Lacey hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing her face.
“Hurry along, Miss Carslake.” Judith drew herself up. She had a similar angular frame to Ketty’s but she was almost a head taller and towered over petite Lacey. “I assume the front counter is unattended while you are out here.”
“On my way back now, Mrs Pettigrew.”
“I’ll look at it as soon as I return.” Ketty smiled. “And don’t forget to help yourself to my cherry tomatoes when you water the garden, will you? I can’t bear to think of them going to waste and I know how much you love them.”
“Thank you, Miss Ketty.” Lacey’s look was earnest. “And don’t you worry about your garden, or your cat, or the office, or the website. I’ll take good care of it all.”
“I know you will.” The thing was, changes would have to be made to the business. Ketty’s recent trip to the accountant had made that quite clear and a website was the least of her concerns.
Lacey gave a brief nod then strode briskly back across the workshop. Beside Ketty there was a sniff, a soft but censorial sound.
“You won’t be too tough on her while I’m gone, will you, Judith?”
Judith flung out her hands. “She finds any excuse to desert her post. You know if she’s not checking the internet, she’ll be out in the yard every five minutes while you’re gone, on the pretext of looking after your garden.”
Ketty met her manager’s glare. “I like her spunk.”
Judith sniffed again. “I like her but I’d prefer she spent more time on her actual duties. Mail, banking, accounts, answering the phone and greeting customers.” Judith ticked off her fingers as she spoke. “And I still can’t get used to those boots.”
“Every day is a new surprise when she comes to work.” Ketty smiled. “It was high cork wedges yesterday. We need someone with some style to be the face of the shop.”
“There’s style and there’s style.”
Like Ketty, Judith wore plain skirts or trousers to work. It was the job of the dressmaker to blend in and not outshine the customer but the front of house should have glamour and Lacey had that in spades.
Ketty looked back at her sketch. She had great faith in all her employees, Judith included. She had come to Ketty twenty-five years ago as a young dressmaker, painfully shy with a terminally ill mother-in-law to care for and a useless husband. She had been desperate to find work but had lost previous jobs because of her poor attendance. Ketty had instantly recognised her excellent tailoring skills. She had employed her and allowed her to work from home when necessary. Her trust in Judith had been rewarded over and over again; with her hard work and clever cutting, she had proven herself one of the best dressmakers Ketty had ever had. Once the poor mother-in-law finally died Judith somehow found the courage to leave her husband and start afresh. It may have been partly due to Ketty’s offer to subsidise the rent in a nearby flat. Nonetheless the confident woman beside her had long since come to stand on her own two feet and had well and truly left behind the downtrodden girl who had first arrived at her door.
“You got the real pearl buttons then?”
Ketty didn’t have to look at Judith to know her expression was disapproving. “I did.”
“We quoted reproductions.”
“I know.”
“Then you’d like me to amend Miss Davidson’s account?”
Ketty once more locked eyes with Judith. “No. It’s my wedding gift to the bride.”
“It’s no wonder you’re barely making a profit, Ketty.” Judith tutted. “Have you heard back from the accountant yet?”
Ketty looked down at the package she gripped in her hands. She had confided in the other woman in a weak moment over their regular Friday evening glass of wine a month or so ago. Now Ketty wished she hadn’t. The accountant had made it quite clear she was losing ground and had to make changes. Given her age he’d suggested she sell or simply close her doors but Ketty couldn’t imagine giving up work yet. It was her life, and not only that; her staff depended on their jobs. His next suggestion, that she cut back on staff, had been equally unpalatable, and yet she had to do something. Her cruise had been booked long ago and in the light of the current situation she regretted it but she’d lose her money if she didn’t go. No point in that. And then there was the thought that getting away would give her some breathing space and, she hoped, a clear enough head to see what was best for the future of her staff and her business. She lifted her shoulders and fixed Judith with her most confident smile.
“Please don’t worry, Judith. I have it all in hand.” She opened the package, dismissing the subject. “Just make sure the buttons are sewn on before Miss Davidson arrives for her final fitting this afternoon.” The bride-to-be had declared the replica pearl buttons perfect on her first visit to plan the style and the fabric, but at her last fitting she had declared she’d asked for the real thing. She’d lost three more kilos requiring extensive remodelling, and had swapped her extremely high heels for a lower pair. Bridezillas were one of the reasons Ketty avoided bridal gown work as much as possible but lately she’d accepted any business that came their way. When Miss Davidson had made a fuss Ketty hadn’t argued but had agreed to change the buttons. Judith was a stickler for the rules and didn’t understand the importance of small acts of benevolence to customers, which not only made them happy but brought return business and recommendations, something that was more important than ever in this online shopping world.
“Very well. I will do it myself.” Judith’s stiff face softened into a smile. “Now please go and gather your things. The taxi will be here soon.”
“You’re sure you’re clear about this design?”
“Very.”
“And you’ll see to the buttons?”
“As soon as you leave.”
“You will remember our job—”
“Is to make the client feel special. Of course.” Judith held out her hands for the package.
Ketty handed it over. With a sharp nod of her head, she turned and made her way through the staff kitchenette and beyond to the stairs leading up to her flat.
The bright and airy rooms above the shop were her haven. The layout was simple: an open plan living, dining, kitchen, with two bedrooms at the front, both with double doors opening onto the balcony which wrapped around the sides of the building with iron lace balustrades. She went to the second bedroom now to close her case and paused to take in the large ball of fluff settled right in the middle of it.
“I wish I could take you, Patch,” she crooned as she scooped up the black and white cat. “But you’ll be much happier here with Lacey fussing over you.”
Patch’s look was one of disdain. She blew him a kiss anyway, set him on the floor and shut her case. It took some force to keep the lid down so she could tug the zip closed.
She substituted her plain work clothes for a pair of wide-legged white linen pants and a turquoise three-quarter-sleeved soft knit that finished at her hips. She clinched a wide belt at her waist then sat on the bed to swap her flat black shoes for a pair of blue espadrilles. The woven white handbag with its blue leather trim lay on the bed beside her, already packed with her tickets, passport and wallet.
Her parents had taken her on her first cruise when she was five. The coastal vessel that had travelled between Adelaide and Port Lincoln in faraway South Australia could hardly be called a cruise but she counted it regardless. It had been a rough trip and Ketty hadn’t left the cabin. She could still picture the yellow light bulb swaying above her bunk and feel the lurching roll of the ship beneath her. She had been terribly seasick. It hadn’t deterred her. At twenty-one she had gone on a cruise with three girlfriends. They had all worked together at the John Martins’ costume department in Adelaide and had saved hard to be able to travel together. Once again she had been sick, but that had been more to do with alcohol consumption than rough seas.
Her next cruise hadn’t been until she was twenty-nine, and she’d gone with only one girlfriend th
at trip. Ketty had been sick on board that time too – but it had had nothing to do with the cruise. She sighed. She no longer probed the wound of that terrible time, when she had come home and her world had turned upside down. It was more a scar now; a notch in life’s interesting journey and the reason for her move to Sydney. It hadn’t happened overnight but Ketty Clift Couture had been catering for special birthdays, weddings and glamour events for nearly thirty years. And when she got the chance, and money allowed, she kept taking cruises.
ISBN: 9781489270849
TITLE: THE MODEL WIFE
First Australian Publication 2019
Copyright © 2019 Tricia Stringer
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The Model Wife Page 44