Save Me (Maxton Hall Series 1)
Save Me: Chapter 13

BEAUFORT

James’ last name is emblazoned in imposing letters on the façade of the company’s headquarters. While he gets out of the car and walks purposefully towards the entrance, I stop and stare with wide eyes first at the sign, then at the huge modern building, in which – as James explained to me during the drive – the largest Beaufort branch in England is located in the lower part, and the offices of departments such as Design, Sales, customer service and above all, of course, the tailoring department. Window fronts extend over all six floors of the building, behind which mannequins are set up, dressed in the classic fashion with which the brand has become famous.

‘Are you coming?’ James calls to me from the front door.

We talked about the rest of the trip. Not much, but still more than I expected. The feeling that I am really in a dream does not want to go away.

I’m in London. With James Beaufort.

I just can’t believe it.

‘Ruby!’ shouts James, pointing to his watch with raised eyebrows.

That tears me out of my trance. Hastily I start moving and run to him. He holds the door open for me, and I enter the branch hesitantly. Then I look around.

It’s much bigger than the one I was in with my parents back then. The high ceilings, white walls and well-kept hardwood floor make the showroom feel open and inviting, even if the furniture is all black. Shelves stretch along the back wall that reach up to the ceiling and in which countless shirts are stored. A brass rod is mounted above the shelves, from which a ladder hangs on the left side. Directly behind the entrance area is a large round table, in the middle of which stands a brass deer statue, around which neatly folded trousers lie in small stacks. Above the table hangs a chandelier, which gives the room warmth with its soft light. The scent in the store is unique – tart but not intrusive, a mixture of the natural smells of the fabrics as well as an aroma that probably comes from an air freshener.

James gently pushes me on the arm. I look up at him, and he makes a head movement towards the back of the store. Slowly I follow him. To our right is another wall of shelves. A piece is recessed in the middle, and there hang pictures of men in different suits, illuminated on the sides by two brass lamps. Just below are a dark green velvet sofa with checkered cushions, a fur-covered futon, and a glass table with crystal glasses and a carafe of water.

All around us I see robust tweed, fine silk, the finest leather – the fabrics Beaufort works with are the best, that is their promise of quality. There’s no doubt that I’m in a shop here where aristocrats and politicians come and go, and while I don’t want to, I feel a little out of place.

But maybe that’s simply because only men seem to be here. Men in sales, men further back standing on stools in front of large mirrors, men at their feet taking their measurements, and then the man standing next to me.

Suddenly, one of the men in question rises from the ground. He says something to the customer whose trouser hem he has just pinned, then his gaze falls on us. When he recognizes James, he becomes stiff as a stick. ‘Mr. Beaufort!’ With a chalk-pale face, he looks at his wristwatch.

‘Don’t worry, Tristan, we have time,’ James replies.

I don’t recognize his tone of voice at all. He speaks like a different person. Sublime and with authority. When I look at him from the side, I notice his straight posture. Even though he has his hands loosely buried in the pockets of his suit pants, you can tell that he is not just anyone in this store. I wonder how he does it. He seems to make every place he goes his kingdom. The school, the lacrosse field, this business. Does that also happen when he enters an ice cream parlor? Maybe I would have to try it out on occasion.

Tristan beckons another tailor over and passes his tape measure to him. The next moment he rushes to us and shakes James’ hand. ‘Forgive me for not seeing you.’

‘Don’t worry, Tristan,’ James replies. ‘Do you have time for us, or are you still busy?’

The tailor looks at him angrily. ‘Of course I have time for you, sir.’

James turns to me. ‘Ruby, that’s Tristan MacIntyre, Beaufort’s first tailor. And Tristan, that’s Ruby Bell. She’s the head of the events team at Maxton Hall.’

I look at James with raised eyebrows. I’m surprised that he introduced me like that. He could have just said that I go to school with him. Or nothing at all except my name.

Tristan straightens his jacket, and when his gaze falls on me, his posture relaxes a bit. A practiced smile comes to his lips. ‘Mr. Beaufort doesn’t often bring school friends here, so I’m very glad to make your acquaintance, Ms. Bell.’

I return his smile and shake his hand. He grabs her, but instead of shaking her as I expected, he turns her halfway and hints at a kiss on the back of my hand. All of a sudden, I feel the need to curtsy. Luckily, I can just hold back and say instead, ‘Joy is on my side, Mr. MacIntyre.’

‘Feel free to call me Tristan.’

‘Only if you call me Ruby.’

His smile widens, and with a meaningful look he turns to James: ‘We had a few costumes brought from the archive. They are up in the tailor’s shop. So if you would both follow me, please.’

He turns around and leads us through the shop to the back to a dark wooden door. Through it we reach a stairwell.

‘I hope you like the clothes we picked out,’ Tristan says on the way upstairs. ‘They were designed by their great-great-great-great-grandfather himself, Mr. Beaufort.’

I look at James in surprise, but his face shows no emotion as he says, ‘I’m sure they’re enough for the occasion.’

‘Is that the great-great-great-great-grandfather who founded Beaufort?’ I ask curiously.

Tristan nods. ‘Exactly, together with his wife in 1857. Did you know that Beaufort was originally a fashion house for both men and women? It was not until the beginning of the twentieth century that the decision was made to focus on the core competence.’

I knew that since Lin suggested asking James about the costumes. I interjected that it wouldn’t do any good, because then we would still be missing the dress for the woman, whereupon she told me about the beginnings of Beaufort fashion and showed me pictures of the opulent dresses that were sold under the brand at the time.

‘Yes,’ I say belatedly. ‘But I don’t know why.’

‘Our economic situation was bad,’ says James. ‘My great-great-grandfather made a few wrong decisions, and we were on the verge of bankruptcy. Specializing was the only way out.’

‘After that, Beaufort became the brand it is now,’ Tristan explains, as if he had been there himself. ‘Nobody makes suits like we can. You can get everything your heart desires from us – from suits for everyday life to evening wear. The quality of the workmanship cannot be compared to off-the-shelf goods, not to mention the fact that we personalize each suit with the customer’s initials. Mr. Beaufort, show me yours.’

I stop and turn to James, who is standing one step below me. Now we are on an equal footing. My gaze lingers on his eyes for a moment too long, the expression of which I again can’t really interpret. Then I lower him onto the breast pocket of his dark gray suit, which is embroidered with the initials JMB.

‘I’ve been wondering since yesterday what the M stands for,’ I confess. I look up again, and suddenly I’m so close to him that I can see details in his face that I haven’t noticed before. For example, that his eyelashes are surprisingly dark for his hair color. Or the pale freckles that run across his cheeks.

‘Mortimer,’ he answers quietly.

‘Like your dad?’

He nods and looks past me to Tristan. A clear sign that he does not want to deepen the conversation in this direction.

As we walk up the rest of the stairs, Tristan tells me about the special fabrics the Beaufort tailors work with and the number of cufflinks they can choose from.

Until now, a suit has always been just a … Suit. I have never been able to notice any major differences, let alone suspect how many decisions have to be made before one is made. Or how many different ways there are to make it.

‘We measure every diamond, we leave nothing to chance,’ says Tristan as we leave the stairwell and enter an illuminated hallway. ‘That has always been Beaufort’s claim. We work with the greatest care and offer the best quality. That’s why we even get to dress the royal family.’ He stops next to a photograph hanging on the wall. I step closer, and my mouth opens.

There is a picture of the crown prince on the wall.

‘Don’t say you dressed him,’ I say reverently.

James says nothing, but Tristan smiles proudly. ‘Not only him.’

We continue along the hallway, where pictures of celebrities, politicians and members of the nobility hang on the walls from start to finish – all of them dressed in Beaufort suits. I see Pierce Brosnan, the Beatles, and even a photo of the prime minister. In addition, a number of men whose faces mean nothing to me, but whose attitude in the photos alone conveys to me that they are powerful and very rich.

‘Have you met all these people?’ I ask James.

He shrugs his shoulders. ‘A few.’

‘That’s really cool,’ I murmur and am almost a little sad when Tristan opens a door at the end of the hallway and finally leads us into the tailor’s shop.

Curious, I look around. The room is spacious and almost looks like a huge, bright hall. Although it’s Saturday, there must be fifty people working here right now between tailor’s dummies and tables piled up with fabrics.

‘Come, the costumes are back there.’ Tristan leads the way and crosses the room with us in tow. As they pass by, the staff greet James politely but stiffly. When I glance over my shoulder, I can see her putting her heads together and whispering. Frowning, I look at James. He has put on a mask of nonchalant arrogance, the same expression I know from him at school. I wonder what’s going on in his head right now. He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the fact that people here seem to be afraid of him.

I want to know more about him, I suddenly realize. More about James, Beaufort and what goes on behind the scenes of this wealthy family.

Tristan tears me out of my thoughts when he stops abruptly. ‘Voila,’ he says, pointing to a tailor’s dummy next to him, which …

It takes my breath away.

The tailor’s dummy wears a Victorian dress. It is made of green silk, is two-piece and has short sleeves with black lace flounces. The top is tight-fitting, the neckline subtly heart-shaped and decorated with black glass stones. The skirt is pompous and looks even bigger and heavier due to the underskirt. The green fabric, folded in pleats, alternates with panels of lace fabric and reaches the floor. It’s by far the most beautiful piece of clothing I’ve ever seen in my life.

I don’t know how to take it home or to school. I don’t even dare to touch it for fear of getting it dirty.

Behind the doll with the dress is another doll dressed in a men’s costume consisting of a frock coat, waistcoat, shirt and trousers. The frock coat has a slight waist cut, and it looks as if it is made of a soft woolen fabric. The black vest has several pockets and is pointed at the bottom. In the small collar of the white shirt is a black tie that looks wider and is shaped differently than the ties I know.

‘When gentlemen dressed up in those days, they didn’t do things by halves. Every detail had to be perfect,’ explains Tristan and begins to remove the men’s costume from the doll. After he has made it, he indicates to James to follow him behind a partition wall. ‘Come, Mr. Beaufort. Let’s see if it suits you.’

James doesn’t look at me anymore before he follows Tristan behind the partition. He looks more like he’s on stand-by and isn’t really present at all. Since we left the Rolls-Royce, I haven’t seen a single emotion on his face. As if it were his ultimate goal not to let anyone here participate in his thoughts or feelings.

While I hear Tristan’s soft murmuring and the rustling of fabric, I dare to take a step closer to the dress. I wonder what kind of woman wore it before and what kind of life she led. Whether she had dreams and was able to make them come true.

It takes about five minutes for Tristan to come back to the front of me. ‘It suits him perfectly,’ he says triumphantly.

‘You’ve got my measurements, Tristan,’ James comments dryly. ‘I’m sure you helped.’ Then he also emerges from behind the partition wall.

My mouth becomes dry.

James looks like he’s straight out of the nineteenth century. The suit fits him perfectly, and Tristan has even combed his hair to the side and pressed a walking stick into his hand. I let my gaze slowly wander over his body, from top to bottom.

James looks just fantastic.

It’s only when I look up at his face again that I realize how I must have stared, and judging by his dirty grin, James knows exactly what was going through my head. My cheeks are getting hot.

‘It’s your turn, Ruby,’ Tristan suddenly asks me.

‘What?’ Confused, I look at him. ‘With what?’

‘Well, with changing, of course.’ He points to the dress. I stare at him, then at James. The latter tries to suppress a laugh with moderate success. Only then do I realize what the two of them want from me.

‘Out of the question!’ I say with panic in my voice. I was supposed to get the costumes. There has never been any talk of getting dressed.

‘Did you think I was the only one who traveled back in time? Certainly not.’ James stretches out his walking stick at me and taps my shin a little too hard. ‘So if you would please change your clothes.’

‘A true gentleman would never hit a lady with a walking stick, Mr. Beaufort,’ admits Tristan.

James lets out a snort. ‘Ruby is not a lady, Tristan. She’s a tyrant.’

‘You haven’t gotten to know my tyrannical side at all. But I’ll be happy to show it to you.’ I look at James with squinted eyes. ‘Tristan, you don’t happen to have another stick like that?’

‘I’m afraid not. But you don’t need a cane at all when you wear this wonderful dress. ‘Come on,’ Tristan says, looking so hopeful that I don’t have the heart to fight back. I follow him behind the partition and he disappears and comes back a little later with a woman whom he introduces to me as his assistant and who helps me put on the two-piece dress. It turns out that I would never have been able to do it alone. Closing the many tiny eyelet closures is an art in itself, not to mention the fact that the top and skirt are reinforced with metal rods on the inside. I have to contort myself quite a bit to get both over my head or hip. After we have finished dressing, the hem circumference of the dress is so enormous that I hardly fit into the narrow area between the divider and the real wall.

‘Done, boss,’ calls Tristan’s assistant, and he steps back to us. When he sees me, he clappes his hands together in delight, and his face lights up. ‘How wonderful! Just a few final touches …’ As if out of nowhere, he pulls out a hair clip and steps behind me. He takes the top part of my hair – at least that’s how it feels – pushes it back and clamps it with the clip. Then he stands in front of me again and tugs at a few more strands until a satisfied expression spreads across his face. Then I can finally turn to the mirror that hangs on the wall behind me.

My breath is taken away.

I didn’t know I could look like that. Aside from the fact that the dress hugs my curves as if it was made for me, I feel like I can channel the spirit of the lady who once wore it. I feel beautiful, powerful and strong at the same time. As if the whole world was at my feet and all I had to do was snap my finger to get what I wanted. I slowly turn to Tristan and smile. ‘Thank you for forcing me to put on the dress.’

He indicates a bow. ‘Mr. Beaufort,’ he says solemnly. I present to you Ms Ruby Bell.’

Carefully I start moving. One step, two steps, around the partition, four steps, five steps… Until I stop and dare to look up.

James is talking to Tristan’s assistant, but when he sees me, he breaks off in the middle of a sentence. His brows move up, and his lips open slightly. He looks me up and down as if he has all the time in the world, and I swallow hard.

Then he mumbles something I can’t understand.

‘What?’

He clears his throat. ‘You… you look very pretty.’

My heart stumbles. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten a compliment from a boy, but it still feels kind of like it. I don’t think James says something like that very often. His words come to me… honestly. And unmasked.

‘The dress is made for her,’ Tristan agrees. He pushes me a little further in James’ direction and then pulls out his cell phone. ‘Now look like a nineteenth-century lady and gentleman.’

Next to me, James lets out a barely audible snort, but when I risk a look at him, he looks into the camera as if he hasn’t done anything else in his life. I remember the pictures that went around Maxton Hall last year. In it, he modeled together with Lydia for his parents’ new collection and had a poker face that was just as rehearsed as he is now. I turn my head to Tristan and try to look sublime and serious. I don’t know if I’m doing it right, but he takes one photo after the other of us.

‘Why don’t you change the pose again? Maybe you bow and hold out your hand to her so that it looks like you’re asking her to dance,’ he suggests after a few minutes.

James looks like a professional when he complies with the request. I doubt that many eighteen-year-old boys would look as elegant as he does when they take a bow – with or without a costume. But James seems to take it really seriously. I’m surprised when he suddenly grabs my hand and looks up at me from below. His skin is warm, and although he only touches my fingers very lightly, a tingling sensation runs up my entire arm.

When he looks at me like that, I can literally imagine it. A hall full of people in costumes, atmospheric orchestral music and James and I. How he puts his hand on my back and leads me across the floor. Surely he knows how to move. I could well imagine giving up the helm while dancing with him and letting myself fall.

I swallow dry. I like the idea better than it should.

‘Now maybe another picture of you facing each other?’ says Tristan, and James gets up again. The silk scarf in his breast pocket has slipped a bit, and automatically I reach for it and straighten it.

Something flashes in James’ eyes. I quickly take my hand away again – and then suddenly I don’t know what else I’m doing with my arms, and let them hang lamely at my sides.

Suddenly, James reaches for my hand again. He puts his other on my waist, and I hold my breath. My heart starts racing, and I don’t know why, but it feels amazingly good to be touched by him. At that moment, I can’t remember why I can’t stand him.

What is he doing to me?

James returns my gaze with exactly the same mixture of wonder and alertness that I feel right now. The sounds around us fade the longer we look at each other. I can only feel. His fingers resting on my waist and moving slightly, his hand gripping mine tightly. His gaze almost seems to me like a challenge that I want to accept at all costs.

‘James,’ a deep voice sounds behind us.

The fire in his gaze goes out. From one second to the next. As well as his relaxed attitude. All of a sudden, he stands up straight and lets go of me as if he had burned himself on me.

One second. It didn’t take any longer for him to become the James Beaufort I know again. The arrogant expression around his mouth and the coldness in his eyes suddenly make him look quite threatening in this outfit.

‘Mum, Dad. I didn’t know you were here today.’

Oh God. I start to turn around in the bulky dress, and when I finally make it, my heart slips into my pants.

In front of me are Mortimer and Cordelia Beaufort. James and Lydia’s parents. Leader of one of the most successful companies in England. Suddenly, I don’t feel as strong and powerful in my elevator as I did a few moments ago – especially not compared to Cordelia Beaufort. Everything about her is stylish, elegant and sublime. She has a narrow face and the same arrogant mouth as James, except that hers is painted dark red. Her complexion is like porcelain, and she wears a tight-fitting white sheath dress that is certainly from an expensive designer. Her shiny rust-red hair reaches just over her shoulder and is perfectly wavy, as if she had just come from the hairdresser.

James’ father has sand-colored hair, ice-blue eyes and corners of his mouth that point slightly downwards. His posture is upright and proud, and he looks like he’s on his way straight to an important business meeting in his tailored Beaufort suit.

His face shows no emotion as he looks me up and down.

Now I know from whom James inherited his impenetrable mask.

‘We were at the company for a meeting with China,’ explains James’ mother. She steps forward and kisses her son on the cheek, the scent of her perfume coming towards me. It smells powdery and like a bouquet of fresh roses.

‘Percival told us that he would like to see you and your—’ she looks at me briefly, ‘… school friend.’

James doesn’t answer. Since he makes no attempt to introduce me to his parents, I step forward with hot cheeks and shake hands with his mother. ‘I’m Ruby Bell. I am glad to meet you, Mrs. Beaufort.’

She looks at my hand a moment too long before it strikes. ‘Joy is entirely on my side.’ She smiles and reveals a row of pearly white teeth.

I want to be like her, it shoots through my head. I want to get into a room like her and be instantly seen and respected as a strong woman by the people around me just because of my charisma.

What I don’t want is to frighten people by my mere presence, as seems to be the case with Mr Beaufort. He nods curtly at me as I shake his hand as well, and then looks around the tailor’s shop again, as if he’s already had enough of me.

‘I see you’ve ordered some clothes from the archive,’ says Mrs. Beaufort, looking at us with her head tilted. She takes a step forward and tugs at the skirt of my dress. A wrinkle forms between her brows. ‘The skirt is too long. Please change that, Mr. MacIntyre.’

Tristan, who hasn’t said a word since the arrival of the Beauforts, nods quickly. ‘Of course, ma’am.’

Now Mrs. Beaufort gestures to me with her hand to turn around. I comply with her request with a queasy feeling in my stomach. ‘What else do you need the clothes for?’

‘For the Victorian celebration at the end of October,’ answers James. He is as if he has been changed, and his monotone of voice is reminiscent of a robot.

‘He means the party he has to organize because he acted like a wayward little boy,’ says Mr. Beaufort.

Mrs. Beaufort clicks her tongue. I finish my turn, which was not so easy to do with the dress, and now look inconspicuously back and forth between the three of them. James shows no reaction to his father’s words. Mrs. Beaufort, on the other hand, looks at her husband admonishingly for a moment.

Then she turns back to me. She puts her hands on the short sleeves of the dress, tugs at them and finally says to Tristan: ‘It should be done a little further up here, Tristan. So it squeezes, and then can—’ She looks questioningly into my face.

‘Ruby,’ I help her out.

»… Ruby can’t breathe properly,’ she ends.

Tristan nods and pulls me back behind the partition together with his assistant. I take another look over my shoulder at James, but he doesn’t look after me, but is fully focused on his parents. His father talks to him, his gaze fixed on me. His murmur sounds annoyed, but I can’t understand anything he says to James.

I look away and turn to Tristan. ‘The two seem very … important.’ Only at the last moment do I manage to exchange ‘frightening’ for a word with a more positive connotation. Tristan is already busy carefully pinning the hem of the dress with pins from a pin cushion on his wrist.

‘You’re right, miss.’ He says no more.

It is eerie how quiet it has become in the huge room since the Beauforts entered it. Nobody seems to be talking anymore, even Tristan only smiles at me briefly before he disappears and leaves it to his assistant to help me change. Getting out of the dress is much faster than putting it on. It takes less than ten minutes before I have my own things back on and can go back to the front.

I stand next to James, who has now taken off his frock coat and draped it loosely over his arm.

Mrs. Beaufort lets her gaze glide over me, then puts her hand on her son’s arm. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’

James nods curtly.

She turns to me. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bell.’

James’ father doesn’t say a word. The two turn around and leave the tailor’s shop. Only when the door closes behind them can I breathe in again.

‘You could have warned me, you know,’ I say quietly.

Stiffly, James turns to me. I wish I could read his gaze, but there is nothing but icy turquoise. ‘Percy is waiting for you downstairs.’

‘Well, I’m done. You are the one who is still stuck in the nineteenth century.’ Cautiously, I smile at him.

He doesn’t reciprocate. ‘Our trip is over,’ he begins, and his voice sounds exactly as he looks. Cool and distant. ‘It’s better if you go now.’

I frown. ‘What?’

‘You have to go now, Ruby.’ He says it slowly and emphasizes each syllable individually, as if I were hard to understand. ‘See you at school.’

He turns around and goes behind the partition wall to change. For a moment I can only stare at him. In the next, I realize what he has just done. How he talked to me.

Anger spreads through me, and I take a step forward to confront him. But I don’t get far. Tristan grabs my arm and holds me back. The look in his eyes is regretful, but also stern as he looks at me. ‘Come, Ruby. I’ll take you downstairs.’

He pulls lightly on my arm. Reluctantly, I let him lead me away. As we cross the tailor’s shop, I can feel the pitying looks of all the employees on me.