She repeated the exercise for all the motifs, save the jasmine and ears of wheat, which would be created through beadwork alone. One by one, she cut out the shapes from the onionskin and set the pattern pieces on the sketch. Fearful that a whiff of air might throw them into disarray, she weighted down the wisps of paper with a handful of buttons from the odds-and-sods jar.
Moving to one of the side tables, she dusted it thoroughly and then, when she was certain it was spotless, spread out the satin. Had it been a less delicate or light-colored fabric, she’d have marked the perimeter of the pattern pieces with a prick-and-pounce method: first perforating the pattern’s edges with a needle, then rubbing through a scant amount of powdered charcoal. The satin was so tightly woven, though, that the needle marks alone would be enough to guide her.
Ann set the first pattern piece on the satin, picked up the needle, its blunt end set in a cork to make it easier to hold, and began to mark the edge of the petal shape. She cut out the petal with her very best scissors, just the one piece to begin, and decided to experiment a little before she went any further.
Like most satin, it was the very devil to work with, for it managed to be slippery and quite stiff at the same time. It didn’t take well to finger-pressing, but there was no way to baste under the edges without leaving marks. She would just have to turn under the edges as she went and hope they didn’t fray too badly.
With that settled, she returned to the satin and cut out petals large and small, star flowers and heart-shaped smilax leaves, and as she finished each one she set it on its matching sketch. There were more than two dozen pieces when she’d finished, all needing to be appliquéd with invisible stitches onto the stretched tulle. Only then could the embroidery proper begin.
She looked at the clock; it was almost half twelve. She must have worked through morning break.
Miss Duley, noticing that Ann had paused in her work, came over to the table. “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t notice you and Miriam hadn’t gone down with the others until they were on their way back. You may have an extra quarter hour now to make up for it.”
“That’s all right. If I’d been desperate for a cuppa I’m sure I’d have noticed.” Ann gestured to the array of satin shapes. “What do you think? I took account of the grain as I was cutting them out.”
“Well done. Once you’ve attached them to the backing, we’ll go over the placement of the beadwork. Miriam—I was just saying to Ann that you may make up your missed break with extra time at dinner.”
“I do not mind. I was happy at my work.”
“Then off to your dinners you go, and don’t rush back,” Miss Duley commanded smilingly.
Seated at her usual table in the canteen, with her usual fare of a cheese and salad sandwich failing to tempt her, Ann let the others talk over and around her. It was important to eat and drink and keep up her strength, but all she wanted at that moment was to return to her frame and begin to attach the appliqués.
“Ooh,” Ruthie said as they were finishing, “you never did say how it went. Yes, Ann, I’m talking to you.”
“How what went?”
“Your date with that dishy captain. Was he nice?”
“Oh, that. I didn’t go.”
A chorus of disappointed groans swept around the table.
“Why ever not?”
“And you never said a thing?”
“But you said you’d ring him up. I heard you tell him.”
She had wanted to go, very much, but when she’d rung up the number on his card a sleepy voice had answered. A woman’s voice.
“May I speak with Captain Thickett-Milne?” she’d asked once the worst of her surprise had worn off.
“Wrong number.”
“I beg your pardon,” she had said, but the woman had already hung up.
Ann had looked at the card, memorized the number, and dialed again with painstaking care.
“Hello? May I speak with—”
The same peevish voice had replied. “Oh, bugger off. I told you already—you’ve the wrong number.”
She’d been too cowed to try again.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” she now fibbed.
“Well, now that you’re feeling better you should call him back,” Ruthie advised. “Otherwise someone else will snap him right up.”
Ruthie was a sweet girl, but Ann couldn’t bear to think about it anymore. He was probably married, or involved with someone, and that was the woman who had answered the phone. It had been stupid of her even to try.