which is cut to drape elegantly around her neat figure. It looks deceptively simple, but I think that Mireille and Claire would have appreciated the technical complexity of the design, made to flatter and flow, balancing the monotone severity of the garment with a series of tucks that give the dress its structure.
‘Good evening,’ I reply.
‘It’s certainly busy through there.’ The woman smiles, tilting her head towards the main exhibition hall.
‘I know. It’s a fantastic party. I just wanted to get a breath of air.’
‘I understand.’ She turns to face the dress in the display case. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it? You enjoy the history of these pieces, don’t you? I’ve seen you here before, n’est-ce pas? Usually you are writing in your notebook. Are you a journalist?’
I tell her about my internship at Agence Guillemet, which will soon be coming to an end, and that I’ve been piecing together the story of my grandmother – the one I mentioned to her that day when we met in the Lanvin exhibition, who worked in couture during the war years.
She nods. ‘It’s a good thing to do, writing it down. The strands of history can be so tangled and complex, can’t they? Here at the museum, we attempt to tease out some of those strands, letting the clothes tell their stories. And stories are so important, aren’t they? I always believe we tell them in order to make sense of the chaos of our lives.’
‘You work here, then? At the Palais Galliera?’
She digs into the clutch bag she carries and hands me a card. She is Sophie Rousseau – manager of early twentieth century collections.
‘Thank you, Madame Rousseau. My name is Harriet. Harriet Shaw.’
She shakes my hand formally. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Harriet. And I’ve enjoyed our conversations. Get in touch when you’re next coming in. If I have the time, I’ll take you to see some of the gowns we have from the 1940s in our archives in the basement here.’
‘I will. Thank you.’
She appraises me with her warm grey-green eyes. And then she says, ‘I don’t know if it would interest you, but there’s a huge development project planned for the museum, to create a new, larger exhibition space in part of the basement. We will be taking on some additional staff shortly to begin planning for it. The museum will be closed for a while, but when we reopen we’ll be able to display many more of the items that are kept hidden away in the archives. Send me your CV if you like and I’ll pass it on. When you’ve finished your grandmother’s story, there are plenty more to help tell here.’
‘A job? Here at the Palais Galliera? It would be beyond my wildest dreams!’ I exclaim. ‘I’d love to send you my CV.’ I tuck her card carefully into my handbag.
‘Well now, it’s probably time to return to the mêlée, don’t you think? Allons-y! But I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon, Harriet. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
I float through the remainder of the party, trying – and failing – to keep my feet on the ground as I imagine myself working in these very rooms. Perhaps it’s the champagne giving me courage, but I’m beginning to dare to dream of a life for myself in Paris.
1945
Each weekend, Mireille made the trip to visit Claire at the American Hospital in Neuilly, bringing with her news from the world outside: a world no longer at war. She would tuck her arm into Claire’s and take her outside to walk slowly along the paths between manicured lawns and beds full of bright flowers, letting the summer sun coax a little colour back into her cheeks. When Claire grew tired, they would sit on a bench beneath the trees and Mireille would entertain her friend with stories from the Lelong couture house, describing the latest designs created by Monsieur Dior and adding snippets of gossip about the clients who came for their fittings.
At first, it seemed that Claire was reluctant to return to the world that she’d been taken from, almost as if she didn’t want to be there. But slowly, week by week with help and care, Mireille watched her friend return to life. And very gently, when she sensed the time was right, she began to prompt Claire to talk about the things that had happened to her and to Vivi. Some of the memories were still too painful to bring out into the light of