That left the Victoria and Albert Museum and Miriam Dassin’s Vél d’Hiv embroideries. Fortunately the train she was on went all the way to south Kensington, and then it was just a short walk down the road to the museum, a gigantic pile of brick that looked more like the Kremlin than a treasure house of art and design.
She’d only taken a few steps inside when her attention was caught by the spectacular glass sculpture, or perhaps it was a chandelier, that was suspended from the middle of the domed rotunda. She joined the end of the nearest queue, her gaze still fixed on the mass of glowing green and yellow tendrils, and shuffled forward unthinkingly as the line advanced.
“Hello! Hello there!”
She’d reached the front. “Whoops. Was too busy looking up,” she admitted to the woman at the desk. Zahra, according to her name tag.
“You and everyone else,” Zahra confirmed with a grin. “It’s one of the biggest Chihuly sculptures in the world. Is this your first visit to the V and A?”
“It is.”
“Well, a warm welcome to you, and here’s a map. Are you interested in any of our special exhibitions? There’s a fee for them, but otherwise entrance to the museum is free of charge.”
“Thank you. I actually came to see the Vél d’Hiv embroideries by Miriam Dassin. Can you point me in the right direction?”
A regretful frown replaced Zahra’s smile. “I’m terribly sorry, but they were taken off exhibit last week so they could be sent over to the Tate Modern for the upcoming retrospective of her work.”
No. It couldn’t be possible. “I did know about the retrospective, but it doesn’t start until September fifth.”
“You’re right, but they built in a window. Just in case the curators here or at the Tate have any concerns about the condition of the embroideries.”
“Oh, right. I guess that makes sense.”
“Is there anything else you might like to see?” Zahra asked. “We have a bit of everything here.” With that she unfolded an illustrated map of the museum on the desktop. A list of highlights was printed along one side of the map, and one immediately caught her eye. Explore centuries of fashion at the V&A.
“Do you have any dresses by Norman Hartnell?” Heather asked.
“We do. I’m not sure how many are being exhibited at the moment. We rotate them off and on display for conservation reasons. Would you like me to check?”
“That’s okay. I’m here already, so I might as well try to see some of the museum. Thanks again.”
“No worries. Here’s a copy of the map.”
Heather didn’t know much about the history of fashion, but the V&A’s selection of clothing and footwear was an excellent introduction. She lingered for a long while in front of a case containing several examples of Christian Dior’s New Look designs from the late 1940s. Compared to the clothes women had worn for most of the 1940s, all spare and squared off and looking like uniforms even when they weren’t, the Dior dresses were . . . she couldn’t find the words to describe how they made her feel, and she hadn’t lived through a long and terrifying war. They were impractical and ridiculous and must have been uncomfortable as hell with their enormous skirts and built-in corsets, but they were undeniably beautiful.
At last she moved on, still a little dazzled, and that’s when she came across the Hartnell gown. It was from 1953, an evening dress made of pale turquoise silk, and trailing over its strapless bodice and narrow skirt was unusual greenery that Heather couldn’t at first identify. She took a step closer, her nose almost touching the glass case, and realized it was seaweed. Long strands of green-gold seaweed, and here and there golden seashells and coral-colored flowers, or perhaps they were anemones? It was unusual and not at all pretty, not when compared to the Dior dresses, but it was eye-catching, and the embroidery, even at a distance, was incredibly fine and ornate.
She came to the end of the fashion galleries, and after that she spent a further hour wandering around the museum. Before long, though, the beauty of the ceramics and furniture and jewelry and paintings and metalwork began to blur together. Her eyes, not to mention her brain, had had enough.
As she was leaving she passed by the information desk, wanting to thank Zahra again for her help.
“Did you enjoy your visit?”
“It was amazing. Almost too much to take in, if that makes any sense.”
“I know. I’ve worked here for two years and I’ve only scratched the surface. I’m sorry again about the Vél d’Hiv embroideries.”