Just The Way You Are - Lynsey James

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let out a wry laugh. ‘S’all I’m good for nowadays. Fifty years ago, I was Ivy St Clair, toast of the jazz scene. Now I’m Ivy St Clair, dried-up old has-been who’s wheeled out for the odd special occasion.’

      ‘You were a jazz singer?’ I shuffled my seat round, keen to know more about the mysterious Ivy St Clair.

      ‘Indeed I was!’ Her face beamed with pride and she straightened up in her chair. ‘Back in New Orleans, I sang at every jazz club on Bourbon Street. Oh I did all the classics: Etta James, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday. Rock and roll fever hadn’t hit New Orleans yet so jazz was still flavour of the month. I still remember the atmosphere in those jazz clubs; it was like our own version of Hollywood. You could step out on that stage and feel like a star in seconds because you knew everybody in that room was there to see you.’

      She cast a wistful glance around the room before turning her attention back to me. I was completely enthralled by her; I could tell she had a thousand stories to tell but nobody had ever taken the time to ask.

      ‘Wow, that sounds amazing!’ I breathed. ‘I don’t think I’d ever be brave enough to get up in front of a room full of people.’

      Sensing she had a captive audience, Ivy continued. ‘Nothing to do with being brave, sugar. I performed because I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else and loving it as much. It was like I was born to do it, you know? It was such a wonderful time. The men knew how to be men then too; they were always sharp as tacks with their suits and ties and their hair slicked back with Brylcreem. And talk about gentlemen! Back then if a man wanted to court you, he had to ask your daddy’s permission first. The ladies were always well turned out too, with their pin curls and finger waves and pretty dresses.’

      She paused as though she was remembering something and I saw her eyes drop to a gold locket that hung around her neck. She caught me looking at her and I quickly averted my gaze back to the dance floor.

      ‘Of course that was in the sixties: a time where things like twerking and Gangnam Style and Facebook didn’t exist!’ she added.

      ‘I’ll bet you had all the men running after you,’ I said with a chuckle.

      Ivy smiled secretly. ‘I had my fair share of admirers but they were just that: they came down to the club to hear me sing, asked me out at the end and I said no to all of ‘em.’

      I frowned. Surely someone as beautiful and talented as Ivy would have had lots of boyfriends?

      ‘Why did you say no to them?’ I asked. My curiosity was piqued; I had to know more about this fascinating woman.

      Just then, we were interrupted by Nate. He’d left the bridesmaid on the dance floor and was now standing over us with a goofy grin on his face.

      ‘Fancy a dance?’ he asked, extending his hand.

      I paused for a second and looked at Ivy, who smiled knowingly.

      ‘Sure, why not?’ I knew my voice sounded a bit wobbly and uncertain and from the look on his face, so did Nate. It wasn’t every day a hunky photographer asked me to dance after all.

      As I got up to take his hand, a little girl wearing a beautiful ivory bow dress walked up to us. I recognised her instantly as one of the flower girls from the wedding.

      ‘Excuse me, can I dance with you?’

      Nate smiled and took her hand. ‘Of course you can darling. If that’s OK with my friend here?’

      I grinned and nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have a dance later.’

      They walked onto the dance floor and I watched as he lifted her so she could dance on his feet. He didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned that his shiny black shoes were being scuffed by her white dancing shoes. It was really quite heart-warming to watch.

      I turned my attention back to Ivy and sat back down. ‘Sorry about that. You were about to tell me why you turned down all your admirers?’

      Ivy let out a sad sigh. ‘Because of my Leo.’

      ‘Who was he?’ I chose my words and tone carefully in case he was someone she’d lost in her past.

      She opened the locket and showed me two pictures side by side. One was of a young woman with dark skin, neatly curled hair and an incredible smile. The other was of a handsome man with kind features and hair the colour of dark chocolate.

      ‘Leo Browning was love itself. He came across to New Orleans from England on vacation and we met at one of the clubs I sang at. He told me I had the voice of an angel and… Well I was hooked. We spent a perfect summer together then…’

      She trailed off and my heart sank. I knew the story couldn’t possibly have a happy ending and I dreaded to think what might be coming next.

      ‘Then?’ I prompted in the gentlest voice I could.

      ‘Then…he had to go home with his folks. We promised to write to each other and for a while we did but gradually the letters stopped. Oh I was heartbroken of course but my mama said it was for the best. She wanted me to stay in New Orleans, see, and not run off to England with “that no-good boy from the hotel”.’ Her voice carried a wistful tone, like she’d give anything to go back to the time she shared with Leo.

      Suddenly, an idea hit me. This was exactly what I’d been looking for: an unusual love story. The best part was, it didn’t have an ending yet so I could make one happen. The prospect made my heart almost burst with joy.

      ‘This might sound weird but I’m a journalist; I work for Sleek magazine and I’d love to feature your story in our Valentine’s Day issue. Would you be up for that?’

      An uncertain smile spread across her face.. ‘Oh I don’t know about that…!’

      ‘Please,’ I said, pouting like a child begging for sweets. ‘It’d mean the world to me and I know everyone will love hearing about you and Leo!’

      Ivy sighed and threw her hands up in defeat. ‘What if I promise to think about it? I’m not sure I like the idea of my private affairs splashed all over a magazine.’

      ‘Fair enough, here’s my card. If you fancy doing an interview, give me a call when you’re free, and we can set something up!’

      Satisfied with the promise that Ivy would think about letting me tell her story, I decided to go off in search of Nate or Max. I prepared myself to join the throng of neatly paired-up people on the dance floor and my stomach dropped into my shoes.

      ‘Oh honey, I didn’t catch your name!’ Ivy called.

      I screwed my eyes shut with embarrassment. I’d been so busy listening to her that I’d totally forgotten to introduce myself.

      ‘Ava Clements,’ I replied.

      ‘Nice to meet you Ava Clements.’

      ‘Likewise Ivy St Clair.’

      The second letter arrived on a Wednesday.

      It came in the middle of a totally hectic week while I was rushing around trying to find the black pumps Gwen had borrowed for her date with Tom the night before. She had a habit of putting things back in odd places, especially when she’d had a few drinks. It wasn’t unusual to find handbags under the sink or jewellery in the fridge.

      I was throwing cushions off one of the sofas at lightning speed when I caught sight of the letter. It was lying on our flower-shaped doormat along with some flyers for new takeaways opening in the area. I picked it up and a shiver of anticipation worked its way down my spine as I recognised the neat sloping handwriting. Without hesitation, I ripped it open and pulled out the letter.

       Dear Ava,

       As I promised in the last letter, I’m writing to you again.

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