Chapter 5
Vanessa reached for the brochure.
Margaret held it down with two fingers.
“Please,” she said. “Let me look.”
It was the first thing she'd asked for herself all evening.
Vanessa slowly withdrew her hand.
Margaret studied the photograph of the wedding gown.
The dress had a narrow waist, softly gathered sleeves, and tiny pearl flowers sewn along the neckline.
She touched the printed image.
“My mother called this the Sunday dress.”
Eleanor looked uncomfortable.
Margaret continued.
“She made the first one for her own wedding. We couldn't afford a photographer, but she kept the pattern.”
Her eyes moved toward the velvet box.
“And she wore that pearl comb.”
Vanessa stared at the jewelry box.
I wondered whether she remembered the same stories.
Margaret turned the brochure toward Luca.
“When Vanessa turned seventeen, she wanted something special for her school dance. I couldn't buy her a designer dress.”
Her mouth trembled.
“So I made her one.”
Luca looked at the picture.
“This one?”
“Almost exactly.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Margaret smiled sadly.
“She complained about the sleeves. Said they made her look like somebody's grandmother.”
A few guests gave uncomfortable smiles.
“Then she tried it on,” Margaret continued, “and wouldn't take it off.”
Vanessa whispered, “I remember.”
Margaret looked at her.
“You wore it three times that year.”
“I know, Mom.”
The tenderness in Vanessa's voice surprised me.
For one brief moment, she sounded like a daughter again.
Then Charles cleared his throat.
“Old designs get adapted all the time. That's how fashion works.”
Margaret turned toward him.
“I understand that.”
“Then there's no reason to create a scene.”
She straightened.
“I didn't create this scene, Charles.”
Luca looked at him.
“She's answering a question. Let her finish.”
Margaret turned another page in her notebook.
“After Vanessa's dance, she took the drawing to a fashion-school interview.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I remember. They were impressed.”
“Of course they were,” Margaret said. “Vanessa had wonderful ideas.”
She looked at her daughter.
“She always did.”
Vanessa's eyes filled.
“But this particular dress,” Margaret continued, “came from my mother's hands.”
Eleanor lowered her head.
“I should have credited her.”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
Then she asked something that made Eleanor look up.
“Did you know they were using my mother's pattern before Vanessa brought it to you?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“I had seen it years earlier.”
“Where?”
“In my house.”
Margaret went still.
Eleanor clasped her hands.
“Vanessa brought the dress one afternoon. I asked who designed it.”
“And what did she say?”
Eleanor glanced at Vanessa.
“She said her mother had made it.”
Silence spread across the table.
I looked at Luca.
He seemed to be waiting for the next part.
Margaret asked, “Then why did you put your own name on it?”
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“Because later, Vanessa told me the design belonged to her.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I said I could use it.”
“You said it was yours to use commercially.”
“I thought it was.”
Margaret stared at her daughter.
“You thought?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“You always told me everything you made was mine.”
Margaret's expression softened, then changed.
“Oh, honey.”
She looked at the notebook.
“When I told you that, I meant you could wear it.”
Nobody moved.
I had never seen a misunderstanding become so painful.
Vanessa had spent years hearing her mother's generosity as permission.
Eleanor had treated that permission as ownership.
And Charles had turned it into a business.
Luca turned toward Eleanor.
“Did you ever ask Margaret directly?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Eleanor looked down.
“Because Vanessa told me it would upset her.”
Margaret frowned.
“Upset me to be asked?”
Vanessa pressed her palms against the table.
“I was afraid you'd want to be involved.”
“Would that have been so terrible?”
“You don't understand how Eleanor's clients are.”
Margaret looked around the room.
“At least one of them is sitting right here.”
A woman halfway down the table slowly stood.
Her name was Patricia Harper.
I'd served her family at the restaurant several times.
“My daughter ordered a Bellini House gown,” she said.
Eleanor's expression changed.
“Patricia, please.”
“She gets married December twenty-second.”
Charles shifted uncomfortably.
Patricia looked at Margaret.
“She chose that dress because it reminded her of something her grandmother used to wear.”
Margaret's face softened.
“That's a lovely reason.”
Patricia turned toward Eleanor.
“We paid a six-thousand-dollar deposit.”
The number made my stomach tighten.
“My daughter has called twice about her fittings,” Patricia continued. “Your staff told her everything was on schedule.”
Eleanor looked toward Charles.
He said nothing.
Patricia's voice hardened.
“Was that true?”
Vanessa answered quietly.
“Some of the gowns are behind.”
“How far behind?”
Margaret opened her notebook.
“Mrs. Harper, is your daughter's name Katherine?”
Patricia nodded.
Margaret found a page.
“The bodice is finished. The skirt needs lining and the sleeves still need fitting.”
Patricia stared at her.
“You know my daughter's dress?”
“I helped sew it.”
“Then why did the showroom tell Katherine her gown was being finished by an exclusive design team?”
Margaret gave a helpless smile.
“I don't know, dear.”
Patricia looked at Eleanor.
Neither woman spoke.
Then Luca turned toward Charles.
“Your customers deserve the truth. Your workers deserve their wages. And Margaret deserves her name on her own work.”
Charles folded his arms.
“Without the Christmas wedding, we lose the publicity. Without that, the showroom may close.”
“Then perhaps it shouldn't have been built on promises you couldn't keep.”
Vanessa suddenly stood.
“You think I don't know that?”
Her voice shook.
“I know I've made mistakes, Luca. But I spent twelve years trying to become somebody people would respect.”
Margaret looked at her.
“I respected you when you were seventeen.”
Vanessa began crying.
“I know.”
“Then why wasn't that enough?”
Vanessa turned away.
Eleanor reached for her hand, but Vanessa stepped back.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Eleanor looked toward Margaret.
“There is something you should know about the original photograph.”
Margaret frowned.
“What photograph?”
“The picture of Vanessa wearing your dress. We used it in the first Bellini House presentation.”
Vanessa suddenly shook her head.
“Eleanor, don't.”
Margaret looked confused.
“I remember that picture. I was standing beside her.”
Eleanor nodded.
“You were.”
Margaret's face changed.
“Then why have I never seen it in your advertisements?”
Vanessa covered her eyes.
May you like
And finally, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, she answered.
“Because I asked Eleanor to cut you out.”
