Page 21 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)
L ater, Melody had ordered a new walking suit, an evening gown, and a lovely pale blue muslin day dress. Jemima had shown more restraint and only ordered a skirt and blouse set. Madame had taken their measurements, noted the name of their hotel, and promised she would be in touch.
Melody checked her pocket watch and realised it was nearly noon.
If they were to have some lunch and then find the millinery shop, they would need to part ways with Jemima soon.
Since the young woman had claimed to have lunch plans of her own, it didn’t seem odd to ask what time she was planning to leave.
“Oh my, look at the time!” Jemima exclaimed. “Whatever was I thinking, letting the morning slip away like that? Do excuse me, dear Miss Chesterton, but I must leave you.
Since Jemima appeared to be late for her luncheon, Melody didn’t see any harm in showing her the card for the millinery shop and asking if she knew its location.
Jemima took the card, looked at it for a few moments, then turned around, glanced up the street, and turned back.
“I believe that if you go up here and turn right after two streets, you’ll find it there, about halfway down.
I’ve never been, but I’ve heard good things about it.
” Jemima sighed. “Oh, but now I wish I didn’t have to leave and could join you. ”
“No, no!” Melody said, in what she worried was too anxious a tone. “I cannot make you miss your appointment.” In a calmer voice, she assured Jemima, “I will go and see how it is, and if I believe it worth our while, you and I can return on another day.”
Jemima clapped her hands together in delight once more and seemed pacified. Melody let out a sigh of relief. Five minutes later, Jemima had left, and Melody found a nearby cafe for her and Mustafa to enjoy a light lunch together.
Mustafa was nearly as capable as Jemima in holding a conversation alone, so Melody didn’t need to speak much during the meal.
Instead, she muttered the occasional reply but mostly ate her food while watching the street ahead.
She chose a table outside on the pavement so she could see if anyone had followed them.
Melody wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling she’d had the day before of being watched.
Saying that the hairs on the back of her neck stood up seemed too cliché.
Still, the feeling had been very real. Had she noticed something without realising it?
Melody wasn’t sure how she might have done that, but it seemed the only logical explanation.
She had heard Wolfie talk about the new, very radical ideas of Dr Sigmund Freud, who had many scandalous theories about how the mind works.
Granny’s response to hearing some of these ideas was to say, “I will not have an Austrian tell me how my mind works. I would barely let an Englishman do so.”
Did she feel now anything of what she had experienced the day before? Melody couldn’t be certain. Maybe she was trying too hard to tell. Finally, it was a few minutes before one o’clock. Melody paid the bill and collected her things.
As Jemima had promised, the walk to the millinery shop was a quick one.
It was a charming little store and would have caught her eye even if Alessandro hadn’t directed her there.
Once again, a bell above the door announced their arrival.
The shop was empty of customers, and there didn’t appear to be any salesgirls about.
Melody and Mustafa waited for someone to come and serve them.
While they waited, Melody looked around at the hats on display.
There were some very pretty pieces of headwear, and Melody wished she had the luxury of time and of choosing something she truly wanted.
After a few minutes, a handsome blonde woman entered from the back of the store and greeted them. While she spoke Dutch, it was clear that it was not her first language. Melody responded in English, and when the woman switched languages, it became more obvious that she was a native Italian.
“Good afternoon,” Melody said. “I am looking for a very specific hat and was told you would be able to assist me.”
“Of course, Miss. What are you seeking?”
“A purple hat with a peacock feather.”
“Indeed, we can help. I have just what you are looking for,” the woman replied. “But first, I have some other hats for you to try on. Might I suggest that you stand near the window so you can see how they look in daylight? There is a mirror right here.”
For the next thirty minutes, Melody tried on hats. It was unclear how Signora Vecchi – for this was the woman’s name – selected which hats, but Melody realised there was some kind of ruse underway, and so didn’t comment.
Each time a hat was produced, Melody was encouraged to display herself in the hat very obviously.
The last hat was enormous; far larger and more ostentatious than anything Melody would ever usually wear.
As Melody donned the hat and looked at herself in the mirror, Signora Vecchi came towards her, holding a cup of something.
She seemed to be offering it to Melody, but then appeared to trip slightly and managed to spill some of it on her dress.
“Mi scusi,” the signora exclaimed while making very exaggerated hand motions. It seemed as if it was all part of a charade, but Melody couldn’t imagine why. As it happened, very little of the liquid had spilt onto her, but the shopkeeper was acting as if her dress was soaked.
After a few ineffective attempts to mop Melody’s arm with a lace handkerchief, she indicated the screen. “Perhaps you might go behind the screen and remove your dress so that I can have one of my girls dry it off,” the signora explained.
Melody was about to protest that it wasn’t necessary, but then wondered if this was the part she was meant to play.
Instead of arguing, she went behind the screen only to find a curtain behind it, pulled aside.
Standing just behind the drawn curtain was a young woman with hair much the same colour as Melody’s.
Or was it a wig? The other notable thing about the woman was that she was also wearing a green dress.
While the two items of clothing were not identical, certainly the shade and style were quite similar.
The woman put her finger to her lips, then whispered, “Follow me,” as she disappeared into the room, which was curtained off. Intrigued, Melody followed.
The woman led her through a workroom to a table at the back. “You will wait here for now, Miss.”
Melody sat down and waited. She realised Mustafa was still in the shop. Would he be sent back to her? After waiting over ten minutes, she decided she would not see him again, at least for now. Melody was even more curious about what the plan was.
Fifteen minutes later, a young woman with chestnut hair, wearing an enormous hat that blocked her face from most angles, left the shop.
She was accompanied by a young dark-skinned boy carrying a hatbox.
The woman hurried down the street and back towards the tram.
She took the tram all the way to the Hotel Victoria, and Mustafa accompanied her in the lift.
Ten minutes after that, the boy came back down and left the hotel, and the young woman removed her hat and wig, stashing them in a dark corner of the stairwell, then slipped out the back door of the hotel.
At last, Signora Vecchi returned. She presented Melody with a burgundy bolero jacket to wear, along with a rather unattractive matching hat.
“Doesn’t this make me look rather conspicuous?” Melody objected. She assumed the purpose of this exercise was to throw her potential shadow off her scent. If that were the case, then wearing such a hat seemed counterintuitive.
“Men do not look at the details of what a woman is wearing,” the signora informed her.
“Many years selling hats has taught me that. The number of times a woman has come in with her husband and asked him which he prefers of two or three hats and I have heard him say he cannot tell the difference.” Melody thought about the last time she’d made the mistake of asking Rat’s opinion about an outfit and had to agree.
“This hat is ugly and obvious by design. It’s the kind of thing a man will notice, and given that you weren’t wearing it before, he will then mark it as irrelevant. It will hide you even when you are seen.”
Melody wasn’t certain she agreed with this logic.
Wasn’t it better for someone not to notice anything?
However, now wasn’t the time to argue the point.
She presumed that the woman who bore a passing resemblance to her had exited through the front door of the shop and had led away whoever was following, assuming that someone was.
“So, what now? Where am I to go?” was all Melody bothered to say in response.
“My man will escort you. It’s on the other side of Amsterdam, and you won’t find your way alone.”
Melody could think of no good reason to refuse the assistance.
Signora Vecchi called out for a Johannes who turned out to be a very tall, very blonde young man of about Melody’s age. The signora said something in Dutch and Johannes nodded his understanding.
“He speaks no English,” the signora warned. “But he knows where to take you.”