it inside out. “You’ll be wanting to save it for best,” she remarked.