Up a ladder staircase, in a bright uncluttered attic, sat two trunks filled with secrets, suggestions and a collection of gorgeous vintage cocktail dresses
UPON VISITING my great-aunt Vera a few weeks ago, I made an important discovery. As we chatted about the Lisbon Treaty, Christian Louboutin shoes, Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty over afternoon tea and biscuits in her beautiful Victorian house in Blackrock, Co Dublin, the subject of Tom-the-painter the house came up. In his policy of leaving no stone unturned, he had painted the attic as well as the rest of the house.
After tea, Aunt Vera, my mother, my aunt and I went upstairs to admire the maestro's work. Aunt Vera led the way. At 81 years of age, this sparrow-like woman is among the most energetic I know. Vivacious and always fully informed on all the latest news and scandal, with a quick and direct no-hairs-on-her-tongue approach to life, Vera is remarkable and effortlessly good company and has a kind of immaculate elegance.
Ascending the ladder-stairs that led up to the attic, we were surprised to see her follow us. The attic was indeed a very nice pale buttermilk colour, with floorboards on the ground, and a skylight in the opposite wall. Unlike most attics - generally cluttered, shadowy and streamed in cobwebs - it was clean and light. Only a few objects were stored there and they consisted of a few boxes and two old 1940s-style trunks, placed up against one of the walls.
There is something about attics and old trunks that is suggestive of secrets. They hold remnants of past lives that you won't ever fully understand or know everything about. As I looked at those great big, square trunks, I imagined the figure of a woman watching a train pull out in the middle of the night, the figure of a man walking through the fumes of a foreign city, wrapped up in a trench coat, cigarette smoke and jazz in a downstairs bar. I think it likely that the writers of Atonementand The English Patientspent time in other people's attics.
We chattered on and were about to leave the attic when I asked, "What's in the trunks?" "Oh, just my old cocktail dresses," came the response. Aunt Vera obviously underestimated the appeal of that information, as we all three let out a gasp. Ian instant the trunk was open and we were looking at a number of beautiful dresses.
In her time, Vera was a most stylish character. She had had her clothes made by a couturier in Dawson Street for up to £50 each in the 1940s and 1950s. The equivalent nowadays would be almost €500.
The cherry on top for me came when we discovered a faded packet with a drawing of a woman on the front which revealed itself to be a Vogue dress pattern. Vera most generously and graciously gave the dresses to me - one of the best gifts I have ever received. They are the dresses I am wearing in these pictures, and the quality of the materials and the standard of dress-making are extraordinary.
I can imagine the hesitation she must have felt before giving me the dresses, each one recalling the story of a dance, a party, perhaps a special person.
I am immensely flattered and grateful that she entrusted me with her dresses. But she kept the trunks. I imagine they have much the same effect on her as they have on me, whispering to her of past lives, secrets and endless possibilities, with which she is, understandably, unwilling to part.